Are You That Woman

At the edge of Packer Lake

The window between autumn and winter is quickly closing. Only yesterday it was summer. Winds are lifting the treetops and sweeping diamond lights across the lake. Birds reclaim homesteads, crying raucous above the silence.

Human sounds have retreated replaced by the sounds of creaking pine limbs and bird voices. The lake laps at the shoreline. Boats sit empty longing for the return of spring. A doe, with liquid black eyes, moves past without a sound and nibbles fading willow and grasses.

Dry pine needles rain down.

Snow flies soon.

Barbara L. Steinberg
September 16, 2013
Packer Lake Lodge

The Same Sky

On a moonless night,
   A jeweled sky thick with constellations,
Crowns the Eastern Sierra.
Peering into the darkness
I wonder, "Is this the same sky?"

Clouds of gray and white,
    Shadow and light,
Like atomic plumes flung skyward,
Kiss the blue and drape the peaks, 
And still I ask, "Is this the same sky?"

A blazing morning sun drenches 
    Scented sage and pine.
A still, azure plain stretches flat and clear
Above Inyo Mountains and high desert valleys.
In my eyes, "Is this still the same sky?"

Can anyone say:
    Before the Spanish missionaries;
    Before the buffalo and grizzly bears;
    Before the rush to riches and water wars;
    Before Muir and Adams;
    Before asphalt ribbons and all-terrain...
"Is this the same sky?"

Barbara L. Steinberg
Tom’s Place, CA 
July 27, 2003

I'm a big girl now

At the crack of dawn, an odyssey,
Along sleepy city streets,
My small town heart rejoices,
At my big girl retreat.
The antique trolley,
Clangs to a stop.
And I scramble aboard,
With a jump! Skip! Hop!
One would never imagine,
In my life at this time,
Such a routine experience,
Could be so sublime.
And the joy of a ferry,
That whisks me away,
From my big girl adventure,
In the city by the Bay.

Barbara L. Steinberg
San Francisco 
January 23, 2006

Olfactory Memories

The house in England
was full of pastel petaled sweet peas
that grew on the garden trellis.
Their subtle honeyed scent
wafted across my senses.

         Twenty years later,
         each inhaled sweet pea
         returns me to that idyllic summer.

Zadie, my story-telling grandfather
who lingered over the simplest meals
relishing each morsel
and called my sister, “Madam sauerkraut”
smoked a pipe.

         He died in 1969 but the aroma of burning pipe tobacco
         touches a warm inner recollection
         of his rough, unshaven cheek as it brushed against my face.

My aged neighbor
kept her doors keyed, bolted and padlocked
windows closed and heat turned on high.
The house was full of 94 years and
on summer evenings we sat on the porch and talked.

         An elderly person sat near me
         on the morning bus.
         That same musty smell tapped my memory
         and, turning, I have expected to see her there.
         I miss those warm summer nights.

When you are gone,
the remembrance of your fragrant cologne
haunts me –
on my hands, in my bed, on other men.
I drink it in
swallowing the impassioned images in
breathless gulps.

                My memories are fading…
                Pass the decongestants.

April 4, 1993

Social networking from California: A Letter

Seeking Dana Smith by Barbara Steinberg

I have shared this story again and again, here it is one more time. This letter was originally published on February 26, 2010. My hopes for 2019, other then the usual: health, happiness, and world peace....would be an answer to this letter. Of course, I have passed another birthday and rounded the corner to 63 and the 45th anniversary of Dana's supportive words. Maybe 2019 will be the magic year when the answer comes.

Dear Mrs. Smith –

May I call you Dana? Now that I am nearly 63 years old it seems appropriate. I don’t know if you will remember me…though I believe you will. You were my English teacher (freshman and senior years [1970-1971 & 1973-1974]) at W. T. Woodson High School.  This is not the first letter I have written you.  I wrote to you after I graduated from high school and thanked you for coming into my life!  Here I am again.

You and I bumped heads that first year, 1970.  Diagramming sentences and all those English technicalities drove me crazy; I was so bored.  You may have suffered some of the same boredom. 

My senior year (1973-1974) with you included media/marketing and writing courses.  What an eye-opener for me!  Those experiences would eventually figure into my professional life in so many ways.  In my senior yearbook you wrote, “I expect to be buying your books soon,” Good Luck, D. Smith.  That was the most powerful and memorable thing anyone had ever said to me.

After graduating, I told you all of this in a letter.After moving to California, I stopped by to say ‘hello’ and let you know what was going on in my life.  You told me that you and your husband (whom I never met) were moving to Kentucky.  I believe you said he was a photographer and planned to open a studio.  Again, this is what I think was said.  I don’t remember if you said where in Kentucky or (specifically) when you were going.

I don’t recall if we spoke again, but I have thought of you often.

I have been looking for you for a long time.  I stopped by and called WTW – the English department, the principal – no one responded.  I contacted the teachers association.  Each time I explained, but no one seemed interested.  I have looked online.Searched through www.WhitePages.com, Google searches, and people-finder websites. Someone from my graduating class knows someone who is currently on staff in the English Department. They were going to do some asking on my behalf, but then I never heard anything more.

I posted the following on Facebook believing that this ‘six degrees of separation’ Mecca would find someone out there who recognized you. Or maybe even find you!

I am still hoping to find Dana Smith who taught English at W.T. Woodson back in the '70s. She was still in Fairfax the last time I saw her but she said they were moving to Kentucky. Her husband was a photographer (I think this is what I remember).  December 13, 2009 at 8:38pm

Why is it so important that I find you?  Because I want to thank you…again!  Thank you for seeing something in me when I was only 17-years-old. Something no one else had noticed or nurtured. My life took many paths, all of them leading to my life as a writer and editor.Though I have been writing my whole life, I wasn't professionally published until my mid 30s. For 16 years I was the director of publications for Visit California. Since 2006, I have been a freelance travel writer and marketing California as a travel destination -- passionate about the subject!

I have often talked about what you taught me about the power of marketing. And, ironically, one of the first places I visited in California was the Hearst Castle…all because you had us watch "Citizen Kane" our senior year in a media class you taught.That’s true!  And from time-to-time, I take out my yearbook just to re-read your message.There are a couple of books I want to write, but finding the time is a major stumbling block.Your words of support may bring that to fruition someday. 

I hope this letter reaches you!  I want you to know that after 42 years I still remember and thank you from the bottom of my heart. In the meantime, others will know about the power of few well-placed words. Years later I still remember.

Love - Barbara

PS – Just before my senior year I visited a friend in the UK. Her mother, Joan, was a travel writer. When she explained this concept to me I said, “That’s a job?! I want that job.” I was just 17 years old and was just getting ready to begin my senior year in your class. The Universe and D. Smith saw the writing on the wall.   

Pelican's Plunge

The pelicans dip and roll
     and glide, 
As if on some unseen  
     theme-park ride. 
In formation they follow       
     in fluid motion,
On an invisible path, 
      across the ocean.

Barbara L. Steinberg
Point Montara Lighthouse
11/1/02

Ommm to Trappe Road

It is motoring meditation
Along the rutted back roads of my Virginia homeland.
Handlaid rock walls and split-rail fences
Lace the boundaries of historic farms and country estates.
Songbirds — blue, red and yellow — dart like rainbows
Across the road and zigzag trees thick with greenery.
Buddha cows wade through the velvet of belly-deep grass,
While weathered farmers practice the Zen
    of John Deere and Toro.

Proceed with caution:  Suburbia ahead.

Barbara L. Steinberg
Bluemont, Virginia
June 2003

Just Breathe

On a slow glide towards swollen waters of the Yolo Sea,
A lone cormorant sets its landing gear, 
Braced against his final approach.
The highway stretches before me
To a shallow sky and
Sierra Nevada fat with snow.

Barbara L. Steinberg
Yolo Causeway
March 8, 2006

Facebook the ultimate social network

The following article was originally published in the Sacramento News & Review, January 21, 2010. This episode in my life still has me wondering. There are still no answers. Dale would probably tell me to stop asking questions.

The word of the day is reconnected.

“I just reconnected with so-and-so!” It’s the latest thing, thanks to the magic of Facebook and the great pastime called “social networking.” Honestly, I never understood the phenomenon or the fascination with spending hours and hours recounting pointless bits of information. Was this really reconnecting?

But a recent Facebook encounter has me looking at social networking in a whole new light. It also has me asking some big questions of the Universe.

Recently, I decided to attempt a modern-day, Facebook reconnect with a friend from the past named Dale H. The two of us met in 1986, dated briefly and then went our separate ways.

Thursday, December 3: Just a few keystrokes and poof! Simple! I located Dale on Facebook and sent him a message.

Friday, December 4: Dale responded. He was happy to hear from me and provided a phone number. We made voice contact. He was living in Los Angeles but spending time in Sacramento caring for his elderly parents.

Saturday, December 5: We are supposed to get together, but missed the opportunity. He had things going on.

Sunday, December 6: We spoke again and say we’ll hook up sometime in the next week or two. Maybe breakfast at the Fox & Goose where we met 23 years ago?

Wednesday, December 9: My cell phone rang. “This is Barbara,” I said.

A woman’s voice asks, “Do you know Dale H.?” I said, "Yes."

“This is his daughter,” the voice told me. “I wanted to let you know my dad died this morning.”

Needless to say, I was stunned. Dale was a young man; just 51 years old.

I was left to wonder, “Why? Why now? Why Facebook?” Was this another case of “be careful what you wish for”? Or was there some other ultimate social-networking lesson to be learned?

Esoterically, a friend told me, “Somehow, he reached out to you to find him.” And I liked that explanation and that idea that, somehow, the phenomenon of social networking brought us back together, even if just for a moment. His family didn’t know who to call and found my number on his cell phone. I had a few people I could reach to let them know what had happened to Dale—some, strangely enough, through his Facebook account.

I have told this story of my ultimate social-networking experience repeatedly to family, friends and strangers. Thanks to Dale, I now say to everyone: If there’s someone out there you’re missing … someone you have wanted to find—reach out and reconnect. Don’t wait!

                Here's the rest of the Facebook story....

 

         

Dynamic Ceago Vinegarden Defines Green

Tucked away in Lake County, along the shores of beautiful Clear Lake, Jim Fetzer has taken sustainable agriculture to lofty heights. Well-known for his organic farming practices at the helm of Fetzer Vineyards in Mendocino County, Jim is perfecting sound farming practices using biodynamic and organic methods to produce quality grapes.

From the outsider’s viewpoint, some biodynamic practices seem more like witchcraft than sustainable farming. It’s an approach that includes traditional organic farming practices, as well as a belief that you must embrace the life forces that regulate the growing processes of the plants. You work with the forces of nature. The light and cosmic rhythms of the sun, moon, and stars contribute to the life, growth, and form of plants. These rhythms are used to time the planting, cultivating, and harvesting of crops. “On the dark of the moon you want to rack the wine,” advised Jim Fetzer.

Biodynamic recognizes that soil itself can be alive, and this vitality supports and affects the quality and health of the plants that grow in it. The more easily understood specifics of biodynamic farming include:

• No use of chemically synthesized fertilizers, pesticides, herbicides, fungicides, or fumigants, no hormones, antibiotics, growth regulators or GMOs.
• Basics of crop fertility is compost, manures, green manuring, and crop rotations.
• Weeds are controlled by similar means, by cultivation and by other mechanical methods.
• Composting materials, transplants, and animal feed imported from off the farm are very limited in quantity and must be of good quality.
• A certified biodynamic farm meets all the USDA and California standards for organic agriculture

Farm animals also play an important role in the health of the vineyard and farm. The Ag-mobile transports chickens around the property to help with bug populations. And a herd of wooly sheep are living a good life as four-footed weed whackers.

Ceago Vinegarden is not the run of the mill vineyard – organic or otherwise. The sprawling 220-acre lakefront property has heart-stopping views. The Mediterranean-style gardens and winery buildings will have you dreaming of lazy Tuscan afternoons. You can unwind at the Courtyard Café with a sampling of artisan cheeses and organic Ceago olives and olive oils, or maybe a hot dog…made with 100% sustainable grass-fed beef. Or stroll the length of the pier out over Clear Lake. And, of course, there’s the tasting room. After all, biodynamic farming is all about the highest possible quality. Enjoy the taste of wine and aromatic smell of dried lavender; all from the biodynamic richness of Ceago Vinegarden.