The nights are actually cold - 30s, but we huddle with Charles, nestled in the warmth of flannel sheets and a heating pad. It takes real motivation to crawl out of the coziness each morning and walk the dog, but what a gift awaits me when I step outside! Low slung fog hugs the hillsides, but the sun shines bright in a sky clear and crispy blue. This is living!

We took a drive today to Lake Nacimiento, a recreational area just west of Paso. It’s the off season so the lake is quiet, but very pretty. Def want to revisit when it’s warmer and maybe rent a pontoon boat for the day. I’m always surprised how close we are to so much - basically 25 miles in any direction is some cool place to explore.

After the lake, we had lunch in Paso at one of our faves, Jeffry's BBQ. We shared brisket mac n’ cheese, pulled pork tacos, and a brisket sandwich - bro…beyond.

We’re almost five years in and I am more besotted than ever with both Hummingbird Ranch and its environs. It’s weird that a place I barely know, feels like home. And, while the Mesa Ridge has served us well, conversations about creating a more formal living structure have begun in earnest.

Stay tuned…

I’ve been your second mate so long, it feels unnatural to slip on your hat and chart the ensuing path at the helm. The wind is at my back, however, and I have many fellow sailors helping me hold the wheel steady and true. My eyes are ever fixed on the horizon and I feel your presence all around, all the time.

I lost my dad - as many of us have and will. I’m doing all the grief things, processing all the changes, being pragmatic, stoic, a realist. My dad and I are so alike in this way. I wonder, though, if in his quiet moments he literally sobbed like I do at the profound loss that death creates. I don’t really cry, I just straight up weep, expelling gut-wrenching, verbalized sobs into the void. And then I’m done…at least for the day.

We haven’t been to Hummingbird Ranch since Easter, because not only did I lose my father, but also my grandmother. Her death at 105 is a different sadness - acknowledged as a life achievement rather than a life taken away.

There’s just been a lot going on, but here I am, sitting by my fake fire, in the comfort of the Mesa Ridge feeling inspired to share my heart. That’s what this place does to me. It cracks open my steel-trap soul, and lets a little trickle out. You readers are the bystanders to the crash, you can look away if you want, but it’s also weirdly compelling. For me too, because I often read these missives back as if I’m watching from the outside.

So for right now, no heady descriptions of the animals or landscape, just honest reflection of where I am in this space and time.

Dad, I know you are with me in the morning clouds, wispy and curled, but mostly at night when the stars wink a knowing signal to me.

xx

This particular holiday weekend, our kids and their sweethearts are visiting, staying in an adjacent trailer. Every morning we all cram into the Mesa Ridge for coffee and Ina Garten reruns. We shake the sleep from our bones, and speculate whether or not Ina and Jeffrey are secret swingers. It’s something we would never do at home, but feels normal and natural here.

There are many things do in the Central Coast so we have to be very choosy with limited time. Always on the agenda is wine tasting at Castoro Cellars. This time everyone played disc golf beforehand on the winery’s exquisite 18-hole course. It wends and winds through the grapevines, up and down hills, finally ending with a one-in-a-million shot through the hollow of an upside down tree.

A new adventure for me was hiking Madonna peak in SLO, up the street from Emma’s old hood in college. After a relentless steep beginning, the narrow path criss-crossed its way up the mountain, shaded by the leafy canopies of massive eucalyptus trees.

The best times at the ranch, however, are spent chilling under the pepper tree…

…and walking around the property.

The resounding finale of this special weekend was Easter Sunday. We grilled a couple tri tips and other goodies, and toasted to our blessings with delicious wine from Fableist.

But the most fun happened when the sun went down, and the whiskey and s’mores came out!

The ranch tells a different story for everyone, and it’s never the same story twice. Wyatt’s lovely and talented gf, Olivia, chronicled the whole weekend on her TikTok, which you can see here OliviaRosen11.

Hummingbird Ranch continues to deliver - spiritually, emotionally, physically - I’m excited to share her wonder with all those eager to take the adventure!

Hummingbird Ranch is an old friend that always delivers peace, acceptance, and a genuine sense of belonging. I’ve talked often about it being a living, breathing thing - an entity capable of stirring one’s soul, prompting joy, and committing overt acts of honest-to-god seduction.

Upon arrival, Charles and I always walk up the hill to the water tank to stretch our legs and open the water spigot. From this vantage point I can almost see our entire 40 acres, a panorama of nearly 360 degrees. Its beauty always catches my breath and makes me slightly teary. When we walked up there yesterday, the neighbor’s donkey brayed on cue and two circling hawks shrieked in jubilation. I yelled a silent “Hello old friends!” into the wind and thanked my lucky stars for the gift of this moment.

It’s been pretty dry this winter, but recent rains have encouraged some green sprouts, showing the promise of a potentially verdant springtime. It’s also been cold. Charles-under-the-covers cold. Last night I slept in sweats and a beanie. We do have heat in the trailer, but we forgot to turn on the propane before we went to bed, and neither of us could brave getting out of our warm nest to go outside and turn it on. When I took the dog out this morning, there was little difference between the temp of the trailer and the outside morning chill. The sun quickly came up, however, and its warmth swept over the hill, bathing the trailer in a cozy hug.

Hummingbird Ranch turned four on February 1. Our tenure as stewards has been a typical love affair - hot and heavy at first, blindly cloud talking through wild, absurd dreams. And then there’s the moment you are faced with hard truths, forced to work out the kinks, make compromises and decide how to move forward. The lasting and enduring stage of love is when you settle into a deep meaningful partnership, a mutual understanding that this is a marathon not a sprint. As gutted as I am that things aren’t where I need them to be, the space and time has given me valuable insight into what really needs to happen here.

My old friend continues to be kinder than expected, continues to bathe me in the light of understanding, and continues to help me share the trouble of this chaotic and unsettling moment in time.

Last night was weirdly moonless, darker than the inside of a pocket…at least that’s how Chad’s Kansan mom would have described it. In the waning light of a low-battery flashlight, we walked the dog down to lock the gate. I usually feel pretty confident on the ranch at night, but between the sky’s utter blackness and the cackling of nearby coyotes, we quickly locked up and hustled back up to the trailer.

Today dawned somewhat cloudy except for a saturated fuchsia and orange sunrise I was lucky enough to spy from my bedroom window. It was brief, but breathtaking. The weather is really pleasant, allegedly 58℉, perfect for relaxing under the pepper tree watching Charles hunt unseen creatures.

I’m so happy to be here.

No, I have never been a summertime gal, I prefer the quiet and cool of off-season anywhere. So when Chad suggested a quick run to Hummingbird this past week, I was trepidatious. It is not unusual for June temps to soar into triple digits up at the ranch, but the forecast looked promising and we went for it. By the time we hit the central valley it was 94 - gulp. When we arrived at the ranch, however, it was a comfortable 72, with a cool breeze rolling up the coastal pass.

The trees are still leafed out, creating punctuated lushness against the dried out grasses of the hillsides; and the daisy clumps are chest-high, hiding spring’s new fauna in their thickets. The trails on the ranch are crunchy with burrs so Charley and I are relegated to the dirt road for our walks. Rabbits, squirrels, and birds dart back and forth across our path making walks with the dog an exercise in restraint more than leisure - his prey drive is strong, he would throw us over for a gopher in a hot minute.

The wild turkeys have three new babies to show off, all of them scurrying across the road in a single file and dispersing into the wilds of the meadow. The longhorn have been down in the meadow too, munching thistle stalks and touching noses with the new black cows next door.

It seems that if I can manage the timing and temperature equation correctly, I can spend summer months at the ranch, which is a great thing. However, it does make me excited to create infrastructure to make things more comfortable, ie: house with AC and a pool. Sigh.

I am an unabashed dreamer. I enjoy imagining what could be. I also believe that contentment and desire for more are not mutually exclusive. Both things can coexist. I can relax in the shade of the pepper tree and sketch out my dream barn, whilst also being supremely happy with the status quo…at least for now.

But for this purpose I propose that Hummingbird Ranch is akin to any soulmate I’ve ever had - a living, breathing entity that gives and receives love, and with which I have a deep and natural affinity.

Her life force is never more vibrant than when we have visitors come to stay. This past weekend, I thought my heart would burst with joy when we hosted both of our kids and their sweethearts. The other bonus of hosting four 20-somethings? They take gorgeous pix and you can just enjoy the view!

We ate, we drank, and we made merry. The weather was a perfect 70-ish during the day with chilly nights and mornings. We walked the ranch en masse, wading through hip-high grasses and wildflowers.

The flora wasn’t the only thing showing off - the wild fauna were in full effect from the polygamous family of turkeys (two hens & a tom) that have made their home in one of the arroyos, to the bobcat Wyatt and I locked eyes with on the afternoon dog walk. Also, Charles may or may not have killed a rabbit with the mere force of his enthusiasm. Whatever the case, Wyatt buried it with pomp, circumstance, and a few tears.

We visited with old friends and introduced the kids to some of our favorites - Lebber's Pizza, Longbranch Saloon, Aliyah's, The Range, and Castoro Cellars.

Over the last three plus years, selling HR has been on the table a few times, but thankfully the discussions have never progressed to execution as the thought of never again setting foot on her soil literally breaks my heart. My attachment to this random 40 acres, on this random dirt road, in this random town, doesn’t feel random at all. It feels absolutely pre-ordained and correct. She is mine and I am hers.

Last night was a chilly 29 degrees, but the three of us were warm as freshly-hatched eggs nestled in the cozy feathers of the Mesa Ridge. Even Charles, whom I often have to put under the covers with us in the wintertime, was a little toasty marshmallow.

Winter at the ranch is quiet and undisturbed. The birds come out briefly to feed and then hurry back to whatever sheltered lair they’ve built for the season. The owls are around however, hooting way earlier than dusk, but hidden nonetheless from view.

We haven’t ventured outside much beyond our regular daily constitutionals, preferring to relax by the “fire” and putz around. We did meet friends at the Longbranch for dinner last night, forgoing an outside table and sitting inside for the first time ever. The restaurant’s present iteration has preserved the cowboy cred of its birth in 1938 - still very local, affordable, and delicious. The inside bar and pool table area can be a little intimidating, but we found a great table on the edge at which to watch the show.

The drive home from dinner was, as Chad’s Kansan mom used to say, “as dark as a pocket,” moonless, but full of stars. As we pulled down our road, we could barely make out multiple giant objects scattered in the meadow - the longhorn - weirdly visiting our side of the hill at night. They are usually morning visitors, preferring to graze in the gentle sunrise.

The area has already had some nice rainfall, so I’m excited for the promise of spring. My only resolution this year is to spend more time here. As I titled one of my previous missives - this land truly is nature’s medicine.

The stark heat of summer - and September and October’s second summer - is over, copper and gold oak leaves littering the paths and trails around Hummingbird Ranch. It’s crispy cool, but not too bracing, chilly enough to wear a sweater and not have to strip down five minutes later. And after a few brief autumnal showers, little green aspirational shoots of grass are poking up, surely to succumb to the nightly frosts soon to come.

The ranch is also weirdly quiet, with few birds in the trees, no cows in the meadow, and the neighbor’s horses peacefully ensconced in their stalls. The only creature making his presence known is a skunk who greeted Chad in the chicken coop with a dose of welcoming love. Is there a smell more all consuming than fresh skunk spray???

Not sure why there seems to be a lull in the land’s usual vitality, but maybe it’s nature’s breath between seasons. Maybe it’s a cue to slow down, calm your mind, and enjoy the peace the holidays actually intend. Like the land, I think we all need to take a little breather.

Just hours after I wrote the above, all the creatures came out of hiding - cows, donkeys, deer, owls - everyone joined the party!

I’ve spent a lot of time walking around Hummingbird Ranch, looking closely at every tree, shrub, and nuance of the land. So imagine my surprise when I came upon an olive tree, over laden with fruit, right next to the path I take EVERY SINGLE DAY I am here. Maybe because of the drought it has been dormant until now? I don’t know, but wow, amazing! Let’s make some olive oil!

I guess the lesson is to be present in your surroundings and look at them anew every day. You might just see something you’ve never noticed that’s been there all along.

Wherever you find yourself this time of year, I hope you are surrounded by the people you love.

xx Happy Holidays

It has been three long months since I have been at HR. I wish I could better handle the high temperatures of summer, but apparently I am a tender flower that wilts in the heat. Someday I will have a house with AC and a refreshing pool in which to seek relief, but until then I must avoid melting.

At this time of year, the Ranch is dry and crunchy. The contrast between the yellow hills, the green leafy trees, and the cobalt blue sky provides a different kind of beauty from the lush colorful landscape of spring. The neighboring vineyards are a hive of activity, some preparing for the crush and some already pressing their bounty into this year’s vintage. After a record-setting rainy and cold winter, and a scorchingly hot summer, it will be interesting to see how the wines taste this year. Someday I would like to plant a few rows of grapes and some fruit trees - we have ideal space and terrain for it, but we need to get the irrigation sorted first.

From the shade of our massive pepper tree, I sit and dream about the possibilities of this property. My ideas continue to morph, and expand, now a totally different concept than first imagined nearly 3 years ago. The value of time can’t be measured.

And speaking of time, most of our neighbors have lived on our little dirt road for 30+ years, but surprisingly, we are not the newest addition to the hood. We are now fifth newest! The old timers are a wealth of support and information, and have made us feel welcome and appreciated. I thank my lucky stars to have found this little slice of heaven. Nature’s Xanax.

In the ensuing minutes, hours and days I devised a plan that would ensure her survival…I would invite myself along and CAMP WITH HER! I had wanted to visit a couple friends near Portland, so the timing would be perfect! She could drop me off and I would fly back, and then she would have the company of her friend on her drive/camp back home.

Now, I’ve camped maybe four times, all when I was a child with no appreciation for comfort, safety, and inside plumbing. So with trepidation I offered up my brilliant plan, and to my delight (terror) she enthusiastically agreed.

First, we set about creating a more temperate itinerary, trading in 110-degree I-5 adjacent campgrounds with coastal Salt Point and Redwoods State Parks. All said, we would be sleeping two nights in motels, and three nights under the stars, and because Emma is not a rookie camper, this seemed totally doable. While living in SLO, she spent many nights camping with friends in Big Sur and other nearby areas. I knew I was in good hands.

We bought a great camp stove, large tent, and memory foam sleeping pads. We planned the meals we wanted to cook and things we wanted to do. I was actually excited.

We set out on a Saturday morning, sailing through LA, and landed in SLO for the night. We saw the Barbie movie (great, BTW) and had a fab dinner. The next morning we left for Salt Point State Park, located off Hwy 1, about 96 miles north of San Francisco.

The area’s dramatic rocky coastline was total eye candy and the weather was a perfect 68-ish. Our campsite was at the end of a short driveway and down a small hill. We unloaded the car and set up the tent with ease, and because the drive had taken longer than expected, we started dinner.

Emma made pesto pasta with broccoli and chicken apple sausage - it was amazing! We played gin, sat by the fire and talked. No screens, no phones, no distractions. We listened to the breeze blow through the trees and the sharp trills of late afternoon birds. I was tired, fed, and happy.

Onto the Redwoods, a place I had longed to visit. The drive up the 1 is varied, often twisting through endlessly tall trees along rugged cliffs, and then suddenly tree-less, bisecting wide meadows. Small towns dot the way until you reach Bodega Bay, a major hub for the area, and then the road recedes once more into the wilds.

Grizzly Peak State Park is situated on the Van Duzen River, nestled impossibly amid dense groves of old-growth redwoods. The sites aren’t as private as some campgrounds, but they are lovely. We pitched our tent facing the river to enjoy the sound of water as it hurried gently over a bed of large, smooth pebbles. As soon as we set up, we waded into the water - our first “bath” in 48 hours.

We spent the rest of the afternoon reading and staring up at the magnificent redwoods. Toward evening a tricked-out van passed by and I noticed the familiar Laguna parking sticker affixed to its back window. They pulled into the site opposite and I recognized them immediately as a young family who lives around the corner from us in Laguna. We said hello and had a small chat. This world is crazy small.

The proximity of a large, chatty family just adjacent made for challenging sleep, and we set sail for our next destination at the crack of dawn. The early hour meant we would arrive in Arcata just in time for breakfast at The Big Blue Cafe (Yum!), and then on toward the Oregon border.

Southern Oregon is not unlike many areas of California (duh) - not sure why I was surprised by this. However, as we traveled northward toward the Willamette National Forest, the topography changed becoming more densely wooded. Perched on the edge of the Middle Fork of the Willamette River, Black Canyon Campground feels prehistoric, its cedar and fir trees dripping with swags of moss. The campsites are lush with ferns and other moisture-loving flora, and totally private. We set up camp and went exploring.

Just after dusk, we toasted our last camping night together with a delicious meal, and I marveled at Emma’s fire-building skill - there’s a whole strategy involved apparently. We retired a bit early, leaving the rain tarp off the tent so we could stare up at the trees and then as the sky darkened, the stars. The rush of the river punctuated every few hours by the muffled horn of a passing train.

Camping with my daughter has been an extraordinary experience. I’m thankful she welcomed me into her world to share these moments. Any sleepless hour or random discomfort I experienced has been radically eclipsed by the joy of sharing whispers into the night, laughing hysterically, singing our lungs outs, and being awestruck by nature.

I think I’m officially a camper.

The apprehensive teenager we dropped off that trip has flourished into a confident, capable woman, and last week at Hummingbird Ranch was all about celebrating her accomplishments and graduation.

We arrived at HR a couple days before the extended family to settle in and prepare. On my morning walk I met some familiar friends and a new neighbor.

As we transition to the warm and dry season, the trees are still leafy green, and the golden hills are dotted with clumps of bright yellow mustard and charming, but deadly hemlock.

And while spring is definitely my favorite, summer provides its own benefits, including long days and warm evenings. The sky stays light well after 9 pm, providing amazing views of the rising moon and emerging stars.

My dad arrived first. He hadn’t been to HR since spring 2021, when the ranch was in its most fallow disrepair. I was as proud as a new parent to show him all that we’ve accomplished bringing the property up to snuff.

While Chad buzzed away whipping weeds, my dad and I drove to the top of the property where the views are jaw-dropping and the longhorn laze. I hadn’t been on the little road that leads to this area for a few weeks and I was shocked to find the road blocked in multiple places by 4-foot tall stands of thistle - easily passable in the car, but surprising nonetheless.

We were greeted at the top by the usual suspects, who were visibly annoyed when we got out of the car.

Besides appreciating the view, my dad and I had an additional purpose to our mission. We released the ashes of my grandmother, Hazel, and my uncle, Bill. To say Hazel was a bird lover would be a gross understatement; and Bill raised and trained red tail hawks - this was the perfect place to set them free. We released Bill into a gentle puff of wind, and as he floated away, a giant turkey vulture soared above casting a massive shadow across his path. Next was grandma Hazel, who in this life was a small, darling woman who ferociously loved her family. Drifting away into the bright blue heavens, she was accompanied by three little songbirds. It was an important and special moment for us.

The rest of the family eventually arrived and we had a fun and lively lunch at nearby Fableist winery.

Saturday was the main event. Cal Poly does not put on an entire-university graduation ceremony, instead it hosts separate events for each different college within the university. I prefer the smaller scale as it creates an intimate and personal way to celebrate the graduates.

After the ceremony, the whole family convened at Emma’s favorite college watering hole, Frog & Peach, for cocktails.

Emma graduated with a BS in Anthropology & Geography and minored in Religious Studies. The following day, one of the professors in her minor hosted a graduation celebration at Cal Poly’s Arboretum, a gorgeous grouping of gardens nestled against the foothills surrounding campus.

Her professor provided the homemade wine and we all toasted the graduates. It was a great experience.

The week/weekend was joyful and memorable. We are so proud of Emma and loved celebrating with her.

I think it’s time for a nap.

The once lush and quiet paths around the property - bolstered by the gift of winter’s unprecedented rain - have given way to the dry crunch of burrs and golden brush. In fact, the ground is so littered with burrs that Charlito’s paws and tail are packed full of them after just a short walk. How do the hearty, free-range dogs of Kingsbury Rd. manage, while Charles’ delicate pads seems to be a magnet? Will he be embarrassed if I get him these? Probably. Leave your opinion in the comments…

This is snake season in these parts, so I limit my walks with Charles to the shade of the tree-lined dirt road. Although the road is not the fully-immersive nature walk the trail is, it’s still enjoyable, and a reliable place to see a variety of critters. One of the longhorns was up close to the fence chomping grass in the cool shadow of a large oak, separate from the rest of the herd grazing in the meadow. She looked up as I walked by, bored.

As I approached our main gate, the infamous albino turkey leapt from the fence and raced away into the pasture, it’s black-spotted head barely visible among the high, already dried-out grass.

The neighbor has acquired a small black cow, and she/he is currently corralled in an enclosure next to the horses on the road. It has the sweetest black eyes and the most darling pink nose - I nearly risked possible snakebite to get close, but Charles dragged me away in the nick of time to continue his search for the perfect pee spot.

On our road walks we always visit the old donkey, and his even older horse companion. I brought them apples and carrots once, but neither of them had the teeth to enjoy them. No matter, they’re just as happy with ear scratches and sweet nothings about how gorgeous they are.

Not all the wildlife interaction is so touchy-feely. Chad saw five snakes - two of which were rattlers. Unfortunately, one saw the business end of his hedge clippers, and is now headless in the freezer…why? Because that’s what the YouTube man said to do. Sigh. He got a little caveman about the whole thing, and while Charles and I held each other in the trailer, Chad strutted around the barn with Duran Duran’s Union of the Snake blasting from his phone.

One of the things I’ve loved about Hummingbird Ranch is watching how much visitors love it. Emma came up from SLO one night with 6 friends to celebrate one of their birthdays. It was a perfect HR night with darts, drinks, laughter, and music.

They all camped overnight and met up back at the barn in the morning for coffee. I love that Emma is beginning to feel at home here.

On our last night, I took Charles for a walk down to lock the gate. The moon hung low, just over the foothills like a glowing, buttery orb. It was huge and radiated a warm, but powerful energy. I stood and stared at it for a long while. The ranch always provides these moments where I feel deeply connected to something larger than myself. Not a monolithic, traditional god, but a connectedness that resonates deep within. For me, that is the true gift of this place.

We left at 11:30 am, the latest we have ever set out. Great traffic flow until the notorious 405/West LA morass. Pretty much smooth sailing until Bob's Well Bread in Los Alamos where they were sold out of our favorite sandwiches, so we bought cookies - seemed like a reasonable exchange. We ended up ordering sandwiches at High Street Deli in SLO, our other favorite. We both are rather predictable sandwich selectors - tuna, swiss, mustard, pickles NO TOMATO for Chad; turkey, avocado, swiss, mayo, TOMATO for me. Both usually on sourdough or french roll. Spoiler Alert: one of these sandwiches was too much like the other when we opened the bag two hours later. Chad choked down his very mayonnaise-y, tomato-y tuna, avocado sandwich, with nary a trace of mustard, nor pickle. Sigh.

Last time we were here - see the last Hummingbird Rancher entry by the eloquent La Kiki Fast - a note was left on our gate that PG&E would need to do some tree trimming to accommodate one of their lines. I have been less than impressed with their handiwork around town.

Chad called and spoke to the very nice fella who would be doing the work. He assured Chad that he was familiar with our property and prided himself on the artistry with which he approaches this sort of line maintenance. My fears were allayed…until…

This is his “masterpiece.” What a joke.

So as I sit in the Mesa Ridge on our first night here, trying to recalibrate my mood, I’ll spare you the further tales of one-hour traffic delays, mouse visits, and dog worries. I will instead focus on my fortunes, and they are bountiful.

Also, Chad saved a snake…more on that tomorrow.

It’s taken almost a week for me to pen this guest post because despite many many many MANY starts and even some completed efforts, I could not nail down exactly what it was I was trying to convey… 46th times the charm!

We set sail four hours later than intended, but that’s okay because an early morning would have had us driving in the dark and we would have missed this Superbloom moment at the 57 & Ball. 

Hummingbird Ranch is a mere 4.5 hours away from Laguna. We pass a lot of Outlet Malls (which look interesting) and some off-theme restaurants (which look suspicious), but I’m the designated Passenger Princess so we only stop once and it’s not to buy discounted Nikes. 

Things were looking a little gloomy at one point and I was beginning to panic because that’s a brand new windshield you’re looking at, and the nice folks at Safelight very much STRESS not using the windshield wipers for a full 24 hours and this was only hour 19ish… spoiler alert: nothing happened. 

I feel a little proprietary about the Salem Cruiselite. It’s the second time we’ve stayed in her and quite frankly, she’s a delight. Pulling up to the Ranch and seeing her all set up and waiting for us gave me an incredible sense of coming home which bodes, shall we say, not well for Jenn and Chad as one day they might putter up and be surprised to see me already there… 

Then these two were reunited, while this one gave them the side eye…

We spent the afternoon soaking in the early Spring sun under the magnificent Pepper Tree. The quiet found in those moments, when the sun is shining and the breeze is blowing is unparalleled. 

I don’t live a particularly hectic life yet am still surrounded by chaos. Be it the constant neighborhood construction, traffic to rival a major metropolis, or just the general stress of living through what my children call, “the stupidest timeline,” I am, unknowingly, wound UP.   And these moments - and this is what I’m having a hard time describing - when I’m sitting with my dog, and listening to my friends chatter, and the sun is on my face… I start to slip into a level of contentment which actually startles me. Not dissimilar to catching yourself from falling asleep in class, but in this case, I literally surprise myself with how quickly and fully I relax in this space. 

The neighbor’s horse understands. 

There are many beautiful places in the world but beauty and serenity are not the same, and there is an intangible quality to the spirit of the Ranch. 

After a restorative afternoon of watching the dogs tumble themselves into knots, we headed out to Santa Margarita for dinner at the most charming of spots, The Range. Now, I know it’s easy to get swept up in superlatives when on vacation because everything is new and interesting and the unfamiliar is charming but honestly, the food was superb and the staff charming. 

First of all, it’s rude they look this cute in our cheaters & next, I covet Chad’s shirt. 

The weekend was, as all weekends away with friends should be, full of laughter, too many drinks and too much food. There may have been matching hats purchased, there were definitely cases of wine purchased and Hugh might have had to sleep on the bunk beds because the dogs like their space. 

A tale from two wineries including but not limited to aesthetically wrapped Jenny’s special sandwiches, a shot at writing our own Fable (look for, “When the Dogs Drive Home” coming to an updated Aesop’s near you) and a member of the tasting room staff who moved us to tears while simultaneously teaching us about exhaling to really taste the final notes in a 2020 Primotivo. 

IMO “white hat” really carried the Soda Crackers but I may have been swayed by his whole vibe. We didn’t dance because none of us can two step (YouTube tutorials are about to change that sad fact) and didn’t want to humiliate ourselves on a dance floor dominated by ladies of a certain age who still like fringe, tall boots, and can boogie like the dickens. 

This moment brought to you by Rusty, telling us what can only be termed as “effective” ghost stories. 

To paraphrase Kevin Kelly’s famous line, “a friend with a ranch is better than owning a ranch” and I try to remind myself of this fact as we detour by a property for sale on our way out town.  But I’ll be honest, while I am besotted with the area and hope to return soon (hint/wink/nudge), it’s Hummingbird Ranch itself which beckons. 

Jenn and Chad have poured love and thoughtful energy into the property. They’ve cut back the weeds, and cleared out the dreck. The gates are open to the neighboring cattle and the horses next door know who have apples in their pockets. They’re more than owners, they’re stewards, and have created, in a relatively short time, 40 acres of paradise. 

The morning light on California’s central valley is golden and penetrating. I slid on my sunglasses and settled in for my favorite part of the journey. There are two ways to Hummingbird Ranch - 101 or the 5 - both generally take four hours. We like to mix it up, and this time chose the 5, exiting at Highway 46 which takes us directly into the Paso Robles area.

From the 5, Highway 46 passes through a small town that seems to be on the rise. Lost Hills has a beautiful city park and a brand new, very impressive pedestrian bridge. Cal Trans is also widening its once two-lane road to a divided four lanes. Not sure if that’s a good or a bad thing…

After Lost Hills, hundreds of oil wells dot the landscape, their noses and tails rocking rhythmically up and down. When I was little, oil wells reminded me of horses, so I think they are a bit charming.

This area is normally a sea of buff-colored, dried-out grasses and shrubs. Cattle graze here, on what, I’m not sure. There is a very small lavender farm trying to make a go of it, promising visitors photo ops among purple blooming mounds. In the two plus years we’ve been driving by the signs are still promising, but the mounds have yet to astound - not sure how that’s even possible after all the rain we’ve had.

The rain has had an impact on the rest of the landscape however, providing a velvety green canvas for the wildflowers to pop orange, yellow, pink, purple. It’s really stunning. I see why people get excited about the “Super Bloom.”

After the oil wells, the road opens up, cutting through almond, walnut and pistachio groves toward the foothills that divide the flat agricultural valley from the more coastal area. When you come down the small grade on the other side, it becomes more hilly, and the cattle become more abundant. This is also the place James Dean died in a 1955 car accident. A little makeshift memorial on the side of the road marks the location.

A bit further down the 46, we peel off and begin the final leg of our trip, through Highway 41’s lush hills. The 41 is a winding two-lane road scattered with farms and cows and windmills and silos - it’s very dreamy. I always put Charles on my lap for this part and we roll down the window to take in the fresh air.

Once we are on our little ranch road, I always breathe a little easier. As we approached the ranch this time, I could see all the oaks were leafing out and the meadows were super green. Flowers were everywhere, and the roadside maintenance Chad has diligently persisted with for more than two years has paid off. Where reedy, brown stalks used to stand, emerald grasses now wave and undulate with the breeze.

When we pulled up the driveway this time we were met by Smokey and Gunner, two free-range dogs that live on a ranch at the very end of our road. We’d seen them before traipsing on other people’s property, but they had never been at Hummingbird Ranch. Charles was a little surprised to see his ranch breached, but the boys were nice and he was a bit intrigued. They like Chad a lot too.

As per usual, Chad can’t sit still for more than 10 minutes, so he set out with the weed whipper, and Charley and I, and the boys, set out for our regular ranch loop to see the sights - and wowzer, the sights did not disappoint.

This place has truly been a gift. It feeds my soul. I know that sounds trite or like an amateurish trope, but it really is life-affirming.

When we come up, we like to drive around and explore nearby areas. We went a little deeper into Creston this time and I had to stop and capture this moment. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.

One Bloom

I have the privilege of writing a guest article for Hummingbird Rancher. Normally I’d say no, I’m not worthy, but in this case I feel more than qualified to opine on what Jenn has so eloquently begun to capture about the mood of this life changing adventure. A contrary departure from our known and all too familiar life in the Laguna Bubble.

Spring has sprung up here in the Central Coast as the picture I’ve provided shows - the actual first crown daisy bloom of a thousand to come.

Since we adopted the most neglected piece of land in our neighborhood, the journey hasn’t been easy. I tell Jenn all the time I’m trying to remove the “Haunted House” element from the property. We have a long stretch of roadside here on Hummingbird Ranch and we feel an obligation to maintain it for the residents on our country road - to make it look nice, after it has laid fallow and unkept for 5 plus years. When we got the property, it was grim. Thistle stalks, weeds, and dead trees lined our almost 1/4 mile of roadside. My grandpa had a small ranch when I was a kid - The Funny Farm - and he always told me, “if you mow it, the grass will come.” So, equipped with a battery operated weed whipper, I trudged through the weeds and thistle surely thinking a snake or varmint was going to send me to urgent care. After much effort and developing a nice case of tendinitis, the weeds have mostly given up and the grass has grown. We now have 1/4 mile of what I’d term “Amber Waves of Grain!” We still get seasonal weeds like everyone, but we now proudly have one of the nicest, most procured roadside properties on the road. Grandpa was right.

Improving the property has given me a real sense of purpose. Forty acres is a lot. Luckily, most of it is natural terrain, existing for all time as is and doesn’t need any attention. Still, the areas that need tending to, well there aren’t enough hours in the day. Jenn often complains I can’t sit still and take in the beauty, but I have to remind her, it wouldn’t be as beautiful without the efforts. 

Becoming empty nesters and going through Covid, I guess Jenn and I were searching for our next act. Having gone to UCSB I always had a fantasy of what lies north of Santa Barbara. The rolling hills, the oak trees..and candidly, my secretly-held fantasy of someday being a part of that environment and “playing cowboy.” That said, this has all been quite a personal departure from my normal sense of self. I pride myself on my surf heritage, and am a disciple of the New Wave/Ska/Reggae/Punk music scene. In fact, I have always despised country music, yet liked the boots, jean jacket, straw hat vibe - even before Yellowstone. Jenn turned me onto a music group called Watchhouse and I finally found a brand of country music that goes with the property, and when I’m up here, I “vibe” it and it just feels appropriate. All that said, I am truly a Green Horn up here - “look, there’s the poser whipping weeds by hand in trunks and boots” - I truly think the neighbors are taking photos of me for some country version of Kook of the Day…

Despite the hard work, the ranch provides so many rewards - golden hour, nature, stars, birds, animal sounds, views, trees, and the bluest of skies. It really is god's country. 

After all the much-needed rains this year, nature is really working its magic this Spring. Where once stood dilapidated manufactured homes on the property, the native daisies are thriving and while I was up here, this trip, the first bloom of Spring popped. For some reason that first bloom represented more than just a flower. It was a sign of a new beginning, a glimmer of hope, a sign that hard work pays off. When life seems like you are “in the weeds,” put in the effort and work, the beauty of life will follow…

The sky was bluer than the bluest blue, with white spongy clouds occasionally racing across the sun. Sweet signs of Spring were everywhere. Baby cows and horses testing their wobbly legs in neighboring pastures, screeching hawks warning me off from their lofty treetop nests, and tiny buds ready to explode on the fruit trees.

All this rain has refilled long dormant ponds on neighboring properties, the largest one across from the barn. When I take Charles out for his last walk, the frogs seem to be engaged in some sort of croaking rap battle - ribbit-ing back and forth between ponds.

Of course the cows were out in full force everyday, except one morning when only the old gal was visiting our side of the gate - she’s 28 and had a calf last year 👀 She was unimpressed by my intrusion and allowed me to get very close before she wandered off.

Our visit coincided with the Central Coast Craft Beer Fest in Atascadero, so we drove into town and mingled with the crowd. Atascadero’s “Sunken Garden,” with its stunning domed city hall building, is a scenic venue for community events. We attended the Tamale Fest there last year and plan on doing so again in May.

Chad’s oft-said comment “things are just better here” is really true. The natural beauty is unmatched, the people are real, and the vibe is chill. Kindness is not the exception, it is the rule.

On our last night, we decided to stay at the ranch rather than go into town for dinner. We sat in our weird ranch outfits, in our mismatched beach chairs, and watched the dog stalk birds in vain. As the sun lowered, we talked about gratitude, and how lucky we were to be together in this moment, in this place.

My daughter’s roommate has written a beautiful piece that speaks to the healing powers of this place we call Hummingbird Ranch.

Meditations In a Spring 

Here you are again
That place where you can rest
In a warm pool of water 
Under the open sky
Knowing its only for a little while 

Sit back 
Rejuvenate
The water won’t heal scars 
But it will sooth your body 
Calm your mind

Look back 
At how far you’ve come 
How much longer will life let you walk? 
You don’t know 
So make your strides worthy 
And pick a good direction

Let those bad thoughts pass 
Set down your burden for a moment 
And remember why you carry it 
And that everyone has their own

And then 
Just look up at the stars 
And feel the hot water on your skin 
You’re alive
In this strange place
You’re alive 

And when you’re ready 
Get out 
And face the cold
Trusting the warmth inside you

And walk 
With your burden on once more
So nobody else must carry it for you 
Unless you fall 
And need help getting back up 

And smile 
At the others you meet 
Who are doing the same 
And somewhere
Deep in the whole thing
You’ll find beauty

- Rusty Hunter

You can read more of Rusty's work at his Instagram page.

We had an easy drive today, stopping briefly at Bob's in Los Alamos to grab sandwiches. The weather was forecasted to be clear and sunny, but was actually quite cloudy and a bit rainy. As we neared SLO however, the clouds scattered, allowing glimpses of a bluebird sky. The endless rain has been a blessing to all our neighbors, but enough is enough. Time to let the sunshine do its work now, and provide lots of lovely grass for all the cows, sheep, goats, and horses.

The multiple fenced meadows of Rolling A Ranch mark the beginning of Templeton’s rural area. As we passed by, a group of adult horses galloped alongside their babies - literally frolicking - manes and tails flowing. It was a wonderful welcome home.

And speaking of home, Hummingbird Ranch is totally showing off - green and lush with hints of the wildflower explosion that will soon come. Charles is also happy to be here, leaping through the high grass like a nimble gazelle.

Sunshine is promised through the weekend, so visit Hummingbird Rancher on Instagram for a barrage of notes and photos. I’ll leave you with views from my evening walk.

.