Tag Archives: Summer

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Ancient Summer

Photo by Max Hofstetter on Unsplash

I live in a house that’s over a hundred years old. To someone from the East Coast or Europe, it’s not really such a big deal or ancient. But in California it qualifies as old. Our oldest building in California is the Mission San Juan Capistrano, which is 236 years old, but there are not many like her. Over the years, people have asked me, what is it like to live in a old house?

Currently, it’s summer, so most of my perspective is coming from that place. Basically, it’s hot. We are into September, which is still kind of summer in the Inland Empire and it was 100 yesterday. It was 117 last month and was up to 106 three days in a row during one week. Yes, I have central air conditioning. And I have a friend that put down new base boards for me, so that forced cold air now stays in the house. When I first moved into the house, there were cracks and gaps everywhere and light actually shown through. Did this disturb me? No. I liked the fact that fresh air was constantly being exchanged and I could see sunlight peeking through near the floor. I even got up at a Board of Realtors meeting in Corona and expoused on the benefits of air exchange in old bungalows, so that gives you a big clue where I’m coming from when discussing restoration and preserving the originalty of antique structures. It’s that type of perspective that you find from people who live in old houses. It’s a love for imperfection caused by years of wear and tear. A love of fine craftsmanship from a day gone by that is hard to find in new construction these days. If you want it, you have to pay a dear price, whereas at the turn of the century most men had to know how to work with their hands and took immense pride in what they created.

Photo by Jørgen Håland on Unsplash

So this house is made of redwood and it gets hot. I asked my son why the electric company sent us a notice informing us that I used too much electricity-more electricity than 100 of my neighbors within a mile radius. He matter of factly told me; you live in an old house. A lot of the comparable were with neighbors from up the street. They have new modern systems that don’t use as much energy to cool their homes. You know the houses are air tight and stuccoed as well and help to stabilize the temperature.

I appreciate the benefits of stucco, but redwood is so beautiful and strong that it’s hard for me to see past that. The older the wood is, the more value it holds. Old wood is sturdy and tough and great for building. It comes from trees that lived long lives before they were cut down. It can be as hard as cement.The wood holds a spirit and character that lends a certain ambience when you build a home out of it.

Oh I know, you are probably thinking that trees and wood don’t have personality or life. My beliefs are different. Trees keep us alive and without trees, human life would not exist. Trees, especially ancient trees have lived through climate change, wars, pollution and natural disasters. They absorb the stuff of life and it’s held within their roots, trunk and foliage. When a tree is harvested for building, along with it’s wood comes all of the energy and nutrients it absorbed over it’s lifespan. The wood holds all of that and it holds it for a long time. The oldest wooden house in the world is over 700 years old. The house is in Switzerland and the local belief is that as long as someone lives in the house and lives a good life, it will remain strong and provide a safe and comfortable shelter.

Photo by Joel & Jasmin Førestbird on Unsplash

When I was in the market for a house, I fell in love with my old house at first sight. There was an inexplicable ambience when I walked through the front door that was hard to describe. It was pleasant and gentle, almost a loving feeling that permeated the warm and musty interior. Later, I found out that the house had been lived in by many good people. A farmer, a Navy officer, teachers, an attorney and many more. A passionate teen romance had played itself out on the second story of the house. In the attic were old love letters stashed away and favorite toys. The couple had cast their initials with a heart in cement next to the vintage light post outside.

Certain days during the summer, I’ll go up to the second story where it’s almost impossible to cool down the rooms and sit in the heat and soak in the hot air, the agedness of the house. The smell of the redwood and old plaster is released into the atmosphere. Memories of my own life, raising my children in the house, restoration projects and community meetings move about the room and come to life. It’s deeply satisfying and spiritual; an affirmation that the circle of life is there and goes on beautifully with love and care.

Photo by Edgar Guerra on Unsplash

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Straw Flower Family

The straw flowers were standing lovely in three small tin pots. They reminded me of a multigenerational family clustered together and at different stages of their life. Small blossoms with closed velvet buds slept and awaited their moment to arise and take the stage. Once their bright yellow petals were sprung, they would be stiff and as dry as parchment paper. Perfect for fairies to write love notes upon. The enfant buds had a neighbor that had already fully opened. This blossom, like a dandy, displaying his new clothes and revealed his luxurious velvet orange button at his center. Across the way and glorious; a neighboring blossom lay it’s face fully open to the public. The center button was fully opened and it’s symmetrical seeds lay like a thousand tiny soldiers standing in formation creating the circle of life. Next to this beautiful blossom and nestled between the various buds was the grand parent to them all. It was an old blossom that was fully opened. The straw petals fallen aside and soft feathering seeds cascaded out and over it’s sides. These small aeronauts were ready and waiting to be transported by the wind to a new land.

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My mom planted straw flowers in her garden when I was a child. I didn’t remember them until I picked some up at a local specialty store to decorate the house for a party. I loved how bright and cheery they were. They exuded the ambience of summer, beaches and warm days. As I examined them, the thought of Dragon Snaps and violets floated into my consciousness and a picture of my mom and I planting flowers. That was the sixties. Everything was full of sunshine and promise and my mom drove a van with huge psychedelic flowers on it. Flowers, peace and love were a part of everyday life. This was obviously a flower that was meant to bring joy.

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It’s official name is Xerochrysum Bracteatum. We know it as the golden everlasting or strawflower. It’s a flowering plant in the family Asteraceae and it’s native to Australia. It was first described by Étienne Pierre Ventenat in 1803. Étienne Pierre Ventenat was a French botanist born in Limoges, France. He was the brother of the famed naturalist Louis Ventenat. He devoted his life to the study and the documentation of the plants he found in the greenhouses and the gardens of Europe. In 1850, the straw flower was developed in Germany and new colors were propagated. So now we have not only yellow; but bronze, purple and red. It was initially known as Helichrysum bracteatum back then and this continued for several years. In 1990 it was moved to the genus Xerochrysum and now it’s part of the daisy family. The strawflower is found around the world and grows in many different habitats. Butterflies, bees, grasshoppers, beetles and moths rely on this hardy blossom for sustenance. Crafters use them for potpourri and making wreaths.

Strawflowers are easy to grow. They are heat tolerant and survive well in poor soil. If you decide to grow them, the most important thing to remember is-water them lightly. I’ve got mine outside now and they seem to be thriving in full sun and with just a watering or two a week. On cloudy days, they are a reminder of sunshine and and hold the promise of summer and warmth in the days ahead.

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The Old Circle

Summer is coming and it’s the best time of year in Southern California. My favorite city was once a farming town, founded by a group of entrepreneurial bankers from the midwest. The land they purchased was an alluvial plane descending from the Santa Ana mountains. On the other side of this mountain range are the beaches. The cool fog drifts over almost every evening and then burns off with the first sunlight. When seen from the right angle at a certain time a day it looks tropical and you could swear you were driving into an island. Palm trees jut up against small green mountains with a backsplash of blue sky and puffy white clouds. The city started as a farming community that sustained itself on citrus crops. Those farms are gone now, along with the groves that released a heavenly sent every evening at sundown and blanketed the city with a heady, intoxicating perfume.
Summer is hot here. It’s all about very light clothing, no sleeves, mostly shorts and tall glasses filled with ice and sweet liquid. They call it the dog days of summer. If you are feeling particularly ambitious, it’s wise to rise early and get everything done in the coolness of the morning. As the day progresses it’s time to hit the porch and do nothing. Just like the dogs. Lay back, try to breath and don’t get overheated, because there aren’t too many ways to cool back down. Now we have indoor showers, air conditioning and refrigerators. Back then, you had to improvise. Sleeping porches were common and the family would gather on the second story to catch the night breezes and chat about the happenings of the day as they drifted off to sleep. Once you get used to the heat, it’s wonderful. The body relaxes, the skin opens and breathes. Everything and everybody slows down and it’s summer-time for vacation!




When summer hits, the main event is the fourth of July. People from all over the city head into the historic core for a good old Fourth of July parade. The local school bands and the Rotary are in full force. Candidates for city office ride by in old Thunderbirds or new souped up Mustangs with a young gorgeous pageant queens at their side. People set up small encampments with chairs, blankets, drinks and food and settle in to enjoy the good old fashioned spectacle. Laughing with friends and neighbors and feeling thankful that they landed in this place.
The city was planned with a circle at it’s center. It was meant to symbolize a crown. The crown of English royalty that invested in the small inland colonies of California and provided financial backing to make sure the farms grew and prospered. A hundred years ago famous racers and their vintage Stutz and Fiats tore around the circle to complete one hundred screaming, terrifying laps at more than 100 miles per hour. Beautiful grand farmhouses were erected along it’s borders for the more prominent business leaders and politicians. Many had carriage houses, tennis courts and later swimming pools. Now the races have a become a historic relic and many of the homes are gone. For those that remain; some are well-preserved and some not. Some are modified beyond recognition. It’s a mish mash of eclectic vintage architecture lined with dusty palms, ancient pepper and oak trees. It’s old and lovely and full of history that’s intriguing. The circle has persevered and remains a landmark to Southern Californians. It’s easily seen from the air and serves as a landmark for pilots.
Farming gave the city, it’s first purpose and history.




Over a hundred years have passed and now there are other reasons to live here. As farming phased out, development and industry took over and were a success. Some of the old orchards still remain up in the hills rising above the city. Beautiful old citrus trees stand majestic and silent with globes or orange and yellow fruit hanging enticingly from their branches. Small noises of animal life punctuate the quiet as birds fly over the canopy singing joyfully.
This is summer, this is history, this is Southern California.