Here is the link again~
Here is the link again~
The epidemic arrived at my grandmother’s house in the year 1911 near Malang, Java, Indonesia. The youngest sibling, Thyrsa, woke one summer morning to a lifeless rat curled up next to her warm body. That was the day the family realized that their lives would never be the same.
After watching her parents help others in the community who had been touched by sickness and loss to the plague, my grandmother never thought it would happen to her. She said it seemed that by being of service to others, the plague just maybe would miss them. The common grace of denial can work for a while. “It won’t happen to me/us”.
The plague was originally brought to Java on a rice shipment from Burma, spread through the island by fleas and rats, and had now infested this family’s home. Although her parents tried to prepare their seven young children for what was next, my grandmother said she could not have imagined the events that followed.
They were not allowed to take any belongings from their house. Everything had to be burned. She recalled impatiently waiting for nightfall. “They came walking through the jungle” she whispered in her Dutch accent. A large group of men from the village, each dressed in white loincloth. The torches of flame they carried flashed in reflection from the coconut oil slathered on their bare chests. The oil was commonly used to prevent the fleas from jumping on, and spreading the disease through a bite.
A safe distance away from the commotion, my grandmother described the waves of heat she felt radiating from the flares. She and her siblings watched as the men ignited a line of fire to the base of the bamboo walls. In one sweep the fire rose, and their house swiftly crackled with a blaze reaching high into to the thatch roof. The men’s yelling echoed through the night, rising above the sound of the flames scorching the house. One by one, the rats frantically scurried for air, away from the glowing thatch. Light on their feet, and bodies shining in the firelight, the men clubbed each rodent to death and threw it back into the burning home. They worked well into the early morning hours until the house and all the rats were left to a pile of ash.
The youngest sister was the only family member who had contracted the plague. They believe it was from the dead rat in her bed that summer morning. When the symptoms arose, her mother immediately took the child and did what she had previously done with the others from the village as they had displayed illness.
Using hot and cold baths, mudpacks on the lymph nodes, sheet wraps to create a sweat, and herbal remedies, my great grandmother’s routine slowly helped her youngest heal. Thyrsa recovered and lived well into eighty years of life.
This is Daisy Dolly Heyting Hassall’s story, my grandmother. She has been gone almost 30 years and I still hear her telling me her stories of the plague.
Thinking about the idea of “time” as a “place”. And looking at a place, Gridley Rd. through different times~
The following memoire written in 2000 by Joan Carroll (Hassall, Rowe):
The following by Karin Dron December 2017:
THE HEARTBREAK OF FIRE DECEMBER 17, 2017
KARIN K. DRON
OH, HOW THINGS MOVED QUICKLY…ONE EVENING YOU’RE HAVING DINNER A AT CAFE FIORE IN VENTURA, AND TWO HOURS LATER YOU’RE SUDDENLY AWARE THERE’S A FIRE RAGING IN THE UPPER OJAI- KOENINGSTEIN RD, JUST ONE CANYON EAST OF SISAR, YOUR WILD MOUNTAIN CANYON HOME FOR 37 YEARS.
FIRE IS RAGING AS I LOOK OUT AT BLACK MOUNTAIN, AND NEW BILLOWY PLUMES OF FIRE CLOUDS EXPANDING BOTH EAST AND WEST, SOON TO CONSUME 150 VENTURA HILLSIDE HOMES BEFORE IT SPILLED OVER BLACK MOUNTAIN TOWARD THE VALLEY FLOOR. BUT FOR ME, IT WAS THE FIRE THAT RACED UP INTO THE WILDERNESS THAT SCARED ME, KNOWING THE CAPACITY TO RACE THROUGH THE DRY TENDERED BRUSH OF THE DEHYDRATED CHAPPARAL. AND IT BECAME MORE WORRISOME AS IT ENTERED SENIOR CANYON THREATENING MY NIECE AND NEPHEW’S HOME OFF LADERA ROAD, AND SOON WTH AND FORCEFUL ERRATIC WINDS WOULD BE IN MY LAP !
MANY ( OR SHOULD I SAY MOST ?) PEOPLE HAD EVACUATED THE VALLEY AS THE FIRE CONSUMED THE AREA SOUTH OF HIGHWAY 33, THREATENING TO BLOCK PASSAGE OUT, AS HIGHWAY 150 TO EAST WAS ALREADY BLOCKED, POTENTIALLY TRAPPING RESIDENTS IN THE VALLEY, AND AS ROADS AND
SMOKE SHIFTED, PEOPLE DANCED AROUND THE CHAOS TO FIND SOMEWHERE THEY COULD GET TO WHERE THEY COULD BREATHE.
BUT I CHOSE TO STAY AND TRY AND PROTECT THE FAMILY HOMESTEAD, AND WAS GRATEFULLY JOINED BY MY NEPHEW, LAURENCE MALONE,
WHO SERENDIPITOUSLY HAPPENED TO BE IN TOWN FROM SANTA FE,To TRY AND PROTECT “DRONHAME” (SCOTTISH FOR DRON’s HOME). WE CUT BRUSH, CLEARED FURNITURE FROM AROUND THE HOUSE, LEAVES FROM THE THE SURROUNDINGS, AND SPECULATED ON FROM WHERE THE FIRE WOULD APPROACH, AND FROM WHAT LEVEL OF ERRATIC WINDS WE WOULD FACE.
I WENT TO STARR MARKET ( OR WESTRIDGE MIDTOWN, AS THEY LIKE TO CALL THEMSELVES NOW), TO GET LARGE BOTTLES OF WATER FOR BACKUP FOR THE MOST LIKELY EVENTUALITY THAT MY WATER LINE AND TANK WOULD BURN AS THE FIRE CONSUMED THE MOUNTAINSIDE ( THE “LOST TUNNEL” , DISCOVERED IN 1929 By BOYD’s FATHER WHILE WORKING FOR GRIDLEY MUTUAL WATER CO. LAY 1⁄2 MILE ABOVE US). GOT A CALL FROM MICHAEL GRIGSBY WHO OFFERED TO COME AND HELP CHAIN SAW And CLEAR BRUSH/ TREES, IN A LAST DITCH EFFORT TO REMOVE THE FUEL IN THE FIRE’S PATH ! I STOPPED BY RICK AND TARA’S TO LET THEM KNOW, AND RICK JOINED IN THIS COMMUNITY EFFORT TO SAVE THE HISTORIC HOME BUILT BY BOYD’S FATHER, JOHN A. DRON, SR., POST DEPRESSION
ERA (& BEYOND). MY NEPHEW AND I DRAGGED BRUSH AWAY TO THE SOUTH, CHINKING IT INTO THE BRUSH LINING THE DRIVEWAY, AS IT SEEMED INEVITABLE THE FIRE WOULD APPROACH FROM THE N.E. WE WORKED UNTIL IT WAS A DIM, EASY DARKNESS. MIKE GOURLEY ARRIVED WITH HOSES, FIRE NOZZLES, TOOLS, AS WELL AS HIS EXPERTISE AND WISDOM IN FACING FIRES. WE STARTED SOAKING THE WOODEN SECOND STORY— THE EVES, WOODEN DOORS AND WINDOWS, AND UPSTAIRS PORCH. WE TOOK TURNS MANNING THE HOSES, AND MADE TWO FRANTIC CALLS TO 911/ FIRE DISPATCH TO TRY AND GET FIRECREWS AND PUMPER TO AUGMENT OUR LIMITED WATER PRESSURE AND 3,000 GALLONS OF WATER ( THANKFULLY MY WATER TANK WAS NEARLY FULL). WHEN FIREMEN ARRIVED, THEY INQUIRED AS TO “OUR GAME PLAN” ? And RICK SAID WE WERE NOW ATTEMPTING TO SOAK THE WOODEN STRUCTURE IN HOPES THAT IT WOULD DEFLECT THE FIRE’S ASSAULT. THE FIREMAN SAID HE THOUGHT WE WERE WASTING OUR PRECIOUS WATER, AS HE ESTIMATED THE FIRE WAS 2 HRS. AWAY, TO WHICH RICK REPLIED, NO, HE THOUGHT IT WAS 1⁄2 HOUR AWAY, AND HE PLANNED TO KEEP SOAKING. RICK ASKED IF THEY WOULD BE COMING SOON TO OFFER SUPPORT, TO WHICH HE REPLIED THEY WOULD NOT BE OFFERING SUPPORT, AS THEY FELT THIS PROPERTY WAS
« UNDEFENDABLE » ! YIKES !!! WE WERE ON OUR OWN. APPARENTLY THERE WAS CONCERN THAT THE FIRE WOULD ENCIRCLE THE PROPERTY, TRAPPING THE DEFENDERS IN A FIRE STORM. JOHN A. DRON SOLVED THIS
DILEMA BY CLOSING HIMSELF IN THE STONE CELLAR BELOW THE HOUSE, THEN EMERGING TO PUT OUT THE INEVITABLE SPOT FIRES.
DESPITE THE AUTHORITIES COUNCIL THAT WE WERE FIGHTING A LOST BATTLE, WE CARRIED ON— WATERING, CLEARING, NAILING AND SCREWING WINDOWS SHUT, BLOCKING VENTS, & REMOVING SCRAP WOOD PILES FROM WORKSHOP WALLS. THE FIRE DEPARTMENT HAD RETREATED TO GRIDLEY ROAD IN THEIR BIG ENGINES, WATCHING THE FLAMES DANCE DOWN THE HILLSIDES BEHIND US. THEY SAID THEY WOULD SOUND THE HORNS WHEN IT WAS TIME FOR US TO FLEE. THE SMOKE INCREASED. YOU COULD HEAR THE ROAR OF THE FIRE AS IT GALLOPED TOWARDS US, PUSHED BY 20 MPH WINDS (LUCKILY NOT THE 50 MPH WINDS THAT HAD BEEN PREDICTED !).AND THE FALL OF ASH HAD THE EERIE FEEL OF RAINDROPS.
AS THE FLAMES AND FIRE STORM REACHED THE BOTTOM OF THE SURROUNDING HILLS, THE GUYS MADE A CALL TO EVACUATE ( THERE WAS NO HORN !). JUST RICK REPEATING, WE HAVE TO GO NOW, YOU HAVE TO LEAVE NOW ! THEY ASKED IF THERE WAS ANYTHING MORE TO GRAB ? ANTIQUES? FAMILY MEMENTOS ? THE HOPI RUGS AND MUAPA VALLEY INDIAN BASKETS WERE ALREADY PACKED, AND I I WAS SO OVERWROUGHT THAT I COULD NOT THINK, SO WE GRABBED RANDOM FRAMED FAMILY PHOTOS, THE MAJOR’S ETCHING AND WATERCOLOR, MY POWER DRILL, AND GUITAR….. OH, HOW I WISH I HAD THOUGHT TO GRAB THE TURKISH RUG
FROM THE EAST CABIN, OR MY MASSAGE ….. REALLY WAS ANYTHING MORE PRECIOUS THAN MY LIFE ? AND AS I PAUSED TO REFLECT ON THAT ONE THING I MIGHT LATER REGRET NOT TAKING, THE GUYS WERE ALL YELLING THAT WE HAD TO GET OUT ! SECURING ALL DOORS AND WINDOWS, WE SCURRIED DOWN THE DRIVEWAY. I ARRIVED AT THE BOTTOM ONLY TO REALIZE I’D FORGOTTEN MY DOG ! I CALLED, BUT HE WAS SAFELY CLOSED IN, SO I RACED BACK UP TO GET NIKKO.
I RETREATED TO RICK AND TARA’s HOME AT GRAND AND SUMMER ST. , AND WHEN I FOUND NO ONE THERE, AS THEY HAD LINGERED TO WATCH THE FLAMES DANCE OVER THE PROPERTY,I RETURNED ONE LAST TIME.
I ENCOUNTERED THE
PHOTOJOURNALIST WHOM I’D MET EARLIER IN THE EVENING WHO HAD SAID HE WOULD TRY AND CAPTURE THE MOMENT ON FILM, AND THAT HE’D HEARD A STRIKE TEAM WAS SUPPOSED TO BE UP. I’M LEFT FEELING THERE MIGHT BE A CHANCE FOR THE FAMILY HOME.
I MADE ONE MORE ATTEMPT (AN HOUR LATER) TO SEE WHAT HAD HAPPENED. I DROVE UP THE LONG DRIVE, WITH FIRES RAGING ON BOTH SIDES, AND ENCOUNTERED DOWNED WIRE ACROSS THE ROAD. IN MY CRAZINESS, I DROVE OVER THE WIRE ( WHICH LUCKILY FOR ME WAS A CASING WIRE FROM COMMUNICATION LINES) UNTIL I ENCOUNTERED A SECOND WIRE AT WINDSHIELD HEIGHT WHICH FORCED ME TO TURN
AROUND ( NOT AN EASY TASK ON THIS NARROW ONE LANE, CURVY ROAD !). I COULD FEEL THE HEAT AS I APPROACHED THE EDGE OF THE FENCE AS I MADE A THREE POINT TURN …AND REALIZED THAT I HAD DONE SOMETHING VERY UNSAFE ! I WAS GRATEFUL I HAD ALL WHEEL DRIVE AS I SUCCESSFULLY MADE MY ESCAPE !
AS I ARRIVED AT THE BOTTOM OF THE DRIVE, I
ENCOUNTERED THE SAME PHOTOJOURNALIST WHO SAID HE’D LEFT THE SCENE SHORTLY AFTER MY LAST VIEWING OF THE HOUSE, AS THE FIRE HAD STARTED TO ENCIRCLE THE PROPERTY, THROWING HOT SPARKS HIS WAY. CLEARLY THERE WOULD BE NO STRIKE TEAM, THOUGH HE SAID THE LAST TIME ANYONE CHECKED, THE STONE HOUSE STILL STOOD, AND ALL THE OUT BUILDINGS WERE GONE !
TARA HAD ME PROMISE I WOULD CHECK BACK IN WITH THEM BEFORE I WENT ANYWHERE ELSE, AS SHE REALIZED NO DOUBT WHAT DANGER I
WAS PUTTING MYSELF IN. SO, I RETREATED TO TARA AND RICK’s FOR DINNER AND PLANNING WHERE TO GO FROM HERE. FIRE TRUCKS AND CREWS CONTINUED TO RACE TO THE WEST, TRYING TO KEEP UP WITH THE FIRE’s PACE. I HAD THOUGHT I WOULD STAY WITH ANNA ON MEINER’S ROAD, BUT THE FLAMES, FUELED BY THE HILLSIDE’s DEHYDRATED CHAPARRAL LANDSCAPE BECKONED THE FIRE ALL THE WAY TO HIGHWAY 33 WHERE IT JUMPED THE HIGHWAY AT FRIEND’s RANCH AND THREATENED
OJALA. ANNA’s SONS WERE THERE TO GRAB SOME BEATO ART, AND FLEE THEMSELVES AS THEY HEARD THE EXPLOSIVE IMPACT OF THE FIRE’S RAGE ! I MEANWHILE SHOWERED AND TRIED TO SLEEP AFTER SEVERAL DAYS OF FRANTICALLY PREPARING FOR THE FIRE THAT I KNEW WOULD MAKE IT’S PRESENCE KNOWN.
I SLEPT FOR 3 1⁄2 HOURS, WAKING TO THIS BURNING DESIRE TO SEE WHAT HAD HAPPENED. I FORCED MYSELF TO REST TIL IT WAS LIGHT ENOUGH TO SEE, DRESSED AND DROVE UP TO GRIDLEY, PARKING AT THE BOTTOM, AND NIKKO AND I BRAVED THE WALK UP TO SEE THE FIE’S VERDICT. STEPPING OVER NUMEROUS DOWNED WIRES, WE HIKED UP THE CURVY DRIVEWAY THAT HAD NEVER SEEMED SO LONG BEFORE. AT SOME POINT IWAS VIEWING A LIGHT …… A LIGHT ??? YES, IT APPEARED I HAD A HOUSE AND ELECTRICITY ! BUT AS I WALKED INTO THE MOST GREY, FIRE CHARRED MOONSCAPE ( TOTALLY SURROUNDING THE PROPERTY), LEVELING MY MASSAGE STUDIO, WORKSHOP, GARAGE ( THAT HAD ONCE HOUSED THE FAMILY’S MODEL T), AND MOST DISAPPOINTINGLY THE EAST CABIN ( CALLED THE « TENT HOUSE »,AS THE DRON CLAN HAD DWELLED THERE WHILE BUILDING THE ROCK HOUSE), I WAS SURPRISED BY WHAT I SAW NEXT…. THE WEST CABIN WAS STILL STANDING, IT’s WINDOWS CRACKED, RED DOOR PAINT SCORCHED TO BUBBLY BLISTERS ! I REALLY PONDERED WHY THIS WOODEN CABIN BURNED ( THE ONLY SURVIVOR OF 5 OUT BUILDINGS),
AND I’M LEFT SUSPECTING THAT THE MELTING OF THE 3500 GAL. WATER TANK HAD SAVED THE DAY, RELEASING A STREAM OF WATER DEFLECTING THE FIRE’s FORCE COMBINED WITH SOUTHWESTERLY WINDS TO DEMOLISH INSTEAD THE GARAGE AND HEALING SPACE.
IT WAS ALMOST TOO MUCH TO TAKE IN, BUT I STOOD RELIEVED TO AT LEAST HAVE A HOME, WHILE AT THE SAME TIME FEELING THE MAGNITUDE OF ALL I HAD LOST. ALMOST EVERYTHING UP SISAR CANYON HAD BEEN
DESTROYED 2 DAYS PRIOR— MULTIPLE CABINS, WORKSHOP, STONE HOUSE, AND EVEN THE CAR BRIDGE PROVIDING FINAL ENTRY TO THE 40 ACRE INHOLDING ALL SURROUNDED BY LOS PADRES FOREST.
HOW WAS IT POSSIBLE THAT ONE FIRE COULD DESTROY ALMOST EVERYTHING IT HAD TAKEN OVER 50 YEARS TO NURTURE ???
I CAN ONLY SAY THAT A NEW PATH LIES AHEAD TO FILL THE VOID THAT
WE HAVE LOST. AND THAT THE ANSWER LIES IN KEEPING OUR HEARTS OPEN SO AS TO SEE AND WELCOME THE CHANGE. I REMAIN SO AMAZED AT THE LEVEL OF SUPPORT , LOVE, AND SPIRIT IN THIS COMMUNITY OF OJAI… WE WILL RISE FROM THE ASHES & CONTINUE TO BUILD ON THE WONDER THAT IS HELD IN THIS VALLEY.
The following by Rick Bisaccia December 2017:
As a roaring wall of flame was coming across the Ojai foothills manning the Dron House, we called the fire department. The Montecito and Cosumnes Fire Departments showed up to our relief. We had spent hours tuning up the fire clearance with chainsaws and dragging brush, and then carefully wetting down all exposed, unpainted redwood on the main house. Mind you this house when 16 years old survived the 1948 fire with the Dron family staying to fight and prevailing, hiding in the basement at one point while the flames passed by. This was an account that had been written about in detail by the house’s builder John A. Dron, and it’s details of saving the house were keen in our minds that evening. Present were Major Dron’s daughter in law, whose now deceased husband Boyd was present at the ’48 fire as a sixteen year old, and the Major’s sister’s son Laurence Malone, along with myself and a friend named Mike Gourley.
In talking to the fire departments at the house, they told us to “stop wasting water” as the fire was “hours away.” I told one of the men that the fire would be here within half an hour. I asked a Captain present in passing, “so you’re going to fight this thing, right.” He smiled and said, “we can’t stop this; we’ll wait down the road, and when you hear our horns it’s time to get out fast.” I never did hear horns, but saw them leave as the wall of flames grew close, and a big spot fire exploded just up from us away from the main fire–for sure within that predicted half an hour. We ran to our vehicles and went down the hill just as the flames enveloped the property.
Karin and her nephew stayed at our house that night. Karin left early in the morning and went up to the place, sending us a texted photo back of the old house standing proud and unscathed, surrounded by a moon scape and all outbuildings and cabins burned to the ground, some as close as 10′ from the back of the house.
Tara and I had run into Ojai people hunkered down up north in Buellton, Pismo, Santa Maria and heard of people in Taft. Mostly the town has been abandoned and everything closed except a donut shop, gas station and Von’s market. Fire companies and agencies from all over the country and state have been here. We are mopping up here now–everything in the hills burned and some 500 structures lost in the county. The fire pretty much was like a pernicious organism that went and sometimes returned to burn brush wherever it’s tongues of flame could reach. Scary times. In spite of the “excellent” communication of our age, it was hardly good during the incident. There were official sites, Facebook pages and so on. Ultimately it was best to go out and monitor and share info with friends relevant to our areas. For example, Tuesday morning we had no idea the fire was burning inside the valley–the info available only said it had burned towards communities to the southwest.
It makes you thankful for what you have, even your humdrum little life. Thanks for your thoughts and support during this event, that we at least, came through mostly unscathed. Many of our friends lost homes, ranches and rental properties. We only lost lung capacity from smoke, and income from not working, which is nothing compared to what could have been and what was for some.
The following is Karin Dron after the Thomas fire~ (https://www.usatoday.com/story/news/nation-now/2017/12/08/surprised-california-fire-survivor-oh-my-god-have-home/933675001/)
Karin Dron, who lives at Gridley Road, was able to save her house, which is made of stone. Her house was built in 1932. She lost one small office space. JUAN CARLO/THE STAR
OJAI, Calif. — Flames had reached the bottom of the foothills above Karin Dron’s house as she heard the firefighters hit their horns.
Earlier, the crews had told her she could stay, but when they hit the horn, it was time to get out.
She, her nephew and a couple friends had worked for hours to hose down any wood on the 1930s-era stone house, cut back branches and drag brush as far as possible from the home and cabins.
The smoke was thick, and she remembers the ash feeling like raindrops as it fell.
That night, as the Thomas Fire swept closer to Gridley Road above Ojai, she heard the horn, got her dog and they took off down the narrow, windy road.
Dron thought it was probably goodbye to the house where her late husband had grown up and that his father had built stone by stone.
“I had just lost everything up Sisar canyon. I thought I was going to lose my only home,” she said.
But she did see it again. As the sun came up Thursday, she climbed back up the long driveway and saw what she hadn’t expected.
The house survived.
Late Wednesday, as winds picked up, the 48-hour-old Thomas Fire made a run toward the city of Ojai. Mandatory evacuations stretched throughout the city and surrounding valley and most people grabbed pets and took off to safety.
Communities in the hills and canyons seemed the hardest hit, but the 4½-square-mile city itself escaped the worst of the fire.
“I guess we could say we’ve been blessed … considering what it could have been,” Ojai Mayor Johnny Johnston said Thursday morning.
But with evacuations in place and the wind still unpredictable, he wasn’t exhaling just yet. Embers would still be an issue and the wind could pick back up and shift again, he said.
On Thursday morning, Joel Fox and Jennifer Day were shoveling dirt on hot spots on a property on Rice Road.
They had rescued a chicken they found in a wooden coop there, boxed in by smoldering heaps of wood.
“We live about four houses down on this street,” Fox said.
They got home earlier expecting the worst, but their house was fine.
Fox said it looked like firefighters had stayed in their yard, and he heard they had managed to push the fire away from the homes.
He had watched the fire the night before from the top of nearby Signal Street.
“It came all the way over here in like 10 minutes,” he said pointing to the ridge above the neighborhood.
By 2:30 a.m., he left to stay with their friends in Camarillo. “We thought this whole neighborhood was toast,” he said while helping out in a neighbor’s yard.
A few miles away, Dron had made coffee and was working with some friends to get things cleaned up.
It’s sort of a Dron tradition, she said of saving the home.
John A. Dron, who everyone called The Major, started building the house in 1932. He had finished the main parts before going to war in 1941, she said. After, he came back and finished.
The Thomas fire had already destroyed more than 150 structures before reaching Gridley Road late Wednesday.
The Drons’ other property, about 40 acres in Sisar Canyon was on that list of destroyed homes. They lived there for 37 years, she said.
The tenants made it out OK, but “it totally got blitzed,” she said. “I lost everything there.”
On Wednesday, she tried to keep the stone house on Gridley from the same fate. There was too much vegetation for the firefighters to safely defend it, so she and others did the best they could before they had to go, she said.
“I stayed here until I couldn’t be here any longer,” Dron said, remembering as she watched the flames race across a ridge above her home.
By 5 or 6 a.m. Thursday, she was walking up the driveway that cut a path through the charred ground.
The night before, they had turned on a lamp in an upstairs room as they nailed shut windows that have a tendency to pop open in the wind.
That’s what she spotted first.
“I came up and there was a lamp on,” she said. “I knew I still had a house and power.”
“Oh, my God, I have a home,” she remembers thinking.
A cabin, garage and workroom burned to the ground, a small orchard was gone and antique tools and other things were destroyed. But the house was OK.
“I think he would be grateful that the house is still here,” she said of her husband, who died a few years ago. “It’s the family legacy.”
Follow Cheri Carlson on Twitter: @vcCheri
Down through the murkiest, muddiest~
Up into the clearest, highest~
Out beyond the widest, furthest~
In toward the deepest, darkest~
Slow, deep, inhale~
hot, aim high.
Hear, see, smell, taste, feel Mercury weave prana~
a curve begins to spiral.
Feather by feather, skillfully gliding the updraft~
leaning in toward unfamiliar, out, then in, a breath at a time.
See this link for the update: Planning
The first, close, tattered from a struggle, glides to the ground, it’s voice says “write for the universal, not from the personal”. Thread bare strips which fail to fall, hang deep in the recedes of consciousness, surely to be met again in the future, this thin layer, constant and familiar.
The newest, thickest layer, off gasses synthetic. “Thud” of a first conversation condensed into the threat of lawsuit heavily hitting the dust. Insects, animals, and neighbors creeping the ground, avoiding toxicity. Once “welcome” translated through online reservations and instructions, hangs “Private”.
Next, a wider layer in the form of innocents, gathering gumption to question timidly camouflaged in second thoughts, “oh, by the way……do you think I have a right to my privacy, my parking place, my life?” A full bolt of richly woven fabric unrolling into oblivion and back again, the texture of community~ a hold up old lady, the reined in kid, the recluse never concerned, all once moving freely, now peer out wanting.
Lastly, the logical, in the form of a counter intuitive request asking for structure, for law, to line up, to shore up a world that has fed itself on nature, creativity, open door policy, and friendship. Before, a revolving invitation the garden the studio, now, an obstruction to tourist’s curiosity.
The “Icebreaker Speech” at Toastmaster’s~ Introducing myself to a group of strangers. The issue, grist for the speech.
The 2:00 minute mark is where it begins:
The following “2 minutes” was my intention:
I acknowledge the weight that is now on your staff and I honor the process it takes to get an ordinance passed and enforced. I also address the heavy weight on the Ojai community each day that goes by without that written ordinance to guide us as I read letters to the editor, circular social media feeds, and see the unfortunate consequences that stem from STR’s.
If the Ojai Valley tourism issue, of which I believe includes STRs and homeshares, were a natural disaster, I’d be calling FEMA right now. That is why I am here today. I ask for your help. I am requesting from the board an emergency expedite on the writing or the STR/Homeshare ordinance. We need something to guide us through this transformation of allowing businesses in residential areas. Without the guidelines of the law and steps that it takes to enforce that law, I am watching my community tear itself apart. Sooner rather than later will you please give us structure to back up the board’s decision so that we can protect the integrity of our neighborhood. And for the record, I would like to scratch the last paragraph of one of my letters to you where I state positives of homeshares. After seeing the inability to have a neighborly conversation and the deceit through the extremely mercurial nature of the STR business model in order for the STRs to survive, I now support the City of Ojai in favor of it’s full on ban of both STR and homeshares~
The actual “4:20 minutes” in “Public Comments” at the May 9 meeting.http://ventura.granicus.com/MediaPlayer.php?view_id=67&clip_id=4650
These layers line a path to the depths of this waxing scorpio moon. Pushing up from the murk, focused through cloudy disruption onto the good things coming~ kiss, kiss, kiss~
True to her nature, as Austin put her mind to finding a claw foot for her outside deck, there was no stopping her. Cruising cow pastures for old tubs, knocking on doors, then finally the tip from a friend which led to “a great tub, in great condition, and we need to go get it now”.
As we pulled up to the address my inner alert clicked on high. There were things strewn around the yard. A truck piled high with stuff, nothing to describe, just junk, everywhere. Toothless, hyper, and way too eager, a man greeted us saying the tub is right in here, come and look.
My reluctance out weighed by my friend’s enthusiasm, she pulled me into the house. Yes, I can see, it is in great shape, but who was selling it? Why is it still hooked up in a full functioning bathroom? Why are there little kid bath toys strewn around still wet? “This is a BAD scene. And, No Mister, I won’t help you unhook the plumbing”. “We will be back in an hour and if you don’t have it ready to go, with help to put it on the truck, then no deal” I firmly stated. Austin gesturing a tilt of her head, as in a question “Why are you blowing my deal, Teal?”
In town, over tea, the excitement about the great find was hard for me to accept. I explained to her that this is a drug scene and please don’t hold onto ANY expectation because if the tub is not on the lawn when we drive back, I have no intention of stopping at that place again! O.K. Austin agreed, trying to be strong, but I could see she was fixed on getting that tub.
When we returned, the tub was out on the lawn, the original woman who Austin had previously talked to on phone about the deal was there, as were three big guys to help load it. While they hefted it up to the back of the truck, they asked if we had help on the other side. I quickly said “yes” simultaneously kicking Austin as she was saying “no”. These were the last people in the world I would want knowing where this tub was landing! As we drove off I was relieved, though it didn’t feel like the most honorable deal I’ve ever been involved in.
Now we had the tub, the next step was to find help to unload. Austin was worried about this. I assured her someone will show up. We will find someone.
So thinking quick, we stopped at a festival at Jackson Wellsprings and the guys pictured here showed up to help us unload. Yes, that is Austin in the tub with the strapping permaculturer.
Tonight, true to her nature, there is no stopping her, as Austin’s body and soul conjure the energy to head out off of this physical plane. Those of us who know and love her are fortunate to have all the beautiful gifts she so generously leaves with us~ Love, laughter, and the truest modeling of joie de vivre~ Ciao Austin!
There are 3 previous posts that I have written about my friend Austin:
And Victor Lodato’s beautiful story: https://www.nytimes.com/2017/02/24/style/modern-love-when-your-greatest-romance-is-friendship.html?_r=0
The last pear
You know how energy washes through us, like a current of warm air on a cool breeze bringing in a memory, an idea, or sensation? I had this exact feeling as I followed a track winding up the path the other day. Someone had meandered with a branch dragging behind which left a long mark. I thought~ Dennis would erase this entire line with just a quick swipe of his staff. I could almost hear you bellow once or twice about “damn humans!” and their need to interfere with nature by drawing on the trail.
So much traffic, do you believe how many are in the hills? I’ve lost touch with the landmarks of the past. Remember “The Lady of the Trail”? I can’t find her. Rocks jiggled loose and let go, many of the old footholds, no longer there. At the same time many new routes abundant. Folks are out in nature. Enjoying. Doing their thing. As I write this, the quiet enfolds the echo of a far distant voice.
Quiet. No more.
We talked this week and I was inspired by your enthusiasm, the positivity. A sturdy, confident bear carving replaced the old deer hoof on the top of your stick. I noticed the “anti establishment rant” was gone as you shared your strong message that we humans co exist with nature & the animals. Like a superhero, swooping in, giving me hope for this changing season, urging me not to worry. “The trees loose their leaves and are no longer sucking up water. The animals have plenty of water.” Reminding me of the cycles.
Far below the identity of “character” is your modeling of loyalty to life, to the creative, to the elements, which insists upon a deep understanding. I think I am not the only one thankful that you allow us to be included by the skimming along the surface with your whimsical bubbles, bare foot walking, and the 1,000,000 miles on the VW van, as it is through these connections where we glean insights that, without you, very few of us would ever come to on our own.
And have a really beautiful birthday!
If you haven’t already, you can get Dennis’ book here:
“I just saw your work in Ventana Monthly” an acquaintance said as we crossed paths on the mountain trail. My focus switched from the surrounding nature, quickly to asking, “what work?”
see article here
Having the ambient sound like that of an idling jet airplane, a glassblowing furnace burns, keeping the raw material molten 24/7, the flame has a constant feed from a two inch gas line, the needle on the gas meter in a steady spin. Working temperature for glass is around 2100 degrees plus or minus. The temperature is raised to 2400 degrees for about 8 hours while filling (“charging”) the furnace with silica sand, potash, soda, and lime (“batch”). Maintaining the correct temperature during this charging process is critical in order to sustain a high quality glass. Tending the furnace is the foundational concern for a glass studio, yet only a small part what is behind the actual creating.
From practical making of tumblers, perfume bottles, vases, etc. to “impractical” work of sculpture, wearable glass, and “the glass canvas”, the work has been a labor of love for me. Loud noise, heat, and hard work fed me for about 14 years, until I sold my equipment/studio in 2009.
My version of having children was the nurturing of a studio and the work it produced. My nest is now empty, though the pieces live on.
Out in the world, the glass pieces have their own lives in private collections, museums, municipal collections, hospital collections, etc. A kitchen window filled from top to bottom with reflection of the colors I’ve chosen, an altar-like setting honoring the work. One piece was broken at the fault of an earthquake within a week of going “home”. Another art show an entire shelf of “crème de la crème” vases were wiped out. In fact as I remember it, at each art show at least one piece would somehow get broken~ “The sacrifice”, I would casually comment.
The Ventana Monthly article is advertising an event this weekend May 21 & 22, 2016 to benefit Focus on the Masters. “Where Art Lives” A self guided tour to homes in the community that house art. Many pieces that I have created are living in these collections.
When you go on the tour please be sure to say “hi” to the kids.