I am the Proud Mother of Two Naughty Cats

I will soon add pix of the two cats, Tami, the older woman with the much younger man.

Here’s the naughtiest of the naughty cat: Orlando-Murray-Baby mubabyr

Eleven years separate them and his previous owner called him “Lorenzo” for his lover qualities, and he is quite popular with humans. But then he name was changed to “Murray,” a perfectly good name but he never answered it. He loves to be called “Baby,” so that’s his name, Baby. 

Meanwhile here is a photo of my mom’s family taken during WWI. They look veery grim, indeed. The picture includes my mom, uncle, grandmom and granddad, a musician who was accidentally shot on the last day of the war (somewhere near the Alsace Lorrainhttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alsace-Lorraine.)

germanfamily1

My mom is the one with ribbon in her hair. They look strict, don’t they? Not one of them is smiling; I wonder what was going on in their minds. Of course, all are gone, now.

John Vonderlin: There’s a (1898) Shipwreck in Your Front Yard

ny
Story from John Vonderlin
Email John ([email protected])
Hi June,
   You know how I love mysteries. With that in mind, I decided to start organizing the material I have on the shipwreck of the New York, which you could have seen from your front yard if it happened today. The mysteries here are, why did the ship go aground, was it deliberately beached, and if so, for what gain?
   I’ve attached a ScreenShot of a drawing of the New York’s bizarre path before it beached itself and a few of the ship. The photo of it beached with the horse and buggy in front of it 
   Enjoy. John
nyshipwreck
newyor2
  
[ more coming]

Anthropology 106 with Dr. Kearton

Before I broke my arm, I chose to write a paper called MBUTI RELIGION

First the comment from Dr. Kearton:

Paper seems to be about the relationship between music and religion in Mbuit society. If so, why keep it a secret?

Introduction

(comment from Dr. Kearton: How so?)

This paper is concerned with the religion of the African Mbuti (Pygmy) people living in the Ituri Forest in the Belgian Congo. The net-hunting people I have studied are hunters and gatherers living in a vast expanse of rain forest. The Mbuti occupy only the dense forest where the migration of game and the nature of vegetation are relatively unaffected by outside influences.

The Mbuti hae been in the forest for many thousands of years. A record of an expedition sent from Egypt in the Fourth Dynasty to discover to discover the source of the Nile states that the commander of the expedition entered a great forest to the west of the Mountains of the Moon and discovered there a people of the trees, a tiny people who sang and danced to their god. The Mbuti of today lead much the same kind of life characterized by singing and dancig to their god.

It is important to recognize that to the Mbuti the forest is considered generous and friendly, while the village cultivators regard it as hostile. The forest supplies the Mbuti  with all their needs such as water, food and shelter. The forest is interlaced with many streams, and throughout the year there is plenty of game and vegetable foods. Firewood and the materials needed to build shelter are always at hand.

The Mbuti roam the forest at will, in small isolated bands or hunting groups. The fact that they average less than four-and-a-half feet in height is of no concern to them. Their taller neighbors who laugh at them for being so puny, are as clumsy as elephants–a reason why they must always remain outsiders in a world where one’s life may depend on one’s ability to run swiftly and silently.

The world of the forest is a closed, possessive world, hostile to all those who do not understand it. In many villages, there is the same suspicion and fear of the forest. It is from the plantations that the food comes, not from the forest, and for the villager’s life is a constant battle battle to prevent their plantations from being overgrown by the forest.

The villagers speak of the world beyond the plantations as being a fearful place, full of malevolent spirits and not fit to be lived in except by animals and BaMubti, which is what the villagers call the Mbuti. 

The villagers, some Bantu and some Sudeanic, keep to their plantations, and seldom go into the forest, unless it is absolutely necessary. For them it is a place of evil they are outsiders.

The Mbuti have no fear of the forest, for them there is no danger. Their life consists of little hardships because the forest supplies them with all their needs. Consequently, there is no belief in evil spirits, and for the Mbuti, the forest is a good place.

The Mbuti are a practical people whose physical existence is determined in a day-to-day context. Thus, they are content with the present, rather than the past or future. When discussing the future in this life or the next, the Mbuti deny speculation not having been there, they do not know what it is like, and not knowing what it is like, they cannot predict what their behavior will be. The Mbuti who does speculate on the future is a person who acts “emptily,” or whose head is loose and not properly attached to the  body.

Author Colin Turnbull found this denial of absolute knowledge about the future or of afterlife to be a common characteristic among the Mbuti he encountered. This did not prevent individuals from having ideas about the unknown; rather, ideas about the unknown were considered to be fruitless, and sometimes took the form of established legends.

The Mbuti believe in a power greater than themselves which is not of the natural order,they see and know around them. This belief can be considered a spiritual power which the Mbuti do not claim to understand but which they utilize to explain the unknown. The terminology used to explain the unknown is not standardized among the various bands of Mbuit.

The Epulu Mbuti use in one instance five terms interchangeably–pepo, keti, boru, roho and satani. These terms indicate for the Mbuti that man himself is in part spiritual and that life deserves not from the flesh but from other sources. Each of the five terms denotes this personal force, but each one also is used to denote to different species of that force.

[more coming, remember this was written in about 1970. Colin Turnbull, whose books I was reading, were published in the 1960s, so I don’t know what current research reads like.)

It is generally believed among the Mbuti that each man and each animal is endowed to some extent with such power. This power derives from a single source  which is the forest  itself. There are many names which represent this power source, but “the forest” is simplest to use for this is how the Mbuti themselves describe it.

Also deriving from the prime source of spiritual power are certain disembodied spirits which, like the Mbuti, inhabit the forest. These spirits have no power to harm or help. There is a vague belief that there is a conflict of interest at times between the spirits and the Mbuti helps to explain strange occurrences. For instance, someone who trips while chasing an animal may say that he collided with a “keti,” which is the term used by the Epulu Mbuti  for this spirit, who was chasing the same animal.

The disembodied spirits are thought to live a similar life as the Mbuti, for as they themselves say, what other kind of existence can there be in the forest? There is no competition or rivalry between the spirits and the Mbuti, and the spirits are thought of only when explanations are needed.

The Mbuti also believe in individual personality, which is essentially of the body than of the spirit, but which is enhanced and activated by the spirit. Thus individuals justify their thoughts or actions by saying that their “heart” is pleased. The heart is usually thought to be the location of this personality and when displeased the heart jumps and leaps about in the chest.

The first term used to express the general concept of personal force is PEPO. PEPO is the life force of breath which animates all living things.

KETI are the disembodied spirits which are animated by the life force PEPO. The KETI lead a comparable existence to that of the Mbuti, and sometimes the two worlds become confused. Hallucinations and dreams are the result of accidentally slipping from the one world into the other.

Any meetings between the KETI and the Mbuti are considered as abnormal and not to be sought. Here is a fear that a Mbuti may cross-over in the KETI world unable to return back. In this case, the Mbuti say that you might not even know you had crossed over because of the similarity of the two worlds. Thus, dreams are thought of as being real experiences in a mirror world from which one can learn.

BORU is the term used to designate the “house” (flesh, body) inhabited by the life force PEPO. The Mbuti do not tolerate violence which causes abuse or mutilation to the  body because they fear that the PEPO will escape through the open wound, causing death.

ROHO is the personality associated with the heart. The heart is spoken of as being hot or cold, noisy or quiet: Hot and noisy are bad qualities while cool and quiet are good. The state of an individual’s ROHO may be used as justification for his actions.

SATANI is a term derived from the villagers indicating evil spirits. Since the Mbuti do not believe in evil spirits they only use the term when recounting a village tale. The Mbuti believe only in the keti who are no better or no worse than the Mbuti.

From the description of the two levels of existence, human and keti, and of the principle of spiritual animation, it seems plausible that there should be a source of this spiritual force. That source is, of course, the forest.

The Mbuti frequently sing and shout to the forest and address it as “father,” “morher,” “friend,” or “lover.” The Mbuti explain the usage of all these names when they say that “the forest is everything.”On the hunt the men address it as “father,” the women as “mother.” A man receiving a sudden favor is apt to address the forest as “mother.:” A woman who is having a hard time finding the leaves she wants, will,when getting into a tangle of undergrowth, almost certainly start addressing the forest as “father” and accuse it of being far too severe and strict.

The Mbuti personify the forest to the extent that they say gives them not only food and shelter, warmth and clothing, but also affection. This aspect of affection was emphasized by Kenge who was found dancing alone in the night. When asked why he was dancing alone, he replied: “Buy I’m not dancing alone. I am dancing with the forest, dancing with the moon.”

The perennial certainty of economic sufficiency, the general lack of crisis in their lives, all lead the Mbuti to the conviction that forest is benevolent and that the natural course of life is good.
——-
Dr. Kearton’s comment: “Good summary but you have not told us exactly you mean to undertake.”

Next Chapter: The Power of Sound

Dr. Kearton’s comment: Why is this so important?

Birth is the period in which to establish a relationship of strength ad affection between the forest and the individual such as tying a vine to the wrist or around the waist. This relationship is reinforced at puberty in the manner of song. Song requires continued effort which is direct and personal and powerful. It is believed that song attracts the attention of the forest and also pleases it.

There are distinct musical forms for distinct occasions of importance in forest life such as hunting, honey gathering, puberty and death. Songs sung by the Mbuti in the village are different in musical form from those sung in the forest and are spoken of as “empty sound” or “noise.”

Among the Mbuti are four major types of songs. Two concern a economic activities and the other two are more religious in nature being concerned with puberty and health. The puberty songs deal with women and youths, and are first learned and sung at puberty but may be sung at periods such as growth, birth and marriage. For example, elima sons or puberty songs may be sung at birth if there is special concern over the child’s welfare.

Death songs are usually song at the death of an adult during the molimo festival. Dr. Kearton’s comment: (Which is?). Some death songs may be sung at other times of crisis that threaten life.

Whereas elima songs are of more importance to women, molimo songs are more important to men. However, male youths play a role in the elima festivals since it is a celebration of their puberty as well as that of the girls. During the molimo festival, also, the roles of the sexes are reversed with the women taking over the men’s songs.

Song form reveals other areas beside food getting activity, life and death. For instance, there is a concern for cooperative activity since each type of song requires a group to sing it. If there is a solo it is sung over a chorus and the solo is passed from one individual to another. Certain parts of songs are sung by youths, hunters or elders,  according to age which reinforces the concern for age differential in their social structure.

All the songs share the same power of sound to awaken the forest and indicate the area of interest of the Mbuti at that moment. This attracts the forest’s attention to the immediate needs of the Mbuti. For this to be of optimum use to the Mbuti, the sound must be pleasing to the forest.

It is not surprising then, that sound so carefully controlled as song should be considered as the “strongest” possible kind of sound, activated by the breath that is so mysteriously connected with pepe. Song is used to communicate with the forest and the emphasis is on sound not on the words.

The Lesser Molino

[Dr. Kearton’s comment: bird, plane or superman? Was there another Molimo? And what is it?)

The lesser molimo is used in reaction to a crisis over which the Mbuti have no control. For instance, continuous bad hunting or long illness becomes a matter of the forest. The lesser molimo differs from the greater molimo in that it lasts only a few days since there is usually a change taken as an indication that the forest has awakened. The dancing is done by the youths only, and most important is the exclusion of the molimo trumpet in the lesser molimo festival.

All adult youths and men are expected to attend although there is not the same criteria for non-attendance as during the greater molimo.
——
Next Chapter: The Greater Molimo

[comment by Dr. Kearton: I now know there two Molimos but I still do not know of this man or mouse.]

There is no rule as to when a greater molimo should be held. It is based on nature of death, the importance of the deceased to the band, and conditions like hunting at the time. A combination of poor hunting and sicknesses associated with the death of a child in the band could bring about a molimo to awaken the sleeping forest.

Whomever initiates a molimo festival must take the responsibility to see that everyone cooperates in providing food or he himself. Since most molimo festivals do not last less that a month, the undertaking is a great economic responsibility limiting the number of festivals held.

 

 

 

[more coming….remember this paper was written in 1971.)

Anthropology 106 with Dr. Kearton

Note: I could not have created the bronze sculpture of the Ivory Coast mask without the assistance of bronze sculptor John Battenberg, who was then teaching art at San Jose State University. He made it possible to use his “ovens,” to create the work, and I have discovered that some of his huge full body pieces are available through the IWolk Gallery in Napa.

Do you have any idea how heavy bronze can get? My mask shown below must weight more than 20 pounds; it’s solid bronze. Dr. Kearton thought I should shop it around at galleries back in the early 1970s.

I also recall John Battenberg visiting the home rented by John Morrall and me in San Jose. John had created a floor high”maze” for Halloween. Guests, including the artist Battenberg, entered through the front door. They had to get on their hands and knees and then crawl through from one level to the next, finally sliding down into the living room. I think I filled the “maze” with balloons to create some extra atmosphere!

[Image of a very old book about traveling to the West Coast of Africa. I wanted to go so badly. Below that is the receipt for the book,one of the most expensive books I had ever bought but it was a book of dreams for me.]
ivoryholmes

When I went to San Jose State (SJS) way back when, my major was in the Social Sciences. Most women I knew expected to go into social work of some kind. Even though all I wanted to do was write, there was no encouragement, no one to say: “hey, do this, then do that.” I did have a column in the “Lincoln Log,” at Lincoln High School but nobody edited it; I have to admit it was truly written by the “child” I was.

I also came from a bilingual family, and that can be a tough road when you don’t understand the ways of the culture you’re living in. Some of you may not understand this, but believe me, the path is tougher. I was pretty and that helped. I admit it.

At SJS, I was on my own.

Social Science included history, anthropology and sociology. I took psychology courses, too, because I had become addicted to Dr. Freud and Dr. Jung at a very young age. Symbolism and inner goings on and the meanings of dreams, what a turn-on for me. Psychology became my minor. Today, I hear of double and triple and quadruple majors; where do they find the time? Certainly, the internet helps. We had to read real books back then, stacks of them.

Dr. Kearton was my anthropology professor (sounds better than teacher, don’t you think?) Not only nice but kind enough to allow me to take Independent Studies when I broke my arm in a bicycling accident. I couldn’t write or type with the broken arm, I think the break was at the elbow.

(I lived in a house some blocks from SJS with other artist-type students (including my future ex-husband) and we all biked to school. The weather was balmy, we were without our parents, and learning about personal choices and freedom.

Dr. Kearton’s anthro class focussed on Africa, and I was very interested. Remember, I am a deep romantic and I found an obsession with the Ivory Coast, located on the west side of Africa. French-influenced originally, but now in turmoil. I never got to visit the Ivory Coast but I made an African dance mask, using the lost wax casting method.

I’m going to get a little blurry because I forget how I did it. But I used black colored wax (I guess) to carve the features of the mask, the eyes, nose and mouth, and horns. I used a special metal  tool and I loved working on the project because it was so gratifying. A face emerged just like the one I was copying from a book of African masks. This was from Benin on the Ivory Coast. (I may have to re-check that connection.)

My future ex-husband was a terrific artist. He could do anything. He’s the one who taught me about art and gave me an intense love of paintings and sculpture and circular buildings. His sculpture teacher was John Battenburg, who was well known for real-size sculptures—like a man on a motorcycle. So I had access to the foundry in the art department. That meant after I finished the wax part of the sculpture, I could put it in the intense heat of the  foundry where the wax melted and was replaced by bronze.

You see, in the end my Benin mask was made of pure bronze, and is very heavy. I still have it today. Of course, it does not match the beautiful original but Dr. Kearton liked it enough to advise me to try to sell it at the local galleries. I didn’t have enough self-esteem to do so and the mask stayed with me which is just fine. A good memory.

Long after I graduated from SJS,I tried to get plane tickets to the Ivory Coast. I was going alone, my usual modus operandi.

I found a travel agent who specialized in exotic trips; that was back when hardly anybody went anywhere. Not like today. The travel agent told me there was trouble brewing in the area and it might not be a good idea for me to go, especially not alone. She said she had a contact who traveled around West Africa and she would soon get a report from him. This was in the early 1980s, I’d say.

A few days later the report came and the travel agent said: too dangerous now. Forget it.

So I never got to the Ivory Coast but I kept my mask,a reminder of a long ago dream.

Meanwhile what happened to Dr. Kearton and John Battenburg?

[Images: Above my “copy” of the original Benin below.)

sculpture4
sculpture1

Sat. May 15: Come Celebrate Big George Moore

 

georgemoore

 

Attached is the flyer fr Georges Memorial. Sorry for the delay in notification, but I couldn’t get a confirmation from the Legion on the space. Please do try and come, if there are any questions feel free to calL 707 761 3002.

Thanks and again – please try and come

diane

fly or surf to London with your Creature Art

reatureartjpg
Creaturemag News – May

DIY show in Wakefield – Get invloved
Send us your zines. Send us your zines. Send us your zines. Send us your zines.

Temporary Art Space is an unfunded, artist-run project with a lifespan of six months, situated in the magnificent Grade 1 listed Piece Hall in Halifax and co-directed by Alice Bradshaw, Bob Milner, Tom Senior, Kevin Boniface & Georgia Boniface.

Opportunities:

Temporary art space are doing a DIY show at the gallery in Wakefield.
They require zines and alike… DIY arty stuff….etc.
Plus they are looking for people who “would like to make art live or to show old stuff”.
If you would like more info then please contact:

[email protected]

Or just send in your DIY stuff to:

Bob

6 Savile Drive

Horbury

WF4 6JP

Thanks a billion x

The Fete In Dalston – This Sunday

Get down to Cafe Oto on Sunday 10th May for the brilliant FETE. Creature has been along to a couple now, trust us if you like the DIY thing you will not be disappointed.

May 10th @ Cafe Oto

New Music Venue | 18 – 22 Ashwin St | Dalston | London | E8 3DL

12pm – 4pm

FREE

1963: Statute of Immigrant Project: Where’s the statute?

Isn’t this a fascinating document? Was the statute built? 

Mr. Carlos Almeida
Supreme Secretary-Treasurer
U.P.E.C.
1120 East 14th St.
San Leandro, Calif.

Dear Sir and Bro.:
Thanks for mailing me your receipt for the donation of $100.00 to the Statute of Immigration Project, and again I repeat that I appreciate very much the opportunity in having myself become known as at least the son of an immigrant that did his part in developing the agricultural industry and economy of our state.

This also goes, in my behalf, to all of our other immigrants, and particularly to those Portuguese pioneers of Half Moon Bay, whose picture I left at your office last week, and whose names of those that I had the great privilege of knowing personally, are as follows:

(I don’t have the photo, sorry, but here are the names)

From right to left, and starting in with the first or front row: Jose Furtado, George Williams, Manual V. Nunes, John A. Bettencourt, Manuel S. Bettencourt, Candido Fernandes, Francisco Gomes 

Second Row:  John Lopez, Antonio Coelho, ?, Jose E. Cunha, ? and ?, Jose A. Fernandez, Joaquin Santos, Manuel Perfilho, Manuel Gaudencio

Third Row: Antonio Borreco, Munuel A. Cunha ? and ? Jose Trombas ? and ? , Jose Isidorio, Manuel Simao

Fourth Row: Benjamin Cunha, Jose Lisboa, Francisco M. Victorino, Jose Hel3nha 😕 and ? Manuel F. Cunah

Fifth Row: F.E. Pimentel, Josquin Bernardo ? and ? John Praeder, Jose V. Azevedo

John Vonderlin: (Post 1906 Quake/Fire) All roads lead to/from San Francisco Or Let’s Sell Some Cars

Story from John Vonderlin

Email John ([email protected])

Hi June,
   Here’s the Corrected Text version of
the “How the Auto Has Brought City-
Dwellers Close to Nature,” from the
June 9th, 1907 issue of “The San Fran-
cisco Call.” It is interesting that while 
the auto had made some serious inroads
into the horse and buggy paradigm since
the 1905 article I sent you, it was still a
fair weather friend, as mentioned in the last
paragraph. This is only an excerpt that
concerns the Coastside. There are also de-
scriptions of Yosemite, Fort Ross, Clear
Lake and even Twin Peaks trips in the full
article available on the “Chronicling America,”
website of the Library of Congress. Enjoy. John
  
 
HOW THE AUTO HAS BROUGHT
CITY DWELLERS CLOSE TO NATURE
 
That there is a hub of the universe every
one knows.  That there is a. hub of the
automobile world and that hub is San
Francisco every one does not know.
But such is the fact. San Francisco, sit-
ing among her hills, forms the hub of
an immense wheel from which innum-
erable spokes radiate in the direction
of the four earth corners. Some of
these radiating spokes form broad
highways in the automobile world;
others are but ramifications, byways of
the roads themselves, but all  lead to
haunts of unsurpassed beauty, rest and
loveliness, undiscoverable, inaccess-
ible save by that reducer of time and
distance, the almost ubiquitous auto-
mobile.
One of the most beautiful and pic-
turesque roads leading out of the city
has been practically unknown until a
few weeks ago when the Automobile
Dealers’ Association of California held
an endurance run to La Honda. When
that run was first suggested hardly
any one of those anxious to go knew 
what the road was like. So some of 
those who wished to do their machines
and their steering powers credit went
quietly over the course before the date
set for the contest. When the beau-
ties of the road were discovered amaze-
ment was universally expressed that
such exquisite spots should exist un-
known and unheralded just outside
San Francisco.
In order to take this particular trip
one must follow the 
San Mateo road.
Just before the heart of the little sub-
urban town is reached, one comes to a
bridge, but the bridge must not be
crossed, for it is the road just to the
right of it that leads to some of the
most enchanting bits of scenery in all
California. This road is so shaded with
tall, drooping trees that it resembles
a broad lane. For a mile or so there is
a gradual descent, then comes a reach
of open country, and then the auto be-
gins to climb a hill. It is a steady
chug-chug upward for about a mile.
until several branch roads leading to
private homes are passed, one has only
to follow the path which shows the
result of much travel to be sure that
he is in the right direction. When the
summit is finally reached a splendid
panorama bursts upon the eye. Far
down, some hundreds of feet below,
spread to right and left, is the Crystal
Sprlngs lake, where the water
for the city is corraled. Mountains
rise on every side and, in the field and
woods which border the lake there is
an impression of neatness and form
that conveys the feeling that one is
passing through the park of some
vast estate.
From the summit overlooking the
lake the road runs down to the shore,
and an easy coast all the way. A
crossing is made about the middle of
the lake, and then comes one of the
most deceiving bits of roads in the
whole run — the distance from  the
bridge to Burns’ store, about three
blocks away.
It is the steepest grade. Practically
every car has to go into a lower gear
to make it. From Burns’ store it is
mountain climbing for over three miles.
It is climb, climb, climb, following the
canyons as one gets deeper and deeper
into the mountains, twisting, turning
and retracing, till at times one thinks
he must be going in a circle. But every
instant, magnificent scenic effects are
dropping into view. The kaleidoscopic
picture is suddenly punctured when the
highest point is reached and Spanish
town valley unrolls before the eyes.
Down, down, twisting and turning, rib-
bons the road until it reaches the level
floor of the gorge where it disappears
in the distance, an undulating line to-
ward the sea. If this road is followed
until near Halfmoon bay, or Spanish
town, the sullen booming of the surf is
heard, sounding like a rolling bom-
bardment in some distant battle. To
the right, through the haze that over-
hangs the shore in the early morning,
looms Pillar  Point, an eternal monu-
ment over the graves of  those  souls
that found their last  harbor in  the
green depths of the merciless sea. It
is a point dreaded by the mariners
along the coast, for many a stout ship
has  gone ashore there, driven by ad-
verse winds and tldes, though in full
sight of  the Golden gate.
A RESTFUL SPOT
Halfmoon bay reached, the road
leads through the main street, in a
southerly course. The town is a quiet
little place, restful and peaceful, where
the inhabitants seem to extract pleas- ;
ure and contentment from the long
languid days as the bee extracts honey
from the shading vines. Thoroughly
Spanish in character it has all  the
happy-go-lucky air of the days long
past when the rush of the American
for the elusive dollar was yet a  night-
mare of the future. As the car winds
slowly, through the village, one is
greeted on all sides by smiling maids
and matrons with the familiar “Buenos
dias, senor,” in the softest of musical
tones. Speeding along a barren shore
for some miles, a bridge is crossed. and
a quick turn is made to the right and
the long grade begins. Straight up
the cliff sides for nearly five miles this
road mounts with never a halt till one
feels the ascent is endless. Higher
and higher yet and a dazzling glimpse
of the coast line with its miles of
white ribboned surf billowing in the
sunlight is obtained. The air, clean
and salt from the sea, puts, if possible
a keener edge on the appetite, and
the thought of a good, square meal
is not dismissed promptly as you
feel that your poetic instincts should
justify.
   The grade ended, the downhill work
commences.  Turning  slightly-inward,
San Gregorio  is soon  reached  and a
sharp  curve made, over a third bridge
in the direction of La Honda.  Now, the 
heavy wraps  that were put on when
the trip began are thrown off and
one feels the  heat  of the pervading 
Sun.  A few  miles through open coun-
try brings the automobile to more
shaded roads  and  then come the red-
woods followed by La Honda where
even the  most  ardent stops
to get rid of the  pangs of hunger.
Resuming. the journey which so far has
covered  some 54 miles, one starts out 
on a long grade of fully five miles.
First redwoods, then shaded country,
until suddenly  the road plunges into
the clear tops of the mountains. Now
like a  stage effect at the end  of  a
Christmas pantomime,  the.exquisite 
Santa Clara valley, in all its beauty
breaks into view. One simply cannot
go on; he is spellbound. The blue
waved bay, the  red university  roofs of
Palo Alto and the rest of a superb
prospect stand out in such a way, that
it is  almost impossible to believe that
one is not in a dream. From this sum-
mit, with its climax of beauty, it is a
coast  of  13 miles  down  the mountain
to  Redwood and then the  home  jour-.
ney is but a matter of hours.
    Hundreds of these short, but enviable
trips are now possible to the automobiles
in the summer days now rapidly
approaching, and the remembing of
scenes visited, long drives in the cool of
evening, or wild bursts of speed through
the open country, will prove valuable
assets in the short days of winter when
the hum of the  motor  is  no longer heard
in the land and the cars  stand silent in the
garage.