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photo by Donald Kinney
Although cattle and dairy operations still continue, Point Reyes was turned into our Nation's first National Seashore in the mid-1970's. I am pretty darned lucky to live close by.
Point Reyes National Seashore is a vast area, and generally when I'm there I have the choice of exploring the seashore to the west which takes me out to the lighthouse and Chimney Rock areas, or I can travel east, driving past and through a few dairy farms, and ending in the McClure's Beach area. This is where the historic Strauss Dairy is located, which specialized in making cheese and butter for the hungry citizens of San Francisco starting way back in the 1860's.
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photo by Donald Kinney
This is the interior of the Strauss Dairy milking barn. As you can see I was having great fun playing with light and shadow.
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photo by Donald Kinney
And of course, the fun never stops when I'm out there searching for patterns.
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photo by Donald Kinney
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5 comments:
I only half-assed read your post, quickly scrolling down for any news on Kitty, hoping for good news. When my Pink (named after Pink Floyd for he'd curl up next to the speaker while PF blared out)was taken away from me way too early in his life, within the week I went out an adopted a cat in hope it would relieve some of the pain. I have had cats all my life and they have all come to me in one way or another; I had never actively adopted a cat before until that time. This is how Sinbad came into my life, truly the best cat I have ever had. And when I went to the rescue center that day, it was Sinbad who crawled up into my lap and licked the tears away from my cheek. He picked me. That was the name the center had given him and I didn't have the strength in me to change it. I was thinking of you most all day yesterday, especially as I paid attention to Sinbad. I will be doing the same today.
Thank you for your kind words, SINBAD'S DAD...
Kitty had a long and happy life. I suppose nothing lasts forever. I'm in a bit better shape today than I was yesterday... I'm trying not to let self-pity take over. I'll be okay.
I'm sure you will be ok, but that's not the point. Your loss has left a gaping hole in your life. I'm really sorry and hope against all hope that Kitty will come home again.
(((HUGS))) from your blogging friend
Sue
Thanks PHOTOWANNABE SUE, yep your description of a gaping hole in my life is pretty accurate. But you know, I don't have much experience in this type of thing, but this afternoon I was thinking what a rotten way for love to end. I guess it's a lesson I'll have to learn.
Okay, I've gone through three cat deaths. And in my case each single cat was a mixture of friend, lover, child, and consciousness from Mars. The first, Tobito, in my 20s, got leukemia and kitty AIDS and I had him "put away" at about the age of 8. When the vet asked if I wanted special treatment with his ashes while I was holding the love of my life in my arms, I said "throw him in the dumpster for all I care" and ran across the street to a sidewalk in front of some San Francisco housing projects and wailed like a banshee on the ground for a good two hours. In truth, I'm still not quite over that death.
It took another decade to get a cat, Kitska, who spoke to me on Market and Montgomery at an SPCA giveaway. He turned out to be a feral half-bobcat who was an absolute cool cat and sweetheart, but he got multiple male ureter problems young, probably from the Purina dry food I was feeding him, and I had him killed too. The vet suggested a catheter and I thought, "no way would I do that to this wild kitty." I've never mourned him properly and would very much like to do so.
My last cat was Tina for 11 years, a truly evil bitch I somehow received from a lover who was moving out of my apartment that weekend. Tina loved me unreasonably and treated everyone else with a sort of frightening disdain. Her death broke my heart but it made life much more beautiful for everyone around me.
After Tina, it was finally convenient to travel and not worry about the animal and so on and so forth and then there was a dream where I was supposed to get a cat and I did, the orange tabby Tiger Woods, who you met and who is two years old.
The point of this endless kitty saga is that your love affair with your cat was real and beautiful and powerful. Somebody who hasn't gone through that relationship doesn't quite get it, and most people have not. You're lucky in that sense. But boy, outliving them can be hell.
By the way, I got the cheap version of your book for free at your opening, but I'd like to pay for the expensive one. Not only does it have my name and exquisite blurb on the back, which the cheap edition does not, but the expensive version is beautifully laid out and the cheap one is not.
Your photography is just getting better and better, by the way. I should have gone "WOW" instead of "I LIKE" to the black fence. It's powerful stuff.
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