California, loving Lodi

So, here is Lodi, CA., in the vineyards of the Central Valley, a few miles from Sacramento, east of San Francisco, where our grandfather made his name as a tenor, survived the 1906 earthquake, and left on tour to find our grandmother and settle in the NY countryside, where we were raised by their daughter Dorothy. My brother David took the family name back there as a college student, found his beloved Beth, the daughter of the couple that established this vineyard, and started a woodworking business with his partner Stephan. He built this house for Beth's mom, and when it got too big for her, they bought it for their family of two growing sons. All of what you see was created by their hands, their artistry, their beautiful sense of home.


Wake up each morning to the sound of the water gurgling in these fountains, the rooster crowing, the birds.

Beth loves all little critters (except groundhogs) and found this lovely little frog to show me.

Waiting their turn at one of the many, birdfeeders. All the critters taken good care of.

Willy (Mays) waiting for attention.




All things musical. Friends come and they make music, and the boys play the piano, Dave and Dash play the drums, there's an accordian there. Maybe Beth plays that.
Jude, the cat, wondering what i'm doing.




Dave made the chairs and the mirror. the table is a family antique.

Picking veggies for the visit to son Dash. Heirloom tomatoes to DIE for.


Annie, the rescued cat, who's working on some relationship issues.
At Dash's day job in Berkeley, somewhere in the background is the SF bay bridge. In the foreground is a happy family. Clayton was busy with Emilee putting together their save the wedding date video.
A barn owl in the sequoia

farm journal

The tumbling two-room schoolhouse across the drive where the little Mary Emma Woodruff, Rock's mom, went to school.
The farm. On Deerfield Pike in Deerfield, NJ. This will be ours in a few days, but we've been trekking down often since February, exploring the south 40 (actually 43.6 acres, in all compass points),talking to the farmers who rent and plant most of the fields, planting tree seedlings in the forest/swamp/stream/ orchard or hedgerows, thrashing down or pulling up brambles, cleaning out some of the old carriage house, storing things there, posting 'no hunting' signs and generally gauging our next steps. The rains before Irene pulled a fast one, and sent a surge of water through the stream bed, leaving white rocks and sand banks where only mud had been, and taking down the fox farm dam and bridge. It also took away many of our seedlings. Oh well.




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Now down the road, down the road, down the road you go to the Fox farm, and here's the charming view, including the tumbled bridge that separates the farmhouse from the fields. Old Mr. Fox passed on a year or so ago, a non-Norwegian bachelor farmer, who left his niece and nephew in charge of disposing of the 60+ acres, the lovely pond, the farmhouse and all the barns. We're thinking of making an offer. Listening, figuring things out.







Deerfield Presbyterian, down the road from Fox farm. Rock's parents were married here, and across the road in the graveyard they'll have their memorial stone.


We went up yesterday with our friend Steve. He looked over the Woodruff farmhouse and kindly let us know what repairs we should make; looked over the Fox farmhouse and laughed at how impossible it would be to repair that; took a look at the barely standing trunk in the backyard of our place and suggested pulling it down with the rope. So down the road, down the road, down the road we went to the Walmart's, bought rope, a (yikes -- DO NOT LET ROCK TOUCH IT UNLESS YOU HELP HIM) chainsaw and all the paraphanalia that takes and headed back.
And here's the visual saga, missing the mighty moment of downfall. I put the camera down and exchanged recording the event for living it. In one short tug the four of us (Mrs. Stanton, our tenant, her daughter Rhonda, Rock and Steve) brought it down. The animals were amused. Out came the chain saw. Steve, who's spent years clearing with chainsaw and tractor the woods of his own farm, carefully, watchfully, trained Rock. Out came the wheel barrows and in no time all traces gone.
Time to plant another tree.
Time to think about the joy the care, the wonders of what all this means,-- owning a farm!, --and time to appreciate this good, friend-filled life adventure, whatever it brings.
Blessings to all!
diane



You can see the Woodruff farm house in the background. We'll send pictures later of the fields and hedgerows. They look like fields and hedgerows on slightly rolling hills. Very lovely place.