Left Coast Cowboys

Today the mother of The World’s Most Beautiful Baby had a full day scheduled, so Amelia May came to our house for the day. Which was good. I’ve got a big Spanish test on Thursday and could use a study partner. So the plan was to listen to the conjugation of regular Spanish verbs. Clearly, that would be as entertaining as Winnie the Pooh. Things started fine with the audio portion of my class material. Then I put on a little Mariachi music to get us both in the mood.

Interesting note: did you know it’s possible to send a baby into sensory overload in less than ten minutes? Apparently Mariachi music, Spanish verbs, ceiling fans, new surroundings, being bounced up and down in the Baby Bjorn and the addition of two yapping terriers is enough to send a baby into meltdown. But there were smiles soon through the tears and we got through Chapter Three of my Spanish text book with a few breaks for poems from Now We are Six.

Well, that’s Baby taken care of. Then Mom returned, tripped over the sidewalk outside and sprained her ankle. More tears. In retrospect, we should have applied Mariachi music and Winnie the Pooh poems.

Spanish irregular verbs are hard!

But the workbook is tasty.

Sometimes the audio exercises can bring you to tears.

But Mariachi music can always bring back the smiles.

As John Denver would say, “Life on the farm is kinda laid back.” Which is not to say that it wasn’t an eventful weekend at Two Terrier Vineyards. It’s just, as warm Spring weekends tend to progress, this one’s activities unfolded in no particular order and leading up to no particular revelation or conclusion. So I’m not going to strain myself trying to find the kernel of wisdom, the deep inner meaning in this weekend. Stuff just happened. It was fun. Here’s a (mostly) pictorial review:

First event: Little Amelia May, who you will remember as the World’s Most Beautiful Baby and who I take (undue) credit for sort of helping to deliver, made her first visit to the farm. She was wearing the most adorable cowgirl outfit, specially purchased by her besotted Daddy.

The outfit included these so-sweet-they-give-you-insulin-shock calico bloomers with fringe.

The top was made of darling retro cowboy fabric.

And the front had a little sheriff's badge. Just in case you didn't know who was in charge.

Uncle Andy didn't want to let go of this cute little critter.

Which made another little critter very jealous. Terriers need cuddles, too!

Unrelated to this event, we took an early morning walk down by the seasonal creek. And marveled that we actually have a stand of old growth Redwoods on our property.

I'm still trying to figure out the angle that can show how tall these trees are.

As are most creeks in Sonoma County, ours was an ancient pathway for migratory Indian tribes.

Here's an old grinding stone that would have been used by Pomos or Miwoks to crush acorns into flour.

We walked back up the hill through forest glades.

These delicate flowers were all around in shaded areas. Our man, John the Baptist, says they are Checker Lilies.

We ended our walk at the top of the cliff Old Timers around here call “Indian Leap”. Legend says an Indian maiden leaped off the cliff when her father wouldn’t let her marry a boy from another tribe.

Nowadays, only terriers are leaping around here. And not from the cliff but on and off this rock.

In the final unrelated event, Andy has a new project for me. He wanted me to pick out one particular Cabernet vine from the vineyards and photograph it from the same angle every week from early growth through harvest. Sort of  ”A Year in the Life of a Wine Grape Vine”.

Here's the star of that show.

Here's a close-up of one of the emerging leaves.

And finally, the moles and gophers seem to have scaled back on their destructive activities. Could be related to the fact that a Red Tailed Hawk has recently been swooping around the vineyards.

Snuffle-op-agus was also doing her bit to control burrowing critters.

I’ve signed up for the “Gophers and Moles” Seminar at the wonderful Sonoma Master Gardeners Lecture Series. But perhaps, between Mr. Hawk and Lucy, the problem will be solved by April 18th.

Copyright P.J.Taylor. Hire her here: www.pjtaylorphotography.com

My friends’ baby, little Amelia May, who you will remember as the World’s Most Beautiful Baby, will never become a semi-literate, junk food eating Reality Show wannabee. We’ve decided the world of options are open to her, but most likely she’ll be the first female head of NASA and a Nobel Prize winner. With her looks, she’ll also serve a brief stint as a Super Model but only to meet the Oxford costs not covered by her Rhodes Scholarship.

Yes, the exposure to culture, literature, art and music has already begun. And she’s only eight weeks old. As Godparents in training, we’re doing our bit. I’ve already ordered Baby’s First Encyclopedia (which I’m anxious to read). I’ve conducted Chinese Language Immersion. Okay, so all I know is  Gong hei fat choi*  and a few names of items you might find on a dim sum menu, but every bit of exposure counts. And I need to work fast as Andy loves to talk “Piglet Language” to her, which is undermining my efforts. Unless she is going to be a Large Animal Veterinarian.

Imperial Rose Trellis Egg made of gold, enamel & diamonds. I still think Faberge missed an opportunity. Where are the Faberge fondue sets? The Faberge vegetable peelers?

Today was a milestone and I had to be there: Amelia’s first trip to a museum. The chosen venue was the Palace of the Legion of Honor and the special exhibition was Artistic Luxury: Faberge, Tiffany and Lalique. I wondered if this might be setting expectations a bit too high, too soon, but Susi quickly assured Amelia that, if she wanted a Faberge Egg, “Daddy will get it for you.” This might be a tall order, but Amelia’s father, Rob, is the master of the flea market, pouncing on $3 finds that he later sells on eBay for $150, so who knows? There could be a Faberge egg in some exiled Russian granny’s attic that a clueless great great grandchild takes to the Alameda Flea Market. It could happen.

In any case, Amelia May was appropriately dressed for the event in head-to-toe pink, as her parents have completely lost the “gender-neutral colors” battle to the force that is an English Granny. Amelia would need to have four clothing changes a day to get even a few days wear from the flood of fuzzy, pink and flowered garments that are daily arriving with British postmarks.

The exhibit itself was wonderful. It was filled with things that — were they not encrusted with diamonds, pearls, rubies and emeralds — would really be knick-knacks. Granted, they were the Platonic Ideal of knick-knacks. Think of the most exquisite, tiny cherry blossom or orchid. Now imagine it is made of Mother-of-Pearl, costly gems and exotic woods. Now imagine room after room filled with them. That’s the exhibition in a nutshell (perhaps a carved Ebony, gold-veined, pearl inlaid nutshell).

Mother and Child view Madonna and Child. Amelia had a cuter outfit than Baby Jesus.

It was clear that the market for Faberge’s work was a tiny, tiny subset of the wealthiest 1% of the aristocracy of Europe. I couldn’t help feeling relieved that Tsarina Alexandra of Russia never woke up one day and said, “I’m just so OVER Faberge.” All of Europe would have followed suit and then what would all those thousands of artisans on Faberge’s payroll have done? They would have had to scramble for dollars, Rubles, Marks and Franks from the rising Nouveau Riche. That would have been a different clientele, probably demanding items with some sort of useful purpose. How would Faberge have tackled making, say, a gem-encrusted fondue set?

Amelia May, Museum Benefactor

One interesting note about the show: it’s amazing how many people — when surrounded by items of unimaginable luxury, cost, workmanship and artistic execution — would rather look at the beautiful pink-clad baby in the stroller. However, I’ve been maintaining for eight weeks now that Amelia May is a Work of Art.

That juxtaposition of artwork, the intensely artificial and the irresistable pink-skinned, cooing variety, put me in mind of this quote from Oscar Wilde:

“It is through Art and through Art only that we can realize our perfection…”

I always assume Oscar is right. But what if the inverse was true today?

What if Amelia May, who is already perfection, just added a little more luster to the works of Messieurs Faberge, Tiffany and Lalique? Can we now add “Museum Benefactor” to her growing list of accomplishments?

*Gong hei fat choi loosely translates to “Congratulations and be prosperous”. The traditional Chinese New Year’s greeting.