Columns

I feel sad, a deep down sadness. My good friend says there is a lot of that going around. My friend blames it on the current political situation. I tend to agree, but I’m not sure.

This unsurprising announcement issued forth from my son, Martin, when we crossed paths in the shop this morning.

At the Healdsburg Certified Farmers’ Market, strawberries are reaching their peak sweetness, their scent lingering in the air before they are even visible in the stalls. Spring onions and green garlic are tender, fava beans are shelled by the pound and sugar snap peas—the kind of bright green that seems to be omnipresent in my life lately—offer that crisp, wet-mouth crunch that makes them an irresistible snack...

The following snippets of history are drawn from the pages of the Healdsburg Tribune, the Healdsburg Enterprise and the Sotoyome Scimitar, and are prepared by the volunteers at the Healdsburg Museum & Historical Society. Admission is always free at the museum, open Wednesday through Sunday, 11 a.m. to 4 p.m.

100 years ago – October 4, 1917

Four years ago, I moved out of Healdsburg proper after living there for 10 years, to Brack Road off of West Dry Creek. The Walbridge Fire came within ¼ mile of where I am living and while I am fortunate to have escaped its ravages on many levels, I am humbled by the lessons it has already taught me.

Let’s face it — none of us are getting any younger these days. Then again, who wants to? Counting our ages and tracking our generational footprints has become baffling. Old truisms, social definitions, markers for achieving adulthood and official government census numbers all need updating. If 70 is the new 50, and 35 is the old 25, how are we supposed to know how to act?