Over the past few months, I have been working behind the scenes to revamp and refresh The Bloom by keeping up with social media trends, adapting to what you enjoy reading, and staying connected to our local community. I am committed to learning more about what you like most about The Bloom. And here is what I have learned so far:
Every fall, I am reminded of one of the many reasons I love calling Northern California home. No, it’s not just the falling leaves, the bounty that effortlessly comes from a garden, or the temptation to bake seasonal favorites, to sip a warm drink after coffee, and to reclaim stored-away cozy blankets. As much as I look forward to all of these things, I enjoy one even more: Camping!
Have I ever told you about my family dog, Jasper? We got him through a rescue agency when he was one year old. That was thirteen years ago. He’s put up with a lot over the years, including the addition of a stray kitten my son adopted, oh, about eight years ago. Now, I am not exactly a cat person; I am definitely more of a dog person. But when I saw my son taming a feral kitten day after day through winter, wooing her with bacon and cheddar cheese despite the wind, rain, and snowstorms, he won me over.
Before A.I. became a part of our daily lives, I had several people share their thoughts about it and how I should and should not use it in The Bloom. One person even told me that if I didn’t incorporate it, The Bloom would die and be left behind, like when print went digital. I’m happy to say that’s not the case after all. Whew, that was a close one! But in all seriousness, I want to share some of my personal thoughts and experiences with AI.
There is a lone swing on the top of a hill perched on tufts of brown grass. The bag said, “grass seeds that grow in any soil.” But it has been proven wrong. No, grass does not grow in this volcanic soil; it is not like grapevines, fir, oak, and pine trees. My toes push against the puffs of dry dirt beneath the old, frayed swing. Back and forth, back and forth, the swing creaks. There is no other place I’d rather be right now because this is the golden hour, and I have a bird’s-eye view. Set in treetops on a mountainside high above my driveway and even further above the road, is a place I call home.
Let’s step back a few decades, when some of us experienced Sunday drives. Maybe the drive starts after church or brunch, when the afternoon is still long, the sunshine bright, gas is cheap, everyone is all dressed up too nice to just stay home, and the open road is calling. Ok, am I getting too cliché? Next thing you’ll read is me talking about Dad and Junior’s hair slicked back with pomade, windows rolled down, Dad smoking a Marlboro Red, while Mom sits so prim and proper in her petticoat dress. No, that’s not the picture I am trying to paint here.
It was a bittersweet day when I first discovered Delicias Alvarez in Clearlake, learning mid-bite of some wonderful seafood that the restaurant would temporarily close. But now, it has reopened, and I’m thrilled to return! On a scorching summer day, I crave something refreshing, and their aguachile mango con habañero hits the spot.
The further out of town we go, the calmer the driving gets and the less erratic it feels. I follow my daughter’s car as we finally make it back onto Highway 4, the same highway we were on only a few hours ago when leaving Frog Legs Restaurant and Bar. Once we hit I-5, all of this will be well behind us. I sigh and feel myself start to let down. And then the least expected thing happens: a car trying to pass a slow vehicle is in our lane, coming straight at my daughter.
This isn’t the road trip story I was planning on telling you. But it is what’s most on my mind today. It all starts on a bright July Sunday morning when I leave Lake County to visit my daughter, who lives in Sonora, California. First stop, Frog Legs.
Okay, okay, okay; it may not be the name of the restaurant, but it’s what I call this biker bar and restaurant because it is the only place I know of that has frog legs on its menu.
Life is an exciting journey brimming with the vibrant colors of our treasured memories, and the adventures that await us in Lake County are boundless. As we embrace the stunning beauty around us, we can confidently uncover those unique gems that uplift our spirits and bring joy to our lives. Some of these include the enduring thrill of classic films, the invaluable resources of our local libraries, and the remarkable diversity of nature flourishing in Lake County. With engaging events like Movies in the Park and the lovely wildflowers enhancing our landscapes, there’s so much to celebrate. Let’s unite and discover the incredible wonders that make our community truly shine!
This year, The Bloom turns nine, and I find myself reflecting on the journey. From pouring wine at Six Sigma Winery to becoming a writer, I never imagined this path. The Bloom has faced challenges, but thanks to you, our readers and donors, we’ve persevered. Your support has kept us afloat during tough times, and I want to express my gratitude. I’m excited to invite one lucky monthly donor to an Italian dinner on Cobb Mountain as a thank-you. Join us in celebrating our community, and remember, you are the backbone of The Bloom, keeping our stories free for everyone. And if you aren’t a donor, it’s not too late to start and get a chance to be invited!
One of my fondest summer memories is boating on Puget Sound in Washington State. At least once every summer, we’d all pile into Grandpa’s boat and drive across the bay for ice cream. And it’s not that the frozen ice cream treats were anything you couldn’t find at a local gas station; it’s the fact that you got to the store by boat, which makes anything you eat taste that much more special. In Lake County, we can get a whole lot more than just ice cream by boat!
Normally, I, like so many Americans, stock up on fixings and sides for hamburgers and hot dogs. And boy oh boy, can we make them right at our house. We are the king of smash burgers and find the finest hot dogs money can buy. But I have found a new love for this year’s 4th of July. This year, I will trade out burgers and dogs for kabobs. Why kabobs? Allow me to explain my new love for this versatile dish.
Where once stood a kitchen, only an old stove remains. It lays on the ground, flopped on its side, once-white enamel slowly rusting to grey-brown. Sheet metal and tin scatter across the grounds, holding back the scotch broom and blackberry bushes. Bedsprings jauntily poke out of the creekbed, sagged and twisted. Among the debris, a thick piece of handblown glass dating from the turn of the 20th century sits, only a small slice of what once was a gallon jug. The winter sun barely pokes through the hazy sky. It doesn’t look like the map Steve Prather had scribbled on the bottom of a 24 pack of 7-Up a week earlier. His map had squares on it, marking houses and the location of the spring. I look at the torn piece of cardboard in my hand one more time, then look up. There’s nothing here.
Lighthouse lovers will already be familiar with Point Reyes Lighthouse, as it is rather well known and well written about. Just do a Google search and see for yourself. But that isn’t what draws me for a drive to the lighthouse today.
Have you ever driven two hours just for a cup of coffee because it’s worth the drive? I have. It was about that time in January when cozy winter days begin to lose their luster, and one gets the itch for adventure. Why not drive for my morning cup of coffee? I did, and I got the best damn cappuccino I have yet tasted. It tasted so good that I treated myself to a second. But that was in January, and now spring has sprung, road trips resume, and that stop for coffee is all in a day’s adventure when I roll into the town of Tomales on Highway 1.
Well, it’s that time of year again when Memorial Day weekend rolls around and announces the official start of summer. Come Sunday, we will treat it like a second Saturday and be so bold as to stay up later than usual and drink that extra beer we would typically save for the returning weekend. It’s a strange holiday; we celebrate a three-day weekend while remembering those who gave their all. For me, there usually comes just a twinge of guilt mid-revelry because I do remember and know well enough the reason for this three-day weekend, leaving me feeling just a bit confused. But damn, that beer tatstes good, am I right?
Now, I have been to a tea party a time or two in my life. I have had some in my own home when my kids were young, for small celebrations and sometimes just for fun. I have enjoyed high tea at the impressive Empress Hotel in Victoria, B.C., which sets the standards for everything a high tea should be. I’ve had afternoon tea in Western Washington, Sonora, CA, and a Mother’s Day tea in Lakeport. And every tea experience has been unique and set apart, except, of course, for the cucumber sandwiches. But one thing always remains the same: for that dining experience, there is a return to innocence on some level, and the world is set right again with the first sip of hot tea, with one or two lumps of sugar.
It’s a Sunday afternoon when the spring air is filled with perfume, and blossoms are carried by the wind–a delight. It’s the perfect day to drive with the windows down and to fully immerse yourself in spring wonder. Whether you’re coming or going from a hike at Anderson Marsh, gliding through the peaceful waters of Cache Creek in the morning on a kayak, wine tasting at scenic Wild Diamond Vineyard, or experiencing the quiet escape of Six Sigma Ranch and Winery, it’s always a good idea to begin or end one’s day at the Old Mill Restaurant on Main Street in Lower Lake.
Sometime in mid-February, I received a kind email:
Hello…we would like to invite you to the Fire Sirens Thrift Store. We are located on Hwy 175 next to the Middletown Fire Station. Fire Sirens have been raising money for the South Lake County Fire Dept for over 40 years. All money raised is used by the dept to purchase life-saving equipment.
Many items at the Gibson Museum deserve a closer look, but it’s the display case of the 2015 Valley Fire that makes me stop for longer than a moment. Reading the details of the fire, such as the date it started, how many lives were lost, and all the other facts, isn’t really what causes me to pause, because those are all things easily found with a Google search. It is the firefighters’ paraphernalia and the charred hutch tastefully filled with small odds and ends that once belonged to someone’s home, now finding their place in the greater story.
Sometimes it just happens; you find magic when you aren’t looking for it. And isn’t it fun when it’s food? “Our beans are vegetarian, but you would never know,” says Janet of Gaytan’s Family Market & Taquería. My eyes raise in a smile while I Mmmmm in delight. Rich, creamy, smooth in texture… Suddenly, I can’t stop eating them. “I told you you would never know they are vegetarian,” Janet smiles.
Easter is a strange holiday to me because I was raised a Seventh-day Adventist and was taught that, even though Christ did, in fact, rise from the grave on Sunday, Sunday was still not the day of the week to worship. So Saturday was the day for the Easter service, and quite often the talk was about why we should place more significance on the holiday while saving the egg hunt for Sunday. But Sunday was my family’s yard project/work day, and no, the Easter Bunny did not exist in my childhood home.
Perhaps one of the things that draws us to museums is that each one is, in a way, a time capsule of its own, and no two are exactly the same, even when they are in the same county. Each region and area has a unique story to tell about its people, culture, and geology.
I recently read that the Denny’s restaurant chain is closing 150 locations. Of course, that got me thinking not only about the classic diner chain but all the others like it, such as Shari’s, IHOP, and Black Bear Diner, that my parents were so loyal to when we were on road trips in my childhood. There is a comfort in chain restaurants; in general, you know exactly what you are going to get. I haven’t patronized any of those chains in decades, and it’s really no great loss in my mind other than the memories, because Lake County offers its fair share of quality diner experiences. Can I get an amen?
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