The World's 10 Most Magnificent Trees

Our Tree that Owns Itself didn't make the world's ten most magnificent trees list, but it did get on the bonus list. And what incredible trees these are - a cutting started in 288 BC from the original fig tree under which the Buddha became enlightened in the 6th century and which may take a total of 3000 years to be fully grown, the Methuselah tree documented to be 4,838 years old, Utah's quaking aspen with a colony covering 107 acres, an 80,000 year old organism! This could be a destination list were it not that the location of some of the trees is not given for their own security. Seems that a scientist cut down another 5000 year old Methuselah tree just to determine its age, and a drunk Libyan driver mowed down the Tenere tree, a sole desert survivor when the Saharan desert dried up.

Patty and I stopped by the Monterrey Lone Cypress in 1977 when she was a cold war warrior.


She's probably reading this and thinking, "I was that skinny once?!"


Sixteen years later, in 1993, a buddy and I went cross country skiing into the sequoias looking for the General Sherman tree, the world's largest tree at 6000 pounds and 220 years old.


Jonathan was dwarfed next to the roots of one of these big guys fallen over.


We had to leave the trail to find the General and at one point Jonathan stopped in a mountain meadow to have his picture taken. As I was putting my camera away, I glanced up to see Jonathan taking off his skiis.


"No-o-o-o, Jonathan, don't take off your skis, you'll... I yelled, just as he sank almost up to his waist. I knew this would happen in deep meadow snow from my own experience sinking a snowmobile at night in the Rockies.

I pulled him out and we skied on, naturally being lost for a while, wondering if those large paw tracks were bear, and finally found the tree named after the general who made Georgia "howl" and then wired Lincoln, "I beg to present you as a Christmas gift the city of Savannah".


Two down, eight to go.

The Tree That Owns Itself

Notwithstanding the heat of an Athens afternoon, our hostess, Jane, was willing to take some cousins to check out the historic houses built during the 1800's. We walked down Dearing Street trying to figure out the Federal, Victorian, Greek Revival, and Italiante style houses, many of them dragged up the hill to Dearing in lieu of tearing them down when the more commercial areas were developed. Good for them! Athens was off the path of Sherman's scorched earth trek to the sea, no reason to have them then succumb to capitalism. I won't bore the reader with photos of the houses - Lord knows I have enough of those from Savannah - as a more famous sight lies at the end of the street where the cobblestones of Finley meet Deering, the tree that owns itself.


It seems this Athenian guy, Colonel William Jackson, deeded the white oak tree to itself in 1832 when he sold off the rest of the property.

For and in consideration of the great love I bear this tree and the great desire I have for its protection for all time, I convey entire possession of itself and all land within eight feet of the tree on all sides.

Don't you wonder what happened here that the Colonel loved the tree this much, maybe something romantic, or was he just peculiar?

The original tree was already at least a century old when it was deeded, growing before any of these houses were built, and in 1942 the tree died from old age, maybe helped along by a storm. The town planted an offspring grown from one of its acorns, cares and advocates for it, and doesn't collect any property taxes. The big guy is listed on the National Register of Historic Places, has his own Facebook page, YouTube video, and book by the same title.

We like quirky towns.

Cousins (Re)united!

I'm not much of a Facebooker but I have to admit it played a role in bringing the Nute cousins and childhood playmates to Athens, Georgia last weekend for the first gathering in about fifty years. Those were different times, when TV was black and white if you had one, families gathered on Sundays, and the kids played outdoors until after dark. Back then, we lived in rural and small town Ohio and Kentucky. Family counted on family, but these days we have scattered across the country, raised our families, had our careers.

Those of us gathering in Georgia were grandchildren of Raymond and Alice, both bluebloods from New England tracing their ancestry back to the Mayflower in 1620 and the Dover Colony in 1631, all spending their lives in New England until Raymond graduated from the Massachusetts Institute of Technology and the couple left for the Kentucky in about 1918 with my father in tow.


They had five children, one died in infancy, and the remaining four were our parents - Raymond Jr., Jeannette, Donald, and Barbara.

The siblings grew up in Valley Station, Kentucky, a very rural area of Kentucky. The life of a farmer and agricultural agent seemed to suit our grandfather well, but looking at my grandmother's scrapbooks and finery in photos I've wondered whether she didn't miss the society of Fall River, Massachusetts.

Raymond and Alice moved to Lewis County, Kentucky, in the late 1930's, and after the war Raymond, Jr., and Donald returned here, Barbara lived in northern Kentucky, and Jeannette married and settled in northern Ohio. The family of cousins was young, but growing.


Here in this photo, left to right, my brother Ray III, me, and our cousins George and Donald (sons of Jeannette), are already budding around. It was one of these times I put a bush berry up my nose, still a memorable event and probably my brother's idea.

Our father moved the family to northern Ohio close to Jeannette's family in 1950 when Kentucky didn't offer enough post-war job opportunities, but we had frequent family visits to Kentucky. Once the cousins left for colleges we all seemed to lose touch. I was the first to go away in 1960, age 16 - which seemed so old at the time.

Fast forward fifty years, we have reconnected and gathered at the home of Jane and Don Nute, named after his father, and not to be confused with Donald Vasbinder, whose mother Jeannette named him after her brother. It is also home to The Lake Town and Shire Garden Railroad, an amazing Lord of the Rings landscaped and railed back yard that was a hit with all of us, grown ups and kids alike.










Of the four original siblings - Raymond, Jeannette, Donald, and Barbara, only one is still living - Jeannette at age 89 and still sharp and quick at the wit as the family are wont to be. Our mother, Ramona, age 96, who had been married to Raymond was there. Both matriarchs came for the cousins' reunion.

Each of the four siblings had representative offspring - all four of Raymond's kids, including Patty and me, two of Jeannette's three children, one of Donald's two children, and Barbara's only child. And these offspring brought offspring who had more offspring. Cousins were coming out of the woodwork!

Grandchildren of Raymond and Alice, minus two - Alice Jane, daughter of Donald, and George, son of Jeannette:



Children of Raymond, including PatandKathie, in a rare total sibling photo as we are scattered from East to West Coast and in between.


We had an entire day of becoming reacquainted, letting the next two generations get to know each other, soaking in the southern hospitality of Don and Jane, and making plans for next year's gathering -- Alice Jane and George mark your books! We're going to Maryland, heart of the East Coast Civil War battles!

Rest in Peace, Bopeep.

Fierce warrior princess, prize biscuit maker, Kelly's first kitty, sweet snuggly girl.

We'll miss you forever.

Bopeep, 1996? - 2010

On Foot in San Diego: Rancho Santa Maria de los Pensquitos

My project to locate and walk the thirty San Diego ranchos listed in my Ranchos of San Diego County book is moving slowly. My friend, Pat, said she was tired of opening up the blog and seeing Kathy and Louis’ garden, so it’s time to get some writing done again.

I have walked Rancho Santa Maria de los Penasquitos just a couple miles south of my house many times since coming to San Diego, but I had to check it out again this week after the Union Tribune reported the Easter Sunday earthquake caused the artesian well to more than double its output. More on that later.

The canyon preserve is an idyllic six mile walk end to end through one of the largest urban parks in the US, about 4000 acres in all.


I have walked here with coyotes in early morning, watched the hawks on the hillside, given wide berth to snakes. When I first started walking the canyon twenty years ago, I could feel completely away from civilization. These days housing developments have been allowed on the ridge line.


A stream flows east to west across the canyon, crossing midway through rock cliffs (Penasquitos means "little cliffs") with a substantial waterfall in springtime.


I wasn't able to climb around for a picture of the falls, but there were other points of interest in my viewfinder.


You're walking a lot of history across this beautiful little canyon. The eastern part of the canyon was part of the first San Diego land grant, made by the governor of Mexico to the comandante of the Presidio, Captain Francisco Maria Ruiz, in 1823, one league in all (4439 acres), now the burg of Rancho Penasquitos. Before the Captain's grant, the land was used by the Mission padres for sheepfarming and orchards, and before them by Kumeyaay Indians going back 7000 years. Captain Ruiz asked for additional land and in 1834 he was given another league that extends westward almost to the I-5 and is most of our canyon.

The Captain was already in his 60's when he got this original land grant. He had a house in Old Town near the Presidio, but built a one room adobe house on the eastern end of the preserve for his visits to the ranch. When he died in 1839, the bachelor Captain passed the rancho to his grandnephew, Francisco Maria Alvarado, who lived both in Old Town and at the rancho with his family.

Francisco gave all his land to his son, Diego, who took over ranch operations in 1857 and built his house and ranch buildings at the western end of the canyon. Some ruins still stand but are enclosed by chain link making a good photo impossible. When I can resurrect one of my photos of the ruins from 20 years ago I will post as an addendum.

Francisco's beautiful daughter and Diego's sister, Estafana, married George Alonzo Johnson, a gringo from New York City. Read here for a fascinating personal account of Mr. Johnson's adventures before he met Estafana. After marrying Estafana, the couple bought property from Diego in the eastern end of the canyon to build their adobe, a wonderful house with veranda facing west across the canyon. What a view! Too bad the inheritance practices in those days gave all the land to the male heir, and Estafana had to buy her father's land back from Diego.

Three walls of the original adobe were incorporated into the new house, and the Johnson-Alvarado is the one standing today.


The front porch,


and back veranda facing the sunset.


Other history lives here in the canyon. The main road from Old Town San Diego to Yuma went through the canyon in the early to mid-1800's. In mid-December 1846 the 300 Army of the West soldiers surviving the Battle of San Pasqual were led through the canyon by General Kearny on their way to San Diego. Our guy, Mr. Johnson, fell on some hard financial times and the canyon was bought in 1880 by Colonel Jacob Shell Taylor, founder of Del Mar, who was going to sell it as subdivisions for development! Lucky for us, the bust of the late 1880's when the transcontinental rail failed to materialize for San Diego squashed that plan and the canyon continued as a working ranch for many decades, as late as the 1960's.

Back to the reason for this week's trek to the canyon, the artesian well just to the side of the Johnson-Alvarado adobe, inside this shelter.


The day after the Mexacali earthquake last month, water volume doubled from the well, likely from new fractures in the rock mass just below the ground.


A few more earthquakes like that and I could have my own personal hot springs right here in Del Mar.

On Foot in San Diego: Louie and Kathi's Hidden Garden

Ocean Beach is a great place to take out of town guests, and last weekend with Jennifer and grandbaby Isabella visiting we all went down to check out the pier, Hodad's, and a spot I heard about on Noah Tofolla's KPBS Wonderland show - Louie and Kathi's Hidden Garden.

Louie and Kathi Williams bought this little place a few years ago, leveled the front and back yards and created gardens to rival those of Majorelle and the Encinitas Meditation Gardens. Where Jardin Majorelle has the elegance and sophistication of Yves St. Laurent and the Meditation gardens the serenity of the yogi, the Hidden Gardens are like comfort food. The xeriscaped front yard is whimsical and just a taste of what is to come.




So tempting for little fingers -


A sign directs visitors down a walk to the back yard,


to the Hidden Garden and a whole world of botanical and antiquey things opens up. Be prepared for a "wow!" moment.


This private garden is open and free to the public, although I did spot a little pot tucked into the garden where visitors were leaving donations.

There are little spots to sit and relax. The glass in the windows hung on the fence have been replaced with mirrors. Where do these guys get these ideas?


A second house sits in the back yard, hung with old things - Louie is a retired antiques dealer - and I think this is where Louie and Kathi live, and that a tenant lives in the front blue house. I imagined they get to peer out their windows and watch the visitors' delight.


A fantastical windmill, and the back of a garage has been hung with a faux door, window, house number and mailbox making it look like another little cottage.


Jennifer checked out a pretty healthy tomato plant. Mine are still sitting in their pots from the nursery.


More great stuff down this side yard,


artwork on the walls that reminds me of what Patty does inside her house. You never know what you'll find hanging on her walls when you visit, chairs, old dresses, even a tie from a young Turkish guy in Istanbul who closed up his rug shop and took us out for a night on the town. Don't ask how she got the tie, that's a story for another time. Yesterday she was painting the hanging light fixtures. Some brains are just different from the rest of us.


Fanciful surprises are tucked into the landscape.




a wee bird's nest resting on top of driftwood,



buried pots and pitchforks as art.


and my favorite, this metal bed and praying child.


Thank you Louie and Kathi for creating and sharing your Hidden Garden.


I'll be back. Now off to spiff up my own yard with new inspiration.

Dry Docked in La Jolla

I spotted these boats tumbling off the roof of the Museum of Contemporary Art in La Jolla this weekend. Isn't art great?


I'll have to check out the exhibits when I don't have along a 7 year old more interested in getting down to the ocean to see the seals, especially as I understand the building has a connection to an Irving Gill house built on the location in 1916.

At the same time, I'm going to have to check out why this mural on the adjoining building.


Looks like another outing coming up.

Who Needs Seasons?

One weekend you can be lost in the mountains of the Laguna,


the next walking the shore of La Jolla with seals in camouflage.

On Foot in San Diego: Secret Canyon Revisited or What a Difference a Day Makes

Five of the "six missing hikers" returned this weekend to Secret Canyon, entering from the end of the 16 mile hike we were unable to complete after becoming boxed in a canyon by rain swollen creeks. We were curious, all except our kick boxer Wayne who felt he didn't need this corrective emotional experience and opted to a game of tennis. Two of our rescuers, Chris and Jessie, sister and daughter of Linda, and Linda's dog, Harley, joined us. They needed a corrective emotional experience of their own after that night of worry and searching.

I won't bore the reader with the beauty of the area,


or the beauty of the sunny day.




We found the spot where we spent the night spooned to conserve body heat as the temperatures dipped into the low thirties soaked by intermittent downpours, straw pallet still on the ground, and hung out for about an hour.


We found the overgrown left fork in the trail that would have taken us above the creek, hidden by a pile of branches and grasses grown up from the recent rains.


We found the "swimming hole" landmark we had been searching for,


and hung out some more.



Chrissy Cekander, one of our black belt karate kicking sheriff rescuers.

As a special treat Kathleen pointed out some native miner's lettuce that kept the nineteenth century gold miners in this area from getting scurvy, a trick they likely learned from the Indians.


A newspaper from the miner's day would had said about this outing "a good time was had by all". All life's traumas should find closure this easily.