Return to Ventana Creek

Over four months after I broke my foot while crossing the street in San Francisco, I put on my heavy boots and took on Ventana Creek once again.

Emerald Pool on Ventana Creek

Emerald Pool on Ventana Creek

I’d bought the boots years before after spraining my ankle while walking from the front door of my house to my car. I bought them as extra protection, and they did their job, though they’d taken off some toenails as payment. I lost another toenail on this little trip. The return leg was quite painful.

The river was running at about 23 cfs, about the same it was running when I headed up the creek in March of the previous year, and probably about the flow that Robinson Jeffers and his son Garth witnessed in August 1936.

Hotel Jericho

Old Jacksonboro Road crosses the Savannah Highway within a half hour of Charleston. The junction has a name: Jericho. Today it is considered part of the town of Adams Run (as though you know where that is).

The Notre Maison Boys Home

The Notre Maison Boys Home
Source: Rebecca Reconnu Biggs Grainger

 

As far as I know, Jericho was once the site of a hotel, a store with gas pumps named Caison’s Groceries, and a school annex for Coloreds. The store had a post office inside. Mom and Dad bought the old hotel in 1970, when we returned to South Carolina. I was just 5. We didn’t stay there long. Sometime after we left South Carolina again in 1972, it all burned down in a couple of fires (I have an alibi: I was out of state).

The hotel had three stories, if one counts the spacious attic with dormer windows and and old four-legged bathtub. It had exterior wooden stairways which functioned as fire escapes. It had ten bedrooms and four bathrooms. When we moved in, one of the bedrooms had a sagging floor. The bathrooms were equipped with showers, but none of them functioned. We all had to bathe in my sister Duska’s bedroom (the attic).

About six years before, the house had been converted to a boys’ home by David A Reconnu and his wife Helen. They operated the boys’ home for about four years.

NotreMaisonBoysHome1

Source: Thomas C. Hucks

The adjacent store (peeking through on the right edge of the above photo) came equipped with a soda vending machine that would allow a mischievous boy to yank a bottle out without paying. The trick to it was not to brag about snagging a free soda to one’s mom.

When Mom and Dad first found out about the hotel in Spring 1970, they saw it as a place that might serve well as a home for seven and a dog, a chiropractic office, and a Bahá’í center. I must confess that if I were driving down the Savannah Highway and I saw a FOR SALE sign posted in front of that old hotel, I would have been sorely tempted to stop for a look-see.

It seems they bought the house sight-unseen. When they actually laid eyes upon it, it was pretty badly trashed, featuring a trash pile in the front.

Among my favorite memories of Jericho was the the trash pile in the back, all blackened from the last fire and wet from the last rain. I can still smell the aroma of molten plastics, rotting food, and rusted scrap metal. I also remember when a crab, recently taken from the ocean, got a hold of a cat’s tail. I’m not sure how that happened, but now I suspect it probably got some help from a teenage boy.

Across the highway, there was a hotel of a different kind that was even more noteworthy: a maze of tunnels that some neighbor kids had dug out. My memory of that system of tunnels has endured in my mind as one of the great achievements of kidkind.

It turned out the Hotel Jericho had too many maintenance and repair issues, and it wasn’t easy to unload. Mom and Dad weren’t able to sell it for a year or two after we left Jericho.

Jericho School Annex for Coloreds
Jericho School Annex for Coloreds.

 

Epilogue

It turned out that the property was in worse shape than we’d thought. All the while we lived there, and for years before and after, going back to before the boys’ home, there had been a fertilizer plant operating behind the house, contaminating the soil and the groundwater. The area, including the site of the house, was later declared a superfund site. One of the companies that did the damage, Kerr-McGee, was infamously featured in the Karen Silkwood story. The sign of the company that ran the plant later still stands by the highway. Apparently, the fertilizer plant had been exporting fertilizer laced with quite a variety of toxic chemicals.

Links

Rochester Post-Bulletin: Companies indicted after lead, cadmium found in fertilizer

NY Times: 7 FACE U.S. CHARGES IN A WASTE SCHEME

The Charleston Post & Courier: Pact would clean up toxic Stoller Site

© 2006, 2013, 2015 Dan J. Jensen

Birthday Hike

I ventured off on my 50th birthday to try my healing foot on the Soberanes Canyon trail. The spring flowers and butterflies were out in force. I hiked up along the stream and then down the trail. One of the highlights of the trip was seeing a Lorain’s admiral butterfly perched on some similarly reddish poison oak.

 

Evergreen Lodge Cycling Trip

Cycling, El Capitan

Cycling, El Capitan

Mike and I visited the very pleasant and well-equipped Evergreen Lodge for our Spring Break 2015 outing. I was in the midst of a month off between stints at eBay and Yahoo. Mike and I were fortunate to get a modest, affordable cabin right next to the camp zip line, and even better, we were blessed with a dusting of snow. We had a great time bicycling around the area, witnessing the devastation from the previous summer’s Rim Fire, and we had an even better time bicycling around Yosemite Valley.

©2015 Kaweah

RJA Carmel 2015

This year’s conference began with “an emerging scholars workshop,” which I dutifully missed, being neither emerging nor a scholar. After that a recital by pianist MaryClare Martin was held at Tor House, featuring Una’s newly restored Sterinway.

This was Geneva Gano’s first RJA conference as RJA president. The conference featured presentations by Kathleen Sonntag, Tim Barnes, Dale Ann Stieber, ShauneAnne Tangney, James Karman, Robert Zaller, Brett Colasacco, Kevin Batton, John Cusatis, Steven B. Herrmann, and J.R. Phillips. Rob Kafka read a paper by Ugo Gervasoni.

A tribute to Alex Vardamis was included in the procedings, as well as three performances by Lili Bita.

The theme for the 2015 RJA conference was “Humanizing Jeffers: Father, Son, Neighbor, Friend, Lover.” I was skeptical about where this theme was likely to lead, as I doubted that anyone would attempt anything controversial, but to my pleasant surprise, a writer whom I had only known of through a blog presented an astonishingly frank argument against Everson’s Mal Paso hypothesis. I didn’t expect such a breath of fresh air because the author, Mick McAllister, (1) does not use his name much online, and (2) gave his presentation a rather innocuous title: “Intruding on Jeffers: Some Notes on Biographical Mythology.” The corresponding blog entry, the Mal Paso Misstep, is available on Mr. McAllister’s Jeffers blog, Alma Venus.

The Golf Course

Carmel Pine Cone, February 3, 1915

“The Carmel golf course is situated south of the village and follows the ocean front from the end of the beach to the mouth of the Carmel river.

“It is a ten hole course which for scenic beauty and interesting natural hazard cannot be surpassed. Philip Wilson, the manager, laid out the course, and his claim is that this course, excepting the old turf, contains better golfing possibilities than any in Scotland.

“A club-house is a feature maintained by the management.”

Elijah

Whoso would be a man, must be a nonconformist. He who would gather immortal palms must not be hindered by the name of goodness, but must explore if it be goodness. … I ought to go upright and vital, and speak the rude truth in all ways. — Ralph Waldo Emerson, Self-Reliance

Rather than love, than money, than fame, give me truth. — Henry David Thoreau, Walden

Woe to him who seeks to please rather than to appal! Woe to him whose good name is more to him than goodness! Woe to him who, in this world, courts not dishonour! Woe to him who would not be true, even though to be false were salvation! — Father Mapple , Moby-Dick

Back in college, I experienced a surge of interest in poetry after having lost my faith in God, etc. Like many others, I’d been raised in a context wherein particular words were believed to have meditative, restorative, and spiritual power. In addition, I was raised in an Iranian religion wherein prayer and scripture were infused with the poetic heritage of Sufi mysticism. Having removed myself from that context, I felt a an understandable need for a secular substitute.

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Rolling Reference Frames

One of the great debates around Robinson Jeffers regards whether his verse was free or, uh, not completely free. Because Jeffers identified expressly as an anti-modernist, it would not do for him to admit to having followed Walt Whitman down the rabbit hole of free verse. To do so would be to confess to immitation, and also be tantamount to laziness and lack of poetic discipline, in the eyes of some (including Jeffers himself). To this day, Jeffers apologists in odd colleges here and there seem convinced that if patterns can be found in Jeffers’ work, he can then be redeemed as a serious poet. I would like to note here that some Jeffers enthusiasts feel no such need.

It’s quite clear that Jeffers, in his mature years (35+) paid little attention to line length, meter, or rhyme. But there are those that have observed that patterns can be detected by counting stresses in each line. Because these patterns are so variable, these anomaly hunters have pointed to variations as signs of inventiveness. Perhaps that is so, but I think it more likely these verse-scholars are simply detecting subconscious rhythms that have surfaced in Jeffers’ verse. The variability that they so admire is just a sign that Jeffers did not consciously lay the patterns out.

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Barlow Flat

Big Sur RIver at Barlow Flat (Dan Jensen, 2014)

I hiked up the Pine Ridge Trail to Barlow Flat on Saturday and spent about 2.5 hours bushwhacking up what I will henceforth call “Hidden Creek,” because it is so privately notched into the mountainside that I lost it completely. I did eventually find it under a pile of charred and fallen redwoods.

Fall Fest 2014

Every October, the Tor House Foundation sponsors a three-day weekend event. I hadn’t been aware of this until 2013, in spite of the fact that I’d certainly read about it. Last year I skipped the Saturday portion because I wasn’t excited about the theme. This October, I attended both the Sunset Celebration and the Saturday conference. The whole family came along Friday night. We arrived about an hour late, thanks to some lovely weekend escape traffic. The weather was beautiful, as was the sunset, bright coral and untouched by cloud or fog. There was a big crowd (a good thing), and our reader kept us all engaged during the reading, though a few of us were distracted by the performance of show-stealing hummingbird. I was predictably clumsy and uncomfortable, but at the end of the day even I had a good time.

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