Black Chasm Cavern

“Okay, where’s the bats?”

The little girl and I were holding up the tour group at the Black Chasm Cavern in Volcano, staring at the ceiling of the cavern and waiting for bats to appear.  As a gardener, I was imagining myself scraping bat guano from the stalagmites to fertilize my garden.  Forget the chicken and rabbit manure.  Bat guano is the Cadillac of fertilizers, and I wanted some.

The tour guide, a young woman in her 20s, looked at me and smirked.  “I was only kidding.  Bats don’t live here.  This is a hole in the ground, and bats would have a hard time maneuvering in and out of here.”

The entrance to the Black Chasm probably looks like the same hole in the ground when it was first discovered by the Miwoks and used as a place for ceremonies, burials and punishment.  At the time of the California Gold Rush, miners sought the cavern for gold, but found nothing.  Although the Gold Rush took place over a century ago, remnants of their cavern abuse remain.  When they couldn’t make money on tours, they were tempted to blow it up.  In the first of three rooms, visitors can see where the miners snapped off several stalactites.

To keep the delicate calcite formations intact, visitors are told to look, but don’t touch.  Below the stairs and ramps, the cavern is also the semi-permanent resting place for cameras, sunglasses, and cell phones.  They are retrieved only when the manager decides to rappel down 100 feet for the odd collection.

In a state prone to earthquakes, the guide said the cavern would be a safe haven during an earthquake. 

For a few seconds, the artificial lighting was shut off, and we were told to put our hands in front of our faces.  I’ve never been in this type of darkness, and it was a creepy feeling.  There is life in the cavern, but the lack of sunshine makes living things blind.  Rare shrimp and pseudo scorpions live in the cave.  The environment doesn’t allow them to have color.

I haven’t toured a cave or cavern in years, but I do remember the beauty of formations like angel wings.  The last cavern I toured was in the middle of the Arizona desert with a tacky concrete dinosaur to greet tourists.  At that time, I felt like I had stepped into the 1950s.  The elevator was that old, and once I got in, I began to pray.

This tour of Black Chasm was a treat and a great escape from suburbia.  With three rooms on display for the public and thirteen rooms open only to staff, there were plenty of formations to see.  Photography is allowed in the cavern, but cameras with flash units are prohibited.  There were so many things to photograph, but with artificial lighting, it’s hit and miss with a basic point and shoot camera like mine.

The most interesting room of the three is the last room, known as The Dragon Room.  Here, you will find Moo Shu, the cavern mascot shaped like a dragon.  This particular California cavern also has formations only found in caves and caverns in Arizona and Montana.

A dirt trail leads to the visitors’ center and gift shop.  There’s a gold panning set-up outside the center for those who want to try panning for “gold”.  The Black Chasm Cavern became a National Natural Landmark by the National Park Service in 1976 and is open all year.

  

The Secret Life of Sheep

Saturday afternoon, I watched sheep and lambs as they grazed in a Rio Linda pasture.  A llama badly in need of a shearing watched over the flock and patiently dealt with the lambs.   It was a peaceful setting that I knew so well.   

“They’ll be lamb next week or so.  Gonna retire some ewes, too,” said the resident lamb expert standing next to me.  She put her camera to her face and started shooting.

Visions of lamb chops, lamb kabobs, and rack of lamb on stark white restaurant platters came to mind and temporarily took me from this scene of rural paradise.

Ewe.

Raising sheep for fiber is based on the same farming concept  used when raising crops.  But with sheep particularly raised for its fiber, you weed out the ones who won’t produce top fiber and don’t go into trauma and drama about the ones who are going to (forgive me) get the axe.  In the business of raising animals, you can’t keep all of them around as pets.  Common sense will tell you that it’s not cost effective.

When it comes to not having any common sense and being a sucker for animals, count me in.  I get attached to anything I feed.

Don’t get me wrong.  These people love their animals.  Each one has a name, and people in the business can tell you everything about each animal, its history and its registry.  Sheep have bloodlines, and like any farm animal, they need to be looked after and cared for. 

If you raise sheep or deal with fiber as an artist, you’ll know all about sheep.  To the point you can rattle off the names of breeds like Merino, Cotswold, Corridale, Charollaise, Cormo, etc.  Sheep come in all shapes and sizes and are raised for fiber, meat or both.  And I've been around spinners and weavers who will only use a certain wool for their creations.    

These days, I don’t even think about what it would be like to live on two acres or more.  I tend to my ¼-acre of suburban delight and plant vegetables and yank weeds out of the soil in the spring, deadhead roses in the summer, rake a ridiculous amount of leaves in the fall, and read gardening books and articles in the winter.   

In my neighborhood, we’re allowed to have chickens, but if I raised chickens, I know I would sneak in a goat or two as pets.  I wouldn’t mind having a miniature horse.  But now that I’m good with retirement, what I have now in terms of activities keeps me busy, and sometimes, in a good way, I feel overwhelmed.

From my experience, living on a farm and dealing with plants or animals means having to deal with loss.  At an early age, I already knew how much damage a knife or a gun could bring to an animal or a human being.  I learned that life is nothing but a series of seasons or cycles.  No matter what, we keep going.

So with what I’ve learned about sheep, I can only be grateful for those who raise them.  I don’t have it in me to raise animals.  When it comes to anything related to farming, I’ll stick to flowers, plants, shrubs, and trees.

Pass the roving, please.       

   

Remembering Dorothea Puente

Craig was smart, friendly, attractive, and had a bright future ahead of him.

We attended a film class at Sac State and were going to graduate in June 1981.  Before class on the Friday before Halloween, we talked about film and little things going on in our lives.  By the time I attended class the following Monday, the instructor began the class with a moment of silence to honor Craig.  Over the weekend, he was murdered by serial killers Gerald and Charlene Gallegos.

A few years later, I was working in an office overlooking the Sacramento Community Center.  I hated the job, but like many people who find themselves with mortgages and bills lined up like toy soldiers, I showed up and went through the motions.  While using light rail to commute into the downtown area, my truck was vandalized in a light rail parking lot.  A few months later, it was stolen from another light rail parking lot.  This time, it was recovered in front of a busy suburban supermarket.  It had been towed, and I had to claim it at the junkyard.

I could no longer drive my truck because each time I got behind the wheel, I felt violated.  The starter was so mangled that I was using a standard screwdriver to start the vehicle.  Finally, I traded in the truck for a car, then started driving to work. 

Even in the late 1980s, it was hard finding parking in Downtown Sacramento.  I parked on the street, fed the meter or moved my car every two hours.  There was also a coin lot and a covered parking lot nearby, but those were for people who had money to throw around.

After getting a couple of parking tickets for not moving my car every two hours, I decided to find free parking in a neighborhood and walk a few blocks to the office.  After finding a neighborhood that looked safe to me, I made it a habit to park my car in front of a certain Victorian on F Street.

Several months later, my free parking came to an end when I tuned in to watch the 11 o'clock news.  Police had arrested Dorothea Puente, who later became known as Sacramento's most notorious serial killer. 

One of my neighbors, who is obsessed with reading crime novels and watching all the law enforcement reality shows on television said, "Didn't you know Dorothea placed small pumpkins on the top rail of her backyard fence to represent each of her victims?."


She called her Dorothea.  As if we were talking about a friend of ours.  The woman housed in the Chowchilla women's prison who at first glance, looked like someone's grandma.  And, by the looks of her, couldn't have possibly murdered her elderly boarding house tenants.

"No, I didn't see any pumpkins,"  I replied.  "Big or little."  Who would equate squash with a human being?  Is that you, Dorothea? 

All I saw was this Victorian house, and it looked like any Victorian house in Downtown Sacramento.  The house was neat and well-maintained on the outside.  I didn't see anyone in the yard, and no one stood on the porch or in front of the windows to watch the street activity.

Last month, Dorothea Puente died in prison of natural causes.  Like most criminals in the limelight and sentenced to life in prison without the chance of parole, she denied murdering her tenants.  Over the years, the newspapers, magazines and film covering Dorothea Puente kept coming.  In less than a 10-year period, Sacramento was home to three convicted serial killers, and that's not counting the ones who could be possibly out there.

It's been 26 years since I parked my car in front of Dorothea's Victorian on F Street.  Through the extensive media coverage, I know all about Dorothea Puente, and it's more than I care to know.  For me, the mention of her name is simply a reminder of Craig being murdered and the loss of a man who could have made a difference.  It also take me back in time, when I struggled to pay off the loan on my vehicle, and when it was paid off, it became a target for thieves long before I could enjoy the benefits of it being mine.

Since then, I've learned to accept that crime and criminals come and go.  Some days, it seems that they just keep coming.  Just when you get rid of one, you've got a replacement that's worse.       

See ya, Dorothea.  You certainly were no friend of mine.






 

  

Daffodil Hill

I hate crowds.

But the best time to visit Daffodil Hill (Volcano, Amador County) is in the spring, when over 300,000 bulbs and 300 varieties of daffodils are in bloom.  Since 1887, the historic, 36-acre ranch has been owned by the McLaughlin family.  After the blooms disappear, Daffodil Hill returns to being a working ranch.  Admission is free, but donations are accepted. 

Daffodil Hill is a family friendly place, with open spaces for picnics.  Dogs are not allowed here.  Visitors are asked to stay on the dirt paths while viewing the daffodil displays.  Across the street, volunteers guide visitors to an area where parking is free.  Souvenirs and snacks are available.

Volcano and Sutter Creek are the nearest towns to explore or get something to eat or drink.  We took a wrong turn somewhere and ended up in Lake Tahoe for dinner.  Since we had time to watch the sunset, we agreed it was the end to a perfect day.

  

Sacramento Historic Rose Garden

Meet Ramona.

She suffers from urban sprawl, but from her bed overlooking the hustle and bustle of Broadway, she certainly is a looker.

Out of all the historic places in Sacramento, the Sacramento Historic Rose Garden (part of the Sacramento Historic Cemetery, www.oldcitycemetery.com) is numero uno with me.  I am a volunteer, and I don't know squat about these roses.  I consider myself a garden grunt, and if you want scientific names, I'll disappoint you.

Whenever I announce, "I'm going to the cemetery to deadhead," I mean business.

We are gearing up for our annual Open Garden on April 16.  Admission is free, and we'll have roses for sale, a silent auction and tours.  So bring your camera and Claritin, then support one of Sacramento's finest historic destinations.  The Sacramento Historic Cemetery and the Historic Rose Garden is rich with the history of the California Gold Rush, and it's important to keep Sacramento's history and heritage alive .

C'mon, Man.  Anyone can built an arena, but once these historic sites are gone, they are gone forever.

Taming a Wild Rose

Some of my friends raise sheep for their wool.  Last year, when I attended a sheep shearing event in El Dorado County, they teased me about not having an emotional attachment to anything because I was raised on a pear orchard.  They assumed I was good at pulling up plants, then putting them aside to die without feeling anything.  In their eyes, I saw everything as expendable.


You know what they say when you assume things about people.

Sacramento has been getting some gorgeous, sunny days, lately.  It is the kind of weather which makes people active and want to stay outdoors.  I finally had the chance to pick up my loppers and use them when I discovered my wild rose (rugosa robusta) leaning into our pomegranate bush and growing into it.

All this happened over the winter.  When it comes down to it, I would rather be harvesting pomegranates in the fall than watching the bush being taken over by a wild rose gone wild.  I started that rose from a 2-inch slip, and it grew 6 feet in 3 years.  The storms had pushed it away from the fence, and it was now flopping over the pomegranate bush and surrounding area.  If given the chance, it would take over our backyard.

I instantly made an executive decision to prune it, and I didn't back down.  In less than 5 minutes, I hacked that wild rose like a hybrid tea, and it now measures about a foot from the ground.  From my kitchen window, I can see barely see what's left of it.

Ouch!

After I threw out the rose clippings, I tossed the Valentine's Day roses from my husband.

When you think about it, today is April 4, and Valentine's Day was February 14.  My friends were wrong about me.  I do have an emotional attachment to plants and animals.

Cosmos and Sculpture Park

I didn't know what it was called or who created it, but the red thing overlooking I-80 in Roseville always got my attention because it's blood red in color.  Red is my favorite color, and I am a true red personality, so all these years, my head would automatically jerk around to look at this sculpture.

This year, while writing a few pieces about Roseville, I did a little research.  Cosmos dates back to 1990 and is the towering red centerpiece of Sculpture Park.

I don't like to admit it, but I get lost, trying to find this park. 

Well, no wonder I couldn't find it.  Sculpture Park is sandwiched between I-80 and a parking lot next to Home Depot.  You wouldn't expect to find a park behind a shopping center, but if you take the time to look, you'll see Cosmos from a different view.  Visitors can park at the edge of the lot and walk the asphalt trail.  Sculpture Park is also the beginning of the Miners Ravine Bike Trail, so if you're walking, be prepared to share the trail with bicyclists.

The park is small, but still gives a feeling of space.  The landscaping is a natural mix of oaks and grass.  You can hear the sound of cars whizzing along the freeway.  A drainage ditch runs parallel to the freeway, and this time of year, you can hear water running.

The asphalt trail winds around Cosmo, but what you don't expect are the concrete structures specially built to display sculptures by school children.  There is a large sign explaining the history of Sculpture Park and a list of the children whose award-winning art was chosen to be permanently displayed here.  The beauty of animals and nature are reflected in their work.

If you look around the park, there are no benches or picnic tables inviting visitors to linger.  Being in the park reminded me of being in an outdoor art gallery or museum.  The idea here was for visitors to focus on the sculptures.

There are supposed to be 90 bronze squares in Sculpture Park, but most of them are missing because someone decided to pry the sculptures from the concrete.  What could have been a gem of a park has become a permanent reminder of vandalism.

So now that I know what's missing from Sculpture Park, I'll continue to do what I've been doing for 10 years. 
      
I'll keep driving.