Category: Healdsburg

Spoke Folk

This past Saturday, I loaded my bike into the car and drove down to Spoke Folk Bike Shop in Healdsburg for a tune-up. A young woman named Kimberly welcomed me in from her place behind the counter. We discussed details of the tune-up package, she estimated the cost, and we scheduled a pickup time for Tuesday afternoon.

Lately I’ve been padding extra time around appointments to allow more time for sketching. So with the afternoon clear, I set up a folding chair across the street to study the building’s domed, corrugated-steel roof. Pulling out my sketchpad, I draw its overall structure, and then dive in with paint. In reality, the building is beige and forest green, but I chose to liven up the colors with orange-yellow for the sunlit areas and purple for the shadows.

Back at the bike shop Tuesday afternoon, I paid and happily wheeled my bike out the door. Another customer just outside commented “nice vintage bike.” I thanked him, but thought “vintage?” It’s hard to believe, but it’s been twenty years since I bought my Cannondale mountain bike. At the time of purchase, I was planning a ride in the Tour de San Francisco, a challenging and hilly 24 mile race through Golden Gate Park that wound its way up the Pacific coast to Chrissy Field, just south of the Golden Gate Bridge. I participated in the race for two years in a row and it’s one of the most beautiful rides around.

Outside the bike shop, I admired how clean the Cannondale was now, especially when compared to the way it looked in my garage just a few days ago. Stepping my right foot onto the pedal and pushing myself up, I coasted down the street. It felt great to be back on my bike, just like old times. Making my way through the downtown area, I felt the bike humming along with me. What a smooth and invigorating ride!

Now, after having gotten reacquainted with my rusty bicycling muscles, I realize it’s time to get back into shape. I’m looking forward to riding through this picturesque Sonoma County wine country, discovering it up close, and sketching it along the way.

 

The Bicycle in the Garage

Recently I read an article in Bicycle Magazine listing Healdsburg as one of the U.S.’s six best places for a bicycling vacation. That’s great news. So why do I only explore this beautiful area by car? How much am I overlooking while driving at 45 miles per hour from Point A to Point B instead of discovering the undiscovered along the way? At that speed, I must be missing out on so much cool stuff to sketch. Something’s gotta change.

The truth is, I haven’t ridden my bike in years. It currently hangs where it’s been for as long as I can remember, on my garage wall collecting dust. It’s surrounded by a variety of items: partially inflated soccer balls, a dented croquet set, various brooms, a rusty space heater, and boxes full of, well, I don’t know what. Even the old toy robot that scared the crap out of me at four years old is among the clutter . . . somewhere.

My dad likes to tell the story of him giving me the toy. He set it down, flipped its switch on, and “The Ugly One” as we called it, lit up and began making mechanical grinding sounds as it marched toward me. Then the top of it whirled around (like Linda Blair in The Exorcist) while guns shot out of its chest (not like The Exorcist). I ran screaming from the room, “Turn it off, turn it off!” Fortunately, over the years I’ve come to terms with my fear of the little metal monster. It gets the garage, I get the house. It works out nicely for both of us. But I wonder if The Ugly One will let me have my bike back.

Flamingo Amigos

Walking back from a recent Charlie Musselwhite concert in the Plaza, I noticed two plastic flamingos placed in an empty lot. The lot is on the site of the old Healdsburg’s post office that burned down in August of last year. The birds’ metal legs had been firmly stuck into the ground, and their heads faced a television propped up on a chair. The oddball set-up brought a smile and I reached for my sketchbook to capture the moment. I admit using some artistic license in my drawing by adding rabbit ears to the small box sitting on top of the TV. While sketching, I wondered what the flamingos were watching on TV. The first thing that came to mind was the classic 1946 movie “The Postman Always Rings Twice.”

Juicy Wild Blackberries

A few weeks ago, after I posted a watercolor of wild blackberries, several people recommended creating another painting using the juice of the berries. I liked the idea, so this morning while my wife and I were out picking wild blackberries for a cobbler, I created a sketch using berry juice as paint.

I sketched the blackberries in pencil, then ink, until I got a drawing I liked. Then I crushed a few berries, watching their vivid, rose-colored juice collect in the corner of a small, flat-bottomed container. The berries gave off a sweet fragrance and I imagined how great that cobbler was going to taste.

After selecting an old brush to guard against damaging my good sable brushes, I began to paint. Dipping my brush into the juice, I applied the first layer and watched as it soaked into the paper and turned a grayish purple color. But when I applied additional layers, the juice kept its beautiful pink color. The final painting looked deceptively like two different colors. I have no idea how long the pigment will last without fading, but with a scan or photograph, I’ll be able to enjoy the colors forever.

With the painting complete, we headed home to make cobbler.

We didn’t realize how many berries we’d picked and were surprised to measure out 10 full cups. We created two cobblers, enough to share with friends. I sketched the cobbler right out of the oven because I had a feeling it wouldn’t last. I was right.

The recipe I used can be found on Jean’s wonderful recipe blog Delightfulrepast.com.

Picking Wild Blackberries

With a bag over my shoulder and a sketchbook in hand, I walk down the fire road near my house to a hidden blackberry bush bursting with ripe fruit. After a long week of working indoors, it feels good to get outside and breathe in the fresh air. Even with this summer’s strangely cool weather (10 degrees below normal), blackberries are in abundance and tastier than ever. As I face the bush, a shapeless mass of green, a sweet aroma lures me closer.

Today I plan to paint the blackberries before filling up my container with fruit. I walk around the bush looking for a good place to draw, and find a good spot under a shade tree. I reach for my paints and study the berries in their various stages of ripeness, colors ranging from inky black to brilliant red, glowing in the afternoon sun. A couple of bees check out what’s up, but soon buzz off to more important matters.

While letting the watercolor dry, I pull a bowl from my bag and pick the ripe fruit, berry by berry. Pigment from the juice stains my fingers as I loosen each piece of fruit. Carefully, I try to avoid the bush’s sharp thorns but inevitably one will poke me, reminding me of the pain that often accompanies life’s pleasures and keeps the easily intimidated away. I eat some berries right off the bush, enjoying each one’s distinctive taste. Some are soft and sweet, and others are firm and tart. But what I love most is the inviting fragrance that smells like a sweet perfume.

Returning home with battle scars of pokes and scrapes, along with a bowl full of blackberries, I imagine how good they’ll taste topping off homemade ice cream and tomorrow morning’s breakfast cereal.

Healdsburg’s Water Carnival

A couple of months ago, I was invited to include my watercolor sketch of Healdsburg’s Memorial Bridge in the Healdsburg’s Museum’s exhibit, “Russian River Good Old Days.” At first I was reluctant to tear it out of my spiral bound sketchbook, but the opportunity was too good to pass up.

I drove downtown to the museum with the framed watercolor in hand and met with the curator of the show, Holly Hoods. After I gave her my painting and signed all the necessary documentation, she showed me around the exhibit. One of the more striking images I saw was a photo of a huge swan boat floating underneath Memorial Bridge. Holly explained that the photo was of a water carnival that happened here in 1908, and that this summer, the City of Healdsburg was reviving the carnival at Memorial Beach, swan and all.

Fast forward to this past weekend, the Water Carnival of 2011 took place at Memorial Beach. I arrived with friends and family, all with picnic baskets in hand, and set up on the beach. While awaiting the start of the float parade, I sketched the bridge and the surrounding area of plants, trees and people. Then the crowded beach erupted in cheers as the floats came into view, and I filled in the swan as it made its way down the Russian River just like in the old photo.

Jazz in the Afternoon

It was a hot summer day in Healdsburg when my wife Marilyn and I walked over to Affronti for brunch. This semi-hidden restaurant is located down a long corridor beside La Crema Winery’s tasting room, just south of the Plaza. Today the Christian Foley Jazz Duo was scheduled to perform and I’ve wanted to hear them play for some time.

When we arrived, the band was setting up in the corner and Marilyn went over to say hello to her friend Roz, whose husband Todd Smith plays bass in the duo. Together, the three of us sat down at a table and ordered some food. While sipping iced tea to keep cool, I pulled out my sketch pad and drew the musicians as they launched into an exclusive Pat Metheny set starting with the song, “Spring Ain’t Here.”

Christian Foley played acoustic and electric guitars, and used pedals to change the guitar’s sound to mimic a steel drum and other instruments. During a break between sets, I asked Todd about his unusual looking bass. He described it as an electric, fretless, six string bass. It’s tuned like a four-string bass with an additional low “B” string and a high “C” string. The guitar was custom made by well known local guitar maker Michael Dolan.

Once Todd and I finished talking, the food arrived. Mine was a sandwich of thinly sliced tri-tip on panini bread with roasted red bell peppers, gorgonzola, and caramelized onion. On the side were some pickled vegetables and a variety of green olives ranging from large to almost pea sized. It was delicious.

For the rest of the afternoon, I relaxed into the music. The sound reminded me of a watercolor painting with washes of shimmering hues accented by bold, improvisational strokes of color. I enjoyed the spareness of the duo’s music and appreciated their reinterpretation of the layered sound found on Metheny’s studio albums.

 

Goodbye, Guinness Glass

After eleven years, I finally said goodbye to my last Guinness glass.

It all started twelve years ago when Marilyn and I went on our honeymoon to Ireland. Each day we wove our way across the gorgeous countryside, and at nightfall retired to the local pub for supper. Lamb stew and shepherd’s pie stuffed with root vegetables were always good choices from the menu. Irish session music kept our feet tapping while we sipped cold Guinness from the pull tap, or Extra Cold Guinness, as they call it these days. With the music-a-swingin’, beers-a-pourin’, and our hands-a-holdin’, it would have been hard not to fall in love all over again.

Admittedly, I didn’t purchase my Guinness glass while in Ireland. I never imagined it would survive being tossed around a suitcase during the long journey home. But as luck would have it, on our first Christmas together as newlyweds, Marilyn surprised me with a set of four glasses shipped specially from Ireland, and I’ve used them ever since.

But even when handled with care, glass can break, and each of my beer glasses broke one by one over the years. The last remaining glass, which outlasted the others by four years, slipped out of my hand while washing last night, chipping the edge and splitting the glass down the side.

I knew my last bottle of Guinness was sadly alone in the fridge. How would it react to the news? Not wanting to disappoint, I decided to use the chipped glass one last time. I popped open the bottle and poured it into the glass. After enjoying a sip of creamy foam, I pulled out my watercolors and immortalized the glass in my sketchbook while my Extra Cold Guinness melted to room temperature. Okay, I admit it. I sipped my subject as I painted. But the beer was warm by the time I got to the bottom.

Drinking a glass of Guinness always brings me back to Dick Mack’s pub in Ireland were I heard the best session music ever. Outside the pub there is a sign that reads: “Where’s Dick Mack’s? Opposite the church. Where’s the church? Opposite Dick Mack’s.”