…and then there were ponies.


When I left New York I am not sure what I wanted but I did have this sense that I wanted to grow something. I’ve always been obsessed with process…How? When? Where? Why?. Yet, I had never grown a thing in my life. So, stereotypically, I moved to the Bay Area and I learned. I went through all the stages of beginnings. We bought a house, I grew a garden, I craved succulents, rare and unusual plants, obscure edibles from South America, the bugs that sustain them, the mushrooms that help them grow, and we ate all our food from the garden. I was happy.

Right before India, for lack of care on our sojourn,  I pulled it all out and only the most wily and strong survived. Sage and Swiss Chard and Parsley! When we returned I realized how much of my happiness here was attached to these growing things. I haven’t planted, only a little, because we are lifting the house (high on stilts!) and I should concentrate my efforts, but I am not sure if I can contain myself. The logical process and growth and consumption has left an unknowing gaping hole and supermarkets just don’t have the same allure.

Last weekend we went on a little trip along the coast. Santa Cruz, to pick up these alien mushroom blocks that sprout when watered, refuse of a commercial process. Then up along the coast, stopping where ever we please, which is the best part of California really. Strawberries at Swanton’s Berry Farm, where there is an actual Honor Till! That is where one is expected to pay and give ones self change, wads of cash just flaunted in front of the customer. Psychologically, it works, here is an article about the mechanisms behind it…Honor Tills.

Then, we are off to Pescadero, an old Portuguese fisherman’s town. It is here where we see the ponies. Ponies pulling retired ladies along a coastal country road. This is really what I live for and we end up stopping to take photos. There is no real story here just women that waited their whole damn lives to have the right to ride to have little ponies pull them on tiny little carriages through the street. If things couldn’t get any better, after that, we realize it is baby goat time at Harley’s Goat Farm! We watch them, pet them, sample the cheese that they produce and stare at the llamas that protect them from fierce animals from afar in the outer field.


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