Category Archives: Around home

Going to the East Side, ah, 395, you know, the East side of the Sierras

US Highway 395 runs from the Canadian border, just north of Spokane, through Reno, into the LA Basin, where it gets lost in the freeway maze around San Bernardino. A big chunk of it, about 300 miles worth, running through the high desert along the eastern flank of the Sierras, is one of the most spectacular drives in the world. I drove across California to 395, a week or so ago, to get a couple of pictures of the Sierra monolith at sunrise. It is the first time, in over ten years, that I’ve gone somewhere to just take photographs. I had forgotten how much fun it was.

It is about a five-hour drive from our house to 395 via Tioga Pass, normally about half of the distance and one-third of the time is on freeways but I told the Hyundai’s trusty GPS – Miss Song? – to minimize freeways so it took me about eight hours, going over the Coast Range at Patterson Pass and through the Central Valley on back roads. I stopped at every place along the way that I’ve always said I would stop (but, always, at some other time). 

That had the added bonus of getting me to Siesta Lake just as the light was getting good. By the time I got to the Olmsted Point scenic turnout, the light was good with clouds hanging on the face of Cloud’s Rest. Olmsted Point is at 8300 and it was already cool but I hoped the sky would get better in the sunset so I decided to join the other photographers who were standing around waiting. The sky did get a little better but it got much colder and I kept getting into the car to warm up. 

Leaving Olmsted point after sunset, I drove east through Tuolumne Meadows in the failing light and then down to Eureka Vally in the dark. 

Eureka Valley is 37.9 miles east of Highway 395, towards Death Valley, on the Big Pine-Death Valley Road and I figured it would be a good place to throw down my bag and spend the night. It was. At about 3000 feet, Eureka Valley was a balmy 62° and I didn’t even have to zip up my bag. Still, it was the first time I’ve slept on the ground in about two years and it was not as easy as I had expected. Part of it was that my Therm-a-Rest had a slow leak and went flat during the night but the bigger problem was that I had driven into Eureka Valley, picked a place to sleep, and put my bag down, in the dark and I always find that a little disquieting. That was made up for, however by the incredible night sky. I was about as far from a large light source as I could get, a bizilon stars ran from horizon to horizon, and the milky way was bright enough to walk around by. I woke up about 5:17, eight minutes before my alarm and loaded the car. I stopped just as the road left the valley, turning from gravel to pavement – to use the word pavement in a very generous sense – and took a picture of the horizon as it started to get light. Forty-five minutes later, driving down into the Owens Valley, the Sierras were glowing in the morning sun.  

After sunrise, my plan was to drive into Bishop and get an old-fashioned breakfast with a couple of eggs over easy, bacon, and hash browns but the light was so fantastic that I decided to drive up to  Lake Sabrina at over 9,000 feet. The clouds that were so beguiling looking across the Owens Valley were now clouds cutting off the sunlight at Lake Sabrina where it was 34°. Every once in a while, the light would break through, lighting up the Aspens but 34° is cold and I got tired of waiting for the light to improve, I got back in the car, turned the heat up high, and drove a mile or so to North Lake where the light was a little better and the shores, incongruously, were full of Chinese women photographers (not shown).   

I ended the morning at South Lake which was beautiful but the sweet light was gone so I called it a day and headed home.

Baby Artichokes

Yesterday was Election Day here and, from my point of view, it was a mixed bag so I want to change the subject. Let’s talk about baby artichokes. A couple of weekends ago, one of our favorite Farmer’s Market vendors suggested we try his baby artichokes. We got a couple and steamed them. We let them cool, peeled off a couple of the hard outer leaves, bit in. Wow!, it was an unexpected delight, the bottom 3/4s of what is left is all editable and delicious. If you get a chance, check it out.   

A tree in memory and dying three times

We have a lovely dogwood in our backyard and while it seems young because it is so spindly, Michele got it eighteen years ago to memorize her father’s death. It blooms every year, reminding us, each spring, of Michele’s father, Kurt Heath. Kurt was born Kurt Hoenigsberg and he escaped Europe to the United States as Europe was falling into the Nazi abyss in 1939. Actually, the escaping started when his family escaped Romanian pogroms under Premier Ion Brătianu by moving to Germany, about the beginning of the last century. Then, as Hitler came into power, they escaped Germany to France. It was a time of fear and loss that I can’t even begin to imagine and it left Kurt a difficult man, especially for his three kids. Having a tree that blooms so brightly, even on cold overcast days, seems like a great way to remember him.  

I was listening to a radio program a week or so ago and the program was touting several short essays on death. The only one I remember was an essay – a paragraph, really – on how we really have three deaths, rather than only one. The first time we die is when our heart stops beating, we all know that one, it is the date and time on the Death Certificate. We die a second time when we are put in the ground. The third death, which takes place in the future, is the death that most moved me. The third death, the last death, takes place when our name is said for the last time. When nobody remembers us, when we have disappeared into the flow of history, then we have ceased to exist.