Wild (Yeast) Man

One thing leads to another.  

I read an article in the NY Times about yeast wintering over in the bellies of bees.

Tom falls in love with a beer from Bell's called The Wild One.

The Wild One becomes hard to find.

They seldom brew it.  Why?

Because it's open fermented with wild yeast.

Wait.  What?  You can do that?

Where do you get this wild yeast?

Everywhere, it seems, in the summer.

(Thanks, bees!)

And so...

Tom is harvesting wild yeast from whatever sweet smelling places he can find.

Next: Wild Beer.

Of Egrets and Cattle

 Sometimes I become so enamored with the trees that I forget about the birds of Humboldt County.

The great egrets (above) are ubiquitous, as are the Stellar's jays, who refuse to pose for a picture, but don't have a problem stealing any food left hanging around.  A flock of maybe a dozen brown pelicans flew not more than ten feet over our heads one day.   We saw cormorants and sandpipers and greater yellow legs and a wood duck we weren't close enough to identify.  This really isn't birding season, but hey.

And look at this:  Cattle with their very own beach to graze on.

When life is, perhaps, challenging, it's good to contemplate these things.

I started reading a book on the fabric of the cosmos this week and fired one of my clients.

I'm not going to say all this is definitely related, but I will say maybe.

Moments Later

The oblivious hiker was devoured by the evil tree.

Mendocino County

Hwy. 1 from a cemetery.
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On Mattole Road

It's the no berry picking that hurts.
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The Petrolia Cemetery

Is a bit off the beaten path.
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Cemetery Hunting

Through a cow pasture.
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The Arcata Farmers Market

Can't be beat.
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Breakfast Guest

Encountered our first scorpion this morning while I was barefoot and making coffee. We put a cup over him and eventually Gene invited him to go outside.
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Above Deck

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Resting Days

Last night Jo and I left Gene sipping beer on the front porch and ran through the redwood grove pictured below. She was merciful and didn't kick my butt too badly. Even if she had, I wouldn't have minded. The experience ranks up there with watching the sun set on top of Mount LeConte. I asked one of Jo's house mates, a woman from San Mateo, how she liked living in the redwoods. She's not too fond of it. The nearest grocery store is 30 minutes away. Everyone dreams differently. Everyone wants something a bit far away. Jo is ready to start school again, but wouldn't mind running through these redwoods every summer for the rest of her days.
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Beaver Monk

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Evening in the Redwoods

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Little House in the Redwoods

Gene and I traveled up out of the fog and into Jo's little house in the redwoods, where we're camping out on her living room floor, next to a mousetrap covered in peanut butter. It was incredibly quiet when I woke up, still on Indiana time, save the chi chi chi of a disgruntled squirrel. But now the birds are beginning to chatter and I think the coffee has stopped brewing. We're all ready for the next. So.
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Golden Gate Fog

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At Nini's

In San Mateo
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August

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Of An Evening

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Summering Down

Summer is winding right on down.   I'm knee deep in tomatoes.  Yesterday I made soup.  Today it's salsa.  Tomorrow?  I'm waiting for inspiration. In January we'll remember fondly how tired we were of BLTs.

My friend Jesus Moya has started a new blog: The Readers List.  For the next 12 months he'll be reading (and writing about) only books his friends have recommended to him.  So check it out.  I still need to add something.   Hmm.

In a week I'll be heading to Northern California to visit the Redwoods and run through the forest with Ms. Jo.  I'll probably just see the back of her head far ahead of me, bobbing along.  So expect the usual turn-the-blog-into-a-travel-log routine.  I'll be posting from the BlackBerry.  Gads.  I had to say that.   Or put BlackBerry next to Gads, rather.  They're both kind of quaint.  Anyway, there will be pics and posts and whatnot. 

For now, though, it's back to the tomatoes.   What to do?  What to do?

The Heirlooms

Who needs tomatoes?
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