“Nearly 40 years after its original publication, Tom Wolfe‘s hallucinogenic tome “The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test” is headed for the bigscreen. Gus Van Sant is attached to direct, and Lance Black (“Big Love”) will write the script. FilmColony’s Richard Gladstein is producing, and he’s in the process of setting the project with a financier….”
In the end, Loren Coburn, with the help of his attorney-partner, Jeremiah Clark, acquired both the Butano and Ano Nuevo ranchos. How the land was paid for became the source of many stories, none of them nice.
Here is one of my favorite Beach art works. Its remains are still visible at the stairway leading down from the Pescadero Beach parking lot, across the road from where Pescadero Road ends at Highway 1.
I’ve attached a picture I took of the natural feature before it was converted to the artwork and several pictures of the artwork when it was freshly made. Kudos to the artist and his vision.
The next picture is of the remnants of an illegal fire that was built a few weeks later just a few feet away from the artwork.
The last photo is of just part of the nails and broken glass I finally gathered from this site more then two months later with the aid of my magnet and garden fork.
After first seeing it, I had intended to clean it up the next time I came by, but that’s not often and I kept forgetting to bring the necessary tools. Later I became curious how long an eyesore and safety hazard like this would be left right next to the path leading to one of the most popular vistas along Highway 1. I’m sorry to know the answer Enjoy. John Vonderlin
(At right: Image of “The Curious Guide…” by Molly Ramolla***, 1982.)
Long ago, a friend gave me a Xeroxed article about Pescadero artist Molly Ramolla and her technique for making “almost” papyrus. I think it came from Sunset magazine but there is no date or other evidence of its origin. Molly’s studio was then located in the “Old Barn” on Stage Road. She has since moved to Arizona, where, last I heard, she owned an art gallery, featuring her work–but she may have moved on from there.
I own several of Molly’s paintings, one of a rainstorm over the Pacific near Pescadero… the other was created on the handmade papyrus that I will describe below, and pictures a quiet farm scene in San Gregorio. A third Molly Ramolla piece–this one a favorite–a (close-up) painting of an old window, the kind with multiple, small panes–you’re inside and you’re looking out of this window and it’s raining outside. An emotional tugger, one that, if you’re in a mood, pulls the tears out of you.
(Photo: Molly Ramolla.)
“Almost-Egyptian papyrus you make from reeds soaked, pounded, dried”
“Ancient Egyptians were among the first to devise a method of writing and something to write on–papyrus. You can still make a close duplicate of this ancient paper, as Molly Ramolla demonstrates in her studio in Pescadero, California.
“Although the original technique of making papyrus is still unknown, Ms. Ramolla has come up with a method that produces a durable facsimile.
“All you need are the tough-fibered stems of sedges, rushes, or bulrushes. (Ms. Ramolla recommends sedges–they make a paper similar to that of the ‘Cyperus paprus‘ originally used.)
“You’ll find these plants growing wild in freshwater marshes, wet meadows, tidal flats, wet banks and muddy edges of creeks and streams, and many other wet spots. Look for tall reeds with a triangular cross section. If the location is in public parkland, check with the ranger for legalities; if private, ask the owner for permission to cut.
Hi June,
This is my favorite epitaph in the Mt. Hope Cemetery in Pescadero. I’d love to know something about this man. Was he a mystic? A humanist? Or like me a believer in the Oneness of AlI, where the Creator and Creation are the same? Or is he still alive and celebrated his 148th birthday this spring? I websearched him and only found that somebody else had put his epitaph online. It Reads:
I AM THE PEER OF MY BEING
THERE BEING BUT ONE SUBSTANCE.
THAT MY MAKER IS ME
THAT MY MAKER AND I ARE ONE
THAT’S LIFE BLENDING WITH ETERNAL NOW.
I AM ALL THAT IS, THAT WAS, AND THAT WILL BE. THAT I AM.
WHO AM OTHERWISE BEING COULD NOT BE.
ENOS B. RALSTON
BORN APRIL 27, 1859
There is one piece of punctuation I left out, that being a period centered and halfway from the top and the bottom of the letters between AM and OTHERWISE in the last line of the epitaph. I’m not sure what that means grammatically. Does anyone know? I sure like it. Enjoy. John Vonderlin
Those beaches on the South Coast are remarkable works of natural art, aren’t they?
I was thinking about surfing–and I remembered that I used to have a wetsuit and a board (not a long board or a short one, kind of in-between)–I never actually got up on the board but I loved riding the whitewater–and because I couldn’t see a thing without my glasses, I was fearless paddling out…and out…one time we went out at Ano Nuevo. Two of us. There wasn’t another soul out there. I can’t believe that now!
John Vonderlin is going to do a piece on “Acid Beach.” Yep. Ken Kesey & The Merry Pranksters. When I think of Kesey, I think of him writing and playing in the warmth of the giant redwoods–how could I not think of him & his friends fooling around at the beach and not just any ordinary beach–but one of great beauty.
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The disputed ranchos near Pescadero carried fuzzy descriptions:
The Rancho Butano: “….the land bounded on the south of Rancho Punta del Ano Nuevo, east by the mountain, and on the west by the Pacific…”
The Rancho Punta del Ano Nuevo: …bounded on the east by the mountains, on the west by the sea; the north by the ranch of Don Juan Gonzales [which included the village of Pescadero] and on the south by the rancho of Don Helario Buelna…”
Resolving the Ano Nuevo/Butano rancho overlap would require court action–and that meant big legal fees that the ranchero owners did not have. It was often easier to sell out, at any price.
Loren Coburn may have known that the rancho owners were desperate. It is said that Coburn teamed up with Jeremiah Clark, San Francisco attorney and land grant expert (a relationship that probably grew out of conversations at Coburn’s stable.)
In the past Jeremiah Clark’s clients had been the owners of ranchos who hired Clark to get the U.S. government to legalize their land grants. When they couldn’t pay his fees, Clark ended up with the rancho.
It looks like Clark had acquired the U.S. patent for his Rancho Butano clients–when, suddenly, he broke the contract with them and the ranch was sold to Coburn and Clark. The border dispute had not been solved, and, of course the men wanted to enlarge the Rancho Butano by somehow taking land from the Ano Nuevo grant. Continue reading →
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Hi June
In an earlier email I mentioned to you that I collected Naturools. Here’s the story behind my inspiration to begin collecting them.
Skree! The piercing, heart-stopping, blood-curdling cry of the hovering predator– promising impalement on its powerful talons–and the tearing of flesh by the razor sharp edges of its beak. It is no coincidence that in the world of rocks, there is a Rogue Rock, called scree, that is an evil fraternal twin of the rapacious raptor.
The dictionary defines scree as loose rock at the foot of a cliff or steep slope. I call them Fallen Angels, intent on malice to all. Scree– like so many other Rogue Rocks– have strayed from the “Path of Rest.”
Unused to mobility, their impetuous dives from their cliff homes have shattered their bodies and the normal rocks’ placid psyches, leaving them unstable and aggressive, ready to rip the flesh of any organic who trespasses in their domain. Clustered together at the foot of the cliff, with their lynch mob mentality, they wait silently, ready to strike out bloodily.
I suffered just such a vicious attack by these miscreants a few years ago and only barely escaped with my life. I had been picking my way cautiously across a scree slope looking for collectible rocks when my attention was drawn skyward by the screeching cry of a hawk. It was then that the Rogue Rocks attacked.
Several of them tripped me, knocking my feet out from beneath me. While I struggled to regain control, I suffered a cowardly attack to the back of my leg. The ringleader, using one of his sharp edges, opened me up from knee to cheek, as neatly as if a surgeon had used a scalpel. Shocked and bleeding, I fled for my life.
Reaching my truck without further attack, I dug out my trusty roll of duct tape, pulled the gaping wound closed and barber-poled my leg with it.
