“I saw the linear flashes, gleaming silver, like stars being born at random down a rolling scroll of time.
Something broke and something opened. I filled up like a new wineskin.
I breathed an air like light; I saw a light like water.
I was the lip of a fountain the creek filled forever; I was ether, the leaf in the zephyr; I was flesh flake, feather, bone.”
"Light be it particle or wave, has force: you rig a giant sail and go. The secret of seeing is to sail on solar wind. Hone and spread your spirit till you yourself are a sail, whetted, translucent, broadside to the merest puff."
"Here is the word from a subatomic physicist: 'Everything that has already happened is particles, everything in the future is waves.'...The particles are broken; the waves are translucent, laving, roiling with beauty like sharks. The present is the wave that explodes over my head, flinging the air with particles at the height of its breathless unroll; it is the live water and light that bears from undisclosed sources the freshest news, renewed and renewing, world without end."
- Annie Dillard, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek
After starting Pilgrim at Tinker Creek awhile back, then putting it down for whatever reason about a third of the way in, I felt inspired to pick it back up again after finishing Canyon.
The timing worked out such that on Saturday morning, I read the above paragraph, the last in a chapter called The Present, with images of phosphorescent waves crashing down on Salmon Creek Beach the night before still fresh in my mind. This synchronicity making Ms. Dillard's words all the more powerful. The message, to treasure the present moment in all of its glory, has not gone lost on me.
Thanks to my neighbor Jeremy for sharing that wonderful image he captured of the glowing green waves as he and his family and Clover and I, sat in the foggy darkness, bundled in blankets on the sand, mesmerized by the otherworldly beauty of the ocean's light.
[All other images via various talented Flickr folk, each photo links to its source]
“Originally published in 1972, Canyon recounts the struggle for survival, against powerful and determined opposition, of a counter-cultural community tucked in a redwood canyon less than a mile from the city of Oakland, California. A community of individuals united by the idea of living complimentary to nature rather than subduing it…” - Grizzly Peak Press
I just finished reading a vintage copy of this book that I picked up at a thrift store recently. I had no idea this community even existed, let alone so close by.
Canyon's colorful history made for an interesting read, from pristine old-growth redwood forest to raucous logging community to secluded counter-cultural haven. The book follows the resistance movement as Canyon’s residents battle public utility controllers and county officials to preserve both their homes and way of life.
However, my favorite parts were definitely the descriptive vignettes sprinkled throughout the book, illuminating the strange and wonderful handmade forest dwellings that sprouted up in the woods of Canyon along with the influx of homesteading hippies during the late sixties.
“His house, a hyperbolic paraboloid form (peaked roof of eucalyptus poles complete with leaves, conical-shaped sides with the side facing west left open to the trees, sky, and rain), allows the sounds and odors of Canyon- arguing voices, music, bird cries, burning grass, chants, patchouli oil, a trumpet scale, a revving motorcycle engine- to flow through it like air. There are no locks windows or doors.”
“Anyone walking by on the road above can eavesdrop on his life, observe him tinkering at the large workbench beside his entrance, or call down to him for a drink of water, which he’ll let you draw from the strange, convoluted faucet- pipe joint added upon pipe joint- above his sink.”
While reading about Canyon, images from another book published in the early seventies began floating through my mind. A couple of years ago, I was lucky enough to thrift a copy of the book Handmade Houses A Guide to the Woodbutcher’s Art. Maybe you remember Heather’s post on this amazing book.
Though it wasn’t until the description of that “strange, convoluted faucet” pictured above that I realized at least one of Canyon's forest dwellings was not only reminiscent of the images in Handmade Houses, it was the very house pictured in the book. Further internet sleuthing confirmed that homes in Canyon were indeed photographed in the making of Handmade Houses.
"His house is a one room cabin made almost entirely of old window glass. Glass in the shape of shutters, leaded windows, sections of skylight. Above the cabin is a long, narrow tree house in the crotch of a large oak."
"Inside the house, the thick trunk of the oak tree forms part of one wall, and shoes are left on the dirt floor, next to its roots. There are sleeping bags on the floor. There is a simple table, phonograph, speaker and tuner, a battered telescope, and a wood-burning stove."
Images of kitchens, rustic and enchanted from the book Handmade Houses.
"A girl, blonde, wearing one of the gownlike print dresses common to young Canyon, has materialized out of the dusk and is preparing dinner on the wood stove as he bathes with cold spring water in the dark outside.”
“As he talks it grows dark outside, the trees across the canyon and the houses on the hillside below slipping into gloom, leaving only sounds behind: voices, sitar music, a dog’s bark."
I enjoyed how the author would often described the sounds floating through Canyon as a way of conjuring its atmosphere. It brought me right back to the late 90's, when Lucas and I were living nestled amongst the redwoods up on Joy Ridge in Occidental, California.
I managed to dig up some old film photos of the place...
On the deck at the top of the stairs we had a hammock strung between two redwood trees. A favorite place to be was swaying lazily in that hammock, dangling my barefeet on a warm summer day, feeling the dappled sunlight make its way through the trees.
Also, in the cool evenings with slippered feet, a cozy blanket, and a warm cup of tea catching glimpses of stars between the tree tops. I would just sway and listen...
Up on the ridge, the silence was thick and peaceful, a medium through which far off sounds would find there way to me. Winding through trees and echoing off hillsides. The roar of a chainsaw, a squirrel's shrill chatter, the guitar strumming of an unseen neighbor.
The periodic moan of the fog horn was always my favorite. Sometimes barely audible. Pulling me closer to the ocean (about 6 miles away as the crow flies) with each low hum.
Even small sounds took on an air of amplification, insects buzzing, clicking, chirping, the crunch of a leaf or twig beneath a deer hoof, birdsong... birdsong... birdsong...
All rough hewn wood and wonky angles, the rustic little cabin we rented would have fit right in among the pages of Handmade Houses. It sat just up the hill from the property’s main house, where the land lords, a quiet older couple, lived.
The house had a sleeping loft with a raised platform just big enough for our mattress. Those upper windows looking out into the forest were right at the level of our bed. It was very much like sleeping in a tree house. In fact, one of my favorite memories of that house involves those windows.
One stormy night, when Lucas happened to be away, I was reading up in the dimly lit sleeping loft. Listening to the sounds of heavy rain against the steep A-framed roof just above me. Suddenly, everything lit up with a flash, quickly followed by some of the most earth-shaking thunder I'd ever heard.
As the lightning and thunder continued to happen in what seemed like pretty rapid succession, I set my book down, turned out the light and enjoyed the show as each flash of thunder lit up the trees beyond those windows bright as day, for a split second, then black, and… CRASH!!!! Magical.
I know, it probably sounds scary, and I’ll admit I was slightly worried that one of the nearby trees might get struck by lightning and come crashing down on me, but I’ve always loved a good thunderstorm, and the way the whole forest lit up just outside my window, appearing out of blackness, was like nothing I’d ever seen.
I think our cat Guinness was at his huskiest and happiest when we lived out here. Like a wildcat ruling over his territory. Apart from the occasional raccoon scuffle, he was in heaven.
Speaking of raccoons, we used to leave one of the little windows in the sleeping loft slightly open as the cat door, until the day I came home to find the kitchen shelves ransacked and a raccoon racing back up the stairs. Among other things, it had eaten an entire box of cookies. My cookies. Not cool raccoon.
One of the paths leading up to the house.
The deck wrapped around a few redwood trees growing in a ring just outside the front door. At one point we had a raccoon family living under the house. There were two babies that would come right up to the glass door some nights.
They would be up on their hind legs peering in with their wee paws pressed against the glass. They were so cute. Like fuzzy little masked bears. Or would-be cookie stealing bandits ;)
The house was made up of four tiny spaces all at different levels that sort of wound around the spiral staircase which wound up an old burned out tree trunk running up through the center of the house. We were told the man who built the place was a ship builder by trade, and being inside the house did offer a vague sense of being within the hull of ship strangely enough.
There was an old overgrown logging road which ran along the lower edge of the property and made for a wonderful hiking trail out into the forested land beyond. Sometimes I would go exploring and guess who would love to come along on these adventures…
Guinness was a wonderful hiking partner. He would run up ahead, sniff at things, climb around on the old moss-covered stumps and fallen trees, always managing not to stray too far ahead or behind me. He was a little bit like a dog in that way.
Well, thanks for joining me on this little hike down memory lane, here's a fitting song to end with. We're going to another free concert tonight to see these guys play!
Sorry I've been such a neglectful blogger lately. Hopefully it won't be quite so long again before my next post.
As for Canyon, after finishing the book, I was interested in finding out what became of the community over the years and stumbled upon a series of youtube clips from a local Bay Area news program.
The clips look at the history of Canyon up through recent times and there's even some cool video footage from the 60's. If you can get past the cheesy news program moments, it's pretty interesting to watch. If you'd like to check it out, you can find it here: part 1, part 2, part 3, and part 4.
Much love to you friends and sweet folk of the internets!
If you already got a sneak peek at the unfinished version of this post in your reader, you can thank Clover for that. She jumped on top of me and my laptop as I was working on it yesterday, publishing it prior to completion in the process, doh!
Anyhoo, I’ve been busy of late working on home stuff. Specifically, attempting to turn our second bedroom into a sweet room for Clover, complete with new big girl bed, while also carving out a creative corner/workspace for me (aka Thrift Candy headquarters ;)
For inspiration, whenever I get to thinking about how I want to arrange and display things in my home, I will inevitably turn to my little collection of treasured 1970’s handmade homes and interiors books, thrifted on a very lucky day about a year ago when I entered Sacks and found all five of them sitting out on a table priced between one and three dollars each.
The set (I'm assuming they were all donated together by the same person) includes this amazing book, so wonderfully blogged about previously by Heather, as well as this one published later by the same authors. There’s also one called Living Places and another really cool one about loft spaces.
I’d been holding out on blogging about them because I was really hoping to get my hands on a scanner, which didn’t happened, then I just didn’t get around to it. Until now that is!
Photos from the handmade houses books, awesome as they are, have already been blogged, flickr-ed, and tumblr-ed quite a bit, so I thought I’d share my favorites from this awesome book about converted and handmade Houseboats as I’ve yet to come across it anywhere else.
Still no scanner, but I did my best taking photos of the photos and cleaning them up in Photoshop. All italicized passages were taken straight from the book, which was published in 1977, enjoy!
A carpenter and two seaworthy felines share a boat hidden alone in a tiny cove.
"I'll stay on the water always. It's moods constantly change. The fog lifts. The tides roll in. That's one of the beauties."
Alone in a cove with evergreen surroundings, a young woodcarver and his wife picked a homesite where there was plenty of driftwood. "We didn't buy a stick of wood. And the wood we found on the beach was full of nails, so we got those free too!"
"You just start cutting holes in the walls and putting in windows!" What was once an old wood hauling barge, then a neglected houseboat layered with red and black paint, blossomed after months of scraping and scrubbing. Plant garlands trail past stained glass and exquisite carvings... products of the tiny workshop in the bow of the boat.
"I feel like I'm living in a childhood fort. I guess I took Peter Pan too seriously." "Retiring" to a home on the water, an ex-school teacher joined two cabins from the ribs of another boat. On summer's first warm day, she unceremoniously moves kitchen, complete with stove, onto the deck! Behind her casual mooring is her mini-farm... blooming with flowers, vegetables, goats and chickens.
Inspired by Balinese masks, Annie makes her own creations from paper mache. They stare fiercely down from the walls. And near her bed, a collection of neglected flea market dolls has found a new home.
Transported in parts around the Horn from the East in 1870, this stately old sidewheeler ran between San Francisco, Mare Island, and Vallejo until 1948. Inside, the Vallejo sparkles with the paintings and sculptures of her former occupant, Jean Varda.
Dragons, puppets, and play costumes were designed for "play days," a new adult therapy developed by Vallejo occupant Mariam Saltzman to recreate the carefree magic of childhood.
Vallejo quarters are shared by young artists and poets... who celebrate sundown with a musical interlude on deck.
Kids and water? The mix is a happy one on this World War II landing craft. The ever-present life jacket protects them from an occasional tumble off the deck. At night, the tides rock them to sleep under the patchwork windows of a "free form" geodesic dome.
Charmingly cluttered rustic kitchen spaces.
Cozy built-in bed nooks.
Nestled at the foot of Manhattan Island. Moored in the heart of Seattle and Vancouver, B.C. Tucked into sun-speckled bayous near Pierre Part, Louisiana. In the midst of Sausalito's 'hip' culture. Houseboats reflect a hedonistic Great Gatsby lifestyle, a homespun simplicity, a mellow oneness with Mother Nature.
They create envy in the hearts of us confined to the stability of land. They reflect a colorful past and hope for the future... But most of all, they reflect their people.
"When you live on a houseboat dock, you're in God's pocket."
While delving further into the colorful past of The S.S. Vallejo, home to artist Jean Varda and Zen philosopher Alan Watts during the late 60’s in Sausalito, CA, I came across this interesting site about it’s history and got caught up in reading the fascinating transcripts from an event called The Houseboat Summit which took place on the Vallejo in February of 1967, the winter leading up to The Summer of Love.
It was a publicly held counterculture-centered conversation (intellectual, philosophical, political, spiritual, and at times just plain silly in nature) between Timothy Leary, Gary Snyder, Alan Watts, and Allen Ginsberg. I found it fascinating to read about their thoughts on the future during that pivotal time from the perspective of the future they were speculating about.
My favorite exchanges are when Timothy Leary goes off on some wacky “turn on, tune in, drop out” tangent and Gary Snyder pipes in, quite eloquently calling him on his crazy, so to speak, while often putting forth something profound in the process, he was definitely the voice of reason in this group!
It’s interesting stuff though, and actually kinda hilarious and entertaining at times. Here’s a lighthearted exchange that I thought I’d share for it’s obvious relevance to this here blog ;)
Watts: But the thing is this. I've found so many people who are the turned on type, and the circumstances and surroundings under which they live are just plain cruddy. You would think that people who have seen what you can see with the visions of psychedelics would reflect themselves in forms of life and art that would be like Persian miniatures. Because obviously Persian miniatures and Moorish arabesques are all reflecting the state of mind of people who were turned on. And they are rich and glorious beyond belief.
Ginsberg: Majestic.
Watts: Majestic! Yeah! Well now, why doesn't it so occur...It is slowly beginning to happen...'Cause I've noticed that, recently, all turned on people are becoming more colorful. They're wearing beads and gorgeous clothes and so and so forth...and it's gradually coming out. Because you remember the old beatnik days when everybody was in blue jeans and ponytails and no lipstick and DRAB--and CRUMMY!
Snyder: What! (laughter)
Watts: Now, something's beginning to happen!
Snyder: Well, it wasn't quite that bad, but we were mostly concerned with not being consumers then...and so we were showing our non-consumerness.
Watts: Yes, I know! The thing is I am using this as a symbol because the poor cons in San Quentin wear blue jeans.
Snyder: The thing is that there are better things in the Goodwill now than there used to be.
Watts: Yes, exactly. (laughter) But the thing is that now I see it beginning to happen. Timothy here, instead of wearing his old--whatever he used to wear--has now got a white tunic on with gold and colorful gimp on it.
Ginsberg: Gimp?
Watts: Yes, and it's very beautiful, and he's wearing a necklace and all that kind of thing, and color is at last coming into the scene.
["Gimp?"...haha, that part totally cracks me up. Not so sure where Watts was goin' with the poor cons in San Quentin thing though?]
