When I was a kid, I spent a couple of summers with my Dad in Central California in between the Central Valley and Yosemite National Park. It was rural California at its best. He and his girlfriend bought a plot of land in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada Mountains near a spot in the road called Cathay’s Valley. There, surrounded by dusty, rolling hills with the mountains in the backdrop, they threw their sweat, creativity and personality into building a little bungalow. I still dream of this house and all of those windows. I recall the shower in the greenhouse, the vegetarian dinners and doing dishes outside since there was no running water in the kitchen. When you entered the house, you were greeted by artwork he etched in the glass door (another etching is in the photo below). And, the smells--pine trees, native grasses, wild flowers mixed with the heat; the desert aroma I still love when I visit out West.
It was central California during a major drought. There was a water well on the property where we would go and watch the drops trickle into the tank. The lack of moisture didn't stop him from gardening though. It was in his blood--perhaps his green thumb was courtesy of his upbringing in the bush of Kenya but who knows. He always had a lush garden—complete with some of his favorite flowers (oh the bougainvillea) and lots of good veggies. Located right off the rock terrace, it was a tiered, organized garden, with steps and paths--perfect for a kid to get lost in. One of my most vivid memories was of watering the garden—we would fill up coffee cans---with holes poked in the bottom--that they had placed in the ground in every section of the garden. This was a more efficient use of water to get to the roots faster. The drought forced them to look at water as a precious resource; that was over 35 years ago.
While my Dad might not have always been around when I was a kid, the way he lived his life influenced mine. In fact, those coffee cans got me thinking about what we are doing today to be better stewards of the earth. To look at our resources like they are scarce, limited, because they are. Whether it’s with water, oil or food —how are we really acting on ways to save the precious resources, not just tweeting about it. Sometimes it just starts with something as simple as a coffee can.
Anyway, this is my Father’s Day tribute. Thanks, John, for always giving me stories to tell and for building that magical little house.
Mariposa Tulip
It was central California during a major drought. There was a water well on the property where we would go and watch the drops trickle into the tank. The lack of moisture didn't stop him from gardening though. It was in his blood--perhaps his green thumb was courtesy of his upbringing in the bush of Kenya but who knows. He always had a lush garden—complete with some of his favorite flowers (oh the bougainvillea) and lots of good veggies. Located right off the rock terrace, it was a tiered, organized garden, with steps and paths--perfect for a kid to get lost in. One of my most vivid memories was of watering the garden—we would fill up coffee cans---with holes poked in the bottom--that they had placed in the ground in every section of the garden. This was a more efficient use of water to get to the roots faster. The drought forced them to look at water as a precious resource; that was over 35 years ago.
While my Dad might not have always been around when I was a kid, the way he lived his life influenced mine. In fact, those coffee cans got me thinking about what we are doing today to be better stewards of the earth. To look at our resources like they are scarce, limited, because they are. Whether it’s with water, oil or food —how are we really acting on ways to save the precious resources, not just tweeting about it. Sometimes it just starts with something as simple as a coffee can.
Anyway, this is my Father’s Day tribute. Thanks, John, for always giving me stories to tell and for building that magical little house.
Mariposa Tulip
I feel honored to be invited into your personal thoughts!
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