2009 :: Surfeit of Passion: the Art and Life of Kathleen King

Stepping out my front door in Goleta I pointed myself west and started walking knowing I would come upon a path that led to the beach. The chaparral around the sleepy, windswept dune beaches of Goleta are a maze of dirt paths – and single track for mtbs! So if you keep your eye on the sun they will lead, one way or another, to the shore. As the paved options gave way to the brush I came upon this:

Rather unassuming invitation into the dry grass right?

Wrong. Atop the hill I found paradise.

Food glorious food! Glorious people growing their own food!

Where baby Chinese eggplants come from

Someone is doing something right.
It turned out to be the community garden for the families living in grad student housing at UCSB

A nice place to stop and ponder

Fuzzy squashes

I don’t know what these are but they are fantastic. They look like plastic space flowers but they are very real!

Potential

Some are just getting started, thank you

While others are beautifully organized

Gorgeous in every respect

“If I hold very still you won’t see me plotting to thieve upon the lovely lettuces.”

Hiding in the cool of the Kale

Hallowe’en around the corner!

Sweet peas anyone?

Hummingbirds abound

A seat in the shade of the vines. There are little grapes in there too.

Soaking up the sun

It was hard for me to not steal these – boysenberries, my favorite all time fruit and impossible to find in stores because they are too fragile to ship very far.

Again, don’t know what it is besides pretty

Fried green tomatoes?
We too can do this – yes we can!

This is the dream and The Solution…

…To the problem (all in the same shot – look closely above)

The path home. Another day, another blessing.
It gives one hope.
I’ll go to the beach tomorrow.

Mesa Verde – no, it’s not a painting

I rode until I found a cool breeze. At last. At last one of the heavy gray clouds had wrestled the sun’s grip off the McElmo Valley and bathed the hills and mesas in a gentle cloak of shade. The landscape softened revealing different colors and curves. The air was still warm as breath and dry but the brutal heat had broken. When the sun re-emerged it was as a golden lover with rays that glowed rather than burned. We had earned our right to stay in this valley another day. Paid for with sweat and salt stained skin, siestas, fans and spray bottles, pink foreheads and hiding our cars in the shade. Now the cliffs of Mesa Verde reflected a palette of rose and pink in a lavender sky.

With my tendency toward heat prostration anytime the mercury rises past 85 F I was sure this land would fry my brain like so much albumen on blacktop. But I loved every minute of it. I rode every day near sundown and instead of dying, the dry air seemed to sweat out every drop of venom that the unseen demons of stress had deposited in my blood stream. With each ride I grew lighter. And while the sun did test and menacingly remind me of my mortality (oops, my water bottle is almost empty…!) the colors of the valley walls, the souls of ancient Puebloans whispered healing prayers to me, songs of welcome. I had packed my troubles in my carry-on bag and smiled, but when I came back from my first ride here that bag was empty.

The eldest llama

When I left Cortez the rains were just beginning. The warm air held the sweet, dusky aroma of wet hay – a scent familiar from a handful of childhood summers a lifetime ago. I had been taken to wildflower-lined bike trails high in the hills, hiked through ancient ruins, dined on home cooked cuisine made from vegetables from my friend’s garden, watched stars shooting across the milky way every night, and delighted at the sight of every lizard, bird, prairie dog and insect. Sat, breathed in and out and listened to the wind blow.

Happy Trails

The energy of this majestic place would sparkle on my skin all the way home. Thank you Fiona and Steve, Joyce, Carol, Mark, Karen, Dan and Alan. Thank Mr. McElmo whoever you are!