Columns

Visiting Cleveland isn’t complete without checking the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame off the bucket list. If in Cleveland, it’s an easy checkmark. It’s Cleveland after all. Despite former claims to fame, Cleveland’s currency now is a museum commemorating rock music, the Rock Hall.

The Burning Man Project has had a 35-year run. With 35 years, isn’t it time to think about morphing into inclusivity? Burning Woman 2026? She/Her/They? But why mess with success?

A recent thread on Facebook suggests that the large mural on the west side of Smith Robinson Gym might be painted over and that its history is lost. Principal Tait Danhousen and District Supervisor Chris Vanden Heuvel both say there are no plans to paint over or otherwise change this artwork at the Healdsburg High School campus. A quick search of Healdsburg Tribune archives discovered the following article, from February 1989.

If you like to meditate and enter a profound connection to the hear and now—pun, drum flair—consider a sound bath. Although there are many ways to enter a meditative state, such as following the rhythm of one’s breath, another easy way is to focus on a single sense. Sound is often chosen because it is uniquely immersive

This summer has been a season of light and abundance, a time when the land seems to glow from within. From the golden haze over vineyard rows to the bustle of the Saturday Farmers’ Market, I’ve been behind the camera capturing the faces, fields and kitchens that tell Healdsburg’s story...

On a Thursday in 1925, Well No. 7 blew through the bore with a rush of steam, rocks and mud, at the Geysers’ natural steam beds, northwest of Healdsburg, bringing in an additional source of power for the proposed natural steam electrical plant to be erected there. The well had been bored to a depth of 483 feet, when it was decided that the heat and pressure of the workings were sufficiently strong, and the drills were taken from the hole...

Even now, in early August, the morning air carries a chill more familiar to spring than high summer heat. Tomato vines hesitated. Peaches took their time. Only this week did the real warmth arrive—sunlight pressing into the ground, drawing out ripeness at last. In my family, this is jam season.

The newly refreshed Children’s Room lives up to the hype. The laser-cut madrone tree silhouettes provide a charming entryway into the room. Tables and chairs in the room are of different heights to accommodate a variety of sizes and preferences, with spaces for children of different ages and interests.

Oysters were a growth process for me. I’ve never been much for foods that require time to “learn to enjoy,” but summer parties on Nantucket often include bountiful trays of oysters and chilled shrimp, and nothing else. And if the evening stretches into a string of gatherings, there is often little else to eat. One night a friend laughed and said, “You’re really missing out on something delicious.”

When I was younger, I used to walk to the dusty farmstand from the Prestons’ house on Dry Creek Road. We’d eat a peach on the way back, the warm, sticky juice running down our cheeks and arms marking summer’s beginning in quiet streaks of gold.