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Best Bets: Revolutionary War Adventure Summer 2006 Options Help Save the Farm |
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| May 30, 2006 6:05 PM | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
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If you've spent
any time watching the History Channel, you've seen "Washington the
Warrior" promos quite a bit in the last few days.
My brother, Scott, saw so many of these ads on Sunday that he blurted out,
in amazement, "Doesn't this operation have any advertisers or is it all
self-promotion?" They pitched it so hard I couldn't quite believe they waited to show the actual two hour production at 10:PM in our market. It's a work night, people! Why make us wait till midnight for the father of our country? Well, I would
give them credit on a few counts: the actor they found to play
the young Washington seemed to have the bearing and the grave, steady
visage of the man himself; they also didn't spare re-enactors
in the battle scenes (either that or they've gotten really good at CGI).
The very form of the piece--the clothing and the Virginia backwoods and
the Georgian interiors--all seemed to fit. |
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| May 29, 2006 6:59 AM | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
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We spent
yesterday idling about the house, visiting the Burke family, and then
capped it off with dinner up at Mom & Dad's, where Benita and Mary cooked
salmon for Scott's birthday. (Uncle Scott tries to
persuade the family not to celebrate his birthday, so please send him an
email and remind him how hard we're trying.) We also watched Band of Brothers on the History Channel, largely because I got my signals crossed as to when "Washington the Warrior" would be broadcast. (Tonight in our area.) A baby snow
white girl goat was born yesterday. |
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| May 28, 2006 7:17 AM | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
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It was really
cold this morning when I fed the horses. The car gauge
said 34 degrees, but I saw no frost on the ground, and the Wildwood
(Yucaipa) time data said it leveled off at 45 degrees for about two hours
this morning, which means--at worst--we had 30 degrees for an hour or two,
assuming we are fifteen degrees below the Wildwood area, which is a
stretch. (I'm told a fruit freeze has to be 29 or
below). For the record--May 27 & 28, 2006--about
34 degrees or so for two hours.
Isn't Memorial Day the weekend that our Edwardian selves don light-colored
summer linen clothing and Panama hats? Someone
send an email to Old Man Winter. I feed the horses early on Sunday morning because 1) it's my turn and 2) my philosophy on animal control is to keep them well fed and well watered, which, in turn, keeps them in their pens. (Some politicians treat their patrons the same way.) For anyone who might be worried--on the staff--the system drive is all backed up now 3 times, in 3 places. Please pass this on to all people who care about dear old Dad: our Night Before Father's Day Barn Dance will feature all-you-can-eat Steak and Barbecue ribs, Buttermilk Biscuits Broccoli Cheese Baked Potatoes Cherry Crisp with Vanilla Ice Cream, and (note to kitchen staff) Dad's Root Beer! Dad and kids will shoot arrows, throw tomahawks, and engage in a manly rope pull. There will be dancing, great music, hayrides and more. You KNOW you want to be here, so buy your tickets now! (There is a theory around these parts that dads are cared about less than moms. Yes. This awful notion has been circulating around here without restraint. Am I above repeating it in order to help sell tickets? Is that beneath me? Would I refrain from stooping to such levels? Certainly not.) Interesting take on this year's Spring. Here's the April 26, 2006 raspberries on their way:  And here's the April 24, 2005 raspberries, a little thicker and further along. (Also note the pears in blossom this year, as opposed to last year.) This patch was thinned to create a new planting, but still, evidence of a colder spring this year. When are we going to get serious about global cooling, people? This is also evidence that people--like Elk--have yearly patterns. No one told me to take a picture of the raspberries at almost the same time each year; it was just a strange, riotous, urge to re-charge my NiCad and migrate towards the raspberry patch--head-butting a few youthful saplings along the way.  |
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| May 27, 2006 8:55 AM | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
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The new u-pick
flower field (with a few tomatoes on the side for Grandpa) is now almost
completely planted. We'll see how well Verbena, Baby's
Breath, Statice, Larkspur and the rest grow up here soon. Between that last sentence, and this, we lost electrical power. Server issues. Standard living history stuff. (Don't you love it when the system message says something like, "please locate your original installation disk?") ..and now between that last paragraph and this sentence there stands: **NINE HOURS** of a polite,
clipped East Indian techie-lady telling me "now, James, let us try
bringing up the computer in safe mode again..." or "James, let us now
re-insert the installation diskette and run the "R" for restore option" or
"James, if you could now email us another copy of the system32/config/system.old1
file." Small
consolations--Mallory appears to have rediscovered the violin, having
fallen in love with the Taco Bell Cannon (that's not right; it's
been a long day. You know what I mean.) This created a
chain reaction of musical competition in the children and Samuel started
in on the fife, actually getting the upper register on Yankee Doodle.
Lizzy broke out her cello and the notes are getting very deep and even.
(Proof of God #45602A--the Cello; Proof of God #45602B--your
daughter practicing the Cello without being asked.) Lockton, not to be outdone, baked a chocolate yellow cake! |
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| May 25, 2006 9:03 AM | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
 It's
been a busy few days. I was very proud of our redcoats
the other day at Alex Creighton's graveside ceremony at Riverside
National. On the right are Josh and Logan Creighton, and
Jon Harmon, paying a final tribute to their brother and friend.
Mike Lewis gave a moving and forthright message. I had
the humbling task of accepting one of the casket flags on behalf of Steve
Klein, a mustang Marine officer, who mentored Alex.
God Bless, Private Creighton. Until we meet!
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| May 21, 2006 8:24 AM | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
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Fed the horses,
filled their troughs, took in the incredible late May, popsicle green of
the farm this morning. When we have wet, rainy
springs, the black oaks create an almost supernatural canopy of lacey
mint, eighty feet in the air above you.
You've probably seen those spring ads in the paper for hyper-fast growing
Poplar trees that make it sound as though you'll have a towering forest a
few years after planting some sprigs in your back yard.
Let me tell you something: it's true.
If you want to see a forest grow in a few summers' time, plant poplars.
Alex Creighton's memorial service was well attended, and we caught up with his family and friends. His captain arrived, along with some of the company sergeants, just as Logan Creighton, Alex's brother, was singing the ballad of John Paul Jones. There were pictures of Alex growing up, arrayed on a table, at the back of the packing shed. Alex had an engaging, honest smile--nothing posed about it. His smile came up out of the soul, right from the heart, and it seemed the best way to remember him. One strange thing about death, among others, is that it would seem to demand a paralysis on the part of those who are left behind. It's so dramatic, so final, so tragic, that you almost feel strange for going on with your own life, for watching a movie or laughing at a joke. Even for those of us who believe that this life isn't the end, that something better awaits us, it is sobering to remember that even "Jesus wept" at the passing of His friend. But I sense in those pictures of Alex something a little Irish and cheerful and Christian and even wake-like about it all. There were tears yesterday, to be sure, but there was also laughter. Mary and I had to leave, a little before everyone else, because we were off to a wedding, and I stopped to look at those pictures of Alex again. He seemed to be saying--to me at least--"I'm on to the next challenge, Mr. Riley." |
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| May 19, 2006 7:35 AM | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
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I've been
indulging a minor obsession with Google Ads lately. It
would be easy if we sold VCRs or dishwashers but how do you identify
someone who is looking for a day in the country?
How do you mark the person who wants to see Samuel Adams and Patrick
Henry, but doesn't know living history of this sort exists in Southern
California? Pardon me for thinking out loud, but perhaps
people don't Google for edification. They Google for a
better deal on Jewel cases for their CD collection?
Or, more to the point, they don't Google for that day in the orchard, that
tour of the Getty, or that walk through the wine cellars, because the
little blue text-only box can only make that sale when someone else has
made it before them? When I was new to business, I was too young and stupid to know how important word of mouth really is. I thought, "no, no, business is built by slick marketing teams that make you think drinking a bottle of Coca-Cola will make you feel like James Bond." I suppose that is true for big, super-market products sold nationally, but now I know better. The best advertising we can do is the advertising we do to the customers who already visit here; the best advertising is a friendly, engaging staff. One of the teachers approached me yesterday, pointed to one of the women on our staff, and she said, "where did you get her? She's a natural teacher." Miss Hill, our etiquette girl for the day, blushed and smiled. "I know," I said. "I wish I could clone her." I watch the staff at the end of the day, after the tour, and I see them all laughing with the guests, shaking hands, telling stories, and I think, "..how do I put that into that little eighty letter Google Ad box?" |
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| May 18, 2006 2:12 PM | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
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Asher
intercomed me early this morning to let me know there was a guy playing
with the horse tack and trying to hitch up the new Percherons.
"Was someone new supposed to work the horses today?" he asked. "No," I said, and we looked at each other for a puzzled second or two. "Let's go." We drove up to the pumpkin meadow, about a half mile away, and there, sure enough, was a total stranger playing with all the new horse tack. "Pardon me," I said. "What are you doing?" "Training the horses," the stranger said. "I work for somebody." I noticed that the stranger had taken a leather strap from the horse tack and wrapped it and buckled it around his ankle. "What's your name?" I asked him. He stopped to think. "Oskoron," he said. "Where are you from?" Pause. "Southern California," he said. "Um," I said, "here's what I want you to do. I want you to get in your car and leave and not come back." He stopped. "Honest now," I asked. "Are you on drugs?" "No drugs. I'll go." Asher and I edged away from him and back into the van. We both noted the license plate, backed down the hill, and watched him. As we called 9-1-1 on the car phone, we noticed that he was starting to dance. It was sort of a slow, ponderous clownish maneuver. He took off his shirt, put it back on, danced some more and then pretended to fire an imaginary shot gun at us. Then he got in his car, and instead of turning down to Oak Glen road, he drove up to the ridgeline and out of sight. "Great," I said, "he's going to drive himself right off the side of the mountain." Back down at the office, 9-1-1 confirmed it was the license plate of a known felon, and within ten minutes two squad cars were out, and after 30 minutes a helicopter was flying over the farm. By mid-morning, this strange, aphasic horse-thief was in custody. I do think--all in all--we would make a good reality show around here. |
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| May 17, 2006 6:23 AM | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
 I
wanted to add one more note of thanks on the Night Before Mother's Day
Ball. We mentioned to my mom that we were having
trouble getting someone to demonstrate quilting and the next morning, five
days before the event, she had all of her quilts all set up in the packing
shed and ready to go. Keep in mind: my
88 year old mother is in near constant pain from a hip and back problem
the doctors say--at her age--is too risky to address surgically.
That didn't stop her. She and Pam Morrison went right to
town. I said, "Mom, you outdid yourself." "You can always count on me," she replied. Click on that cool barn graphic above (right) if you want a great deal on a July or August Company or Church picnic. (Here's a secret: Don't tell anyone: Just between you and me: summer evenings on the farm--keep this under your hat--are BEAUTIFUL.) Summer early mornings are really neat too, but I don't believe your company will want the 6 AM to 9 AM slot. |
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| May 16, 2006 8:57 AM | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
 The
field out in front is now plowed and almost ready for pumpkin planting,
(we usually wait until about the end of June for the first pumpkin
seeding). I ordered more vegetable seeds form Johnny's Seeds today
than I'll ever be able to plant. Seed Catalogues have that effect on
me.
Is it
just me or is the idea of going out and picking everything you need to
make fresh salsa a semi-religious experience? Thank you, thank you, and thank you!!!! My family and I had such a wonderful time last night!! This will defiantly be a tradition for us!! Everyone was so nice. We felt right at home!! Your place is beautiful. There were so many heartfelt and moving tributes to mothers. I don't know how many times I cried.
Heah! You can sign up for the
Night Before Father's Day Barn Dance, RIGHT NOW, and
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| May 15, 2006 6:52 AM | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
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Almost anyone responsible for an
acre or two of land will tell you that keeping it presentable takes a
great deal of attention. On the eighty or so acres
we have facing Oak Glen Road, we have been weed-whacking and mowing for
the better part of the last seven days, and we're still not quite
finished. We will be planting flowers and
corn and vegetables for a few more weeks and then we'll be fighting bugs,
ground squirrels, and gophers for the better part of the summer;
the weed-whacking cycle, of course, will repeat itself over and over until
it cools down in the fall.
If you've ever seen a really well
maintained orchard or vineyard, you can be certain it didn't get
that way by accident. It isn't by the chance that
the New Testament speaks of pruned fig trees and dressed vineyards.
In our day and age, the value of that work isn't just about the crop.
It's about the scenery. People love seeing those
well tended fields and the apple blossoms and even the super-green of an
alfalfa field. |
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| May 14, 2006 8:10 AM | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
There are guests, and then there are
guests. Yesterday's Night Before
Mother's Day Ball audience was just fantastic--everyone seemed intent
on having a good time and honoring the moms in their life.
Freeman, Kathy, Ralph, Andy and Evan were in fantastic form; the
hayrides were packed, the farm was picture perfect, with the pear blossoms
lingering for a final evening show, and Keith Broaders and Dan Moon from
Wilshire's filled the room with fresh lilacs.
Grandma Bea set up her quilting
racks, and Audrey Creighton did a stitch or two in time.
Almost everyone was
dancing--with a few
taking a break, because
they were honestly tuckered out. Mary,
Krystle, and Lizzie outdid
themselves on dinner, as did Mario and
Margarito on the grill, with the entire evening topped off with
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| May 13, 2006 7:39 AM | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
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I stepped out of the barn
dance dinner last night, just as the last of the sunset tarried on top of
the hills; the blossoms hung like baby's breath on the pear trees
and the cool of the evening seemed well matched to the salad rows of
raspberry plants in the distance, and the almond brown of the upper meadow
just plowed. The farm was just that--a kind
of cool salad, spread out before you, like a banquet in a breeze.
The older I get--the more people I know who have passed on--the more grateful I am for every season, just to see another spring, another summer, another winter. The rhythm of a farm is something like a an old story--a tested and true musical--that you don't get tired of seeing re-played on stage every season. Good wins out over evil with a little effort: The weeds are beaten back, the water is brought to the root, the flower to the branch, and the apple--eventually--to the table. An old Vietnam vet approached me---even confronted me--yesterday after our Revolutionary War tour and he said, "what did my buddies die for? What is war good for?" He had all the quiet outrage of someone who had lost his compass and was angry for being lost. "Pol Pot," I said. "Castro. Hitler. Stalin. Lord Rawdon--the British officer who bragged about his men raping American girls. What do you do about them?" (What do you do about the weeds, the thorns, the bark beetles, the burrowing worms of the universe?) He shrugged his shoulders and went off to buy a pie, but I wouldn't let him go. "I respect your service," I told him, "but if you don't have an answer for evil, you are part of the problem."
"I don't believe people are evil," he
said--a little helplessly, "but I do agree that you and I can
disagree in this country; we can both speak our minds." |
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| May 12, 2006 7:28 AM | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
 Last
night we received the tragic news that Alex Creighton (right) had been
killed in a military training exercise. Some of
you may remember Alex. He worked here for most of
last spring and he threw himself, with great passion, into the role of
Admiralty Court judge and British regular. After joining
the army, one of my last conversations with him was an excited call he
made me about getting a mutual friend to work on a West Point appointment
for him. From all accounts, his superiors
liked this well mannered, intelligent, home-schooled young man who didn't take a
half interest in anything. He was the kind of guy that read
Hobbe's Leviathan with a notebook in one hand,
 a
high-lighter in the other, and a coffee table full of cross-references out
in front of him. If he was going to learn something, he
was going to knock it down and tackle it to the ground.
As a living history interpreter, I always knew that Alex was so intrigued with the story of the founders, and the glories of the Constitution, that I felt total confidence in his ability to engage the guests and get them thinking. We will miss him. Very much. |
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| May 11, 2006 6:36 AM | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
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An interesting side light on last
night's community battle: When Theresa Law, the founder
of Law's Restaurant, signed the clandestine code enforcement petition
against Riley's Farm, she probably didn't know how badly it would hurt her
own cause. (Two years ago, a few residents and competing
business owners, circulated a petition against our
living history programs for children.)
I always thought that Theresa Law, owning commercially zoned property,
wouldn't have anything to worry about from code enforcement, but it turns
out that she converted a motel into an apartment building.
Apparently, commercial zoning in Oak Glen doesn't allow for multi-family
residences. Oops. The problem here in Oak Glen is that a few people have decided they are the law. They have concluded that the actual words in the code don't matter. Rural Living, unfortunately, only allows for the growing of apples and row crops--not the selling of books and antiques, and not even the selling of someone else's apples. (You can't sell Snapple with your apple.) Commercial zoning doesn't allow for apartment buildings. For years, these anomalies were allowed to exist, because people agreed to work out their problems among themselves. The standard in Oak Glen was "don't complain; work it out among yourselves." County officials themselves said as much. The Oak Glen neighbors who had a problem with us, didn't sit down with us first. They took their problems to the law. Fine. That is their right, but when they did that, we simply, and respectfully, asked the county to enforce the law equally, not against the whole community, but those who were complaining about us. The county said, "no, we need to enforce the law against everyone."
Kent Colby, the operator of Law's
Restaurant* told me, "I kept telling my sister those petitions were going
to come back to haunt her." --- *By the way, Law's has a great breakfast and Kent is a fantastic guy; tell him the customers of Riley's Farm appreciate him for expressing support for our operation and for hoping for balance in the glen. Terry Fox of Oak Tree Village has always supported us as well. Most of the Oak Glen business owners know that we bring customers and dollars to them. |
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| May 10, 2006 11:23 PM | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
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Thanks for the prayers.
They helped tonight--at least in helping me keep my temper.
An Oak Glen Community Plan discussion group is something like a cross
between a Quaker Meeting and a cafeteria scene from One Flew over
the Cuckoo's Nest. The silent and sane sit
around the edges; in the center, the apple-and-Snapple crowd trade insults
with the living historians.
"Oak Glen is about apples!"
shouts one old farmer, who also sells antiques. |
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| May 10, 2006 6:48 AM | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
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O Joy! We have
another Oak Glen Community Planning Meeting tonight.
For those of you who might be confused by our status in this process, I'll
attempt to clarify. The San Bernardino County Planning
Commission and the San Bernardino Current Land Use Services Staff both
agree: Riley's Farm should be allowed to continue
with its education mission, build a few small craft shops, continue
serving banquets, and continue hosting groups in organized, supervised
camp settings. A few neighbors don't
agree and so we will have another vote before the San Bernardino County
Board of Supervisors. If we win there, and I believe we
will, some of the neighbors might try to take us to court.
Fortunately, many of you are making non-tax
deductible gifts to us in amounts that--if they continue at the
present pace--will give us enough money to fight off the court challenge. The challenge now is to fight for more than just Riley's Farm. I'm not sure how many of you have looked around San Bernardino County, but--let's just be honest--the county doesn't have too many cultural calling cards. Sure, we can brag about our beautiful mountain communities, historic Redlands, Oak Glen, but the county's great calling card--it's open space, it's remaining agriculture--is disappearing. If we don't give the average land owner of 5, 10, 20, or 100 acres some incentive to engage in profitable, visitor-based agritourism, it will all be gone. I have a dream! I see a county where a couple buys a 10 acre cherry orchard and builds a small country inn with a "micro-preserve" production bakery. I see a county where a horse-raising families offers equestrian camps for kids. I see a county where new wineries are built and new vineyards are planted. I see a tract (get this!) of farm houses--not just houses, but farm houses--where everyone of the five acre farms raises produce and sells it in a village market, built into the center of the project. Here's where Randy Scott and Jim Squire of San Bernardino County Advance Planning don't get it. They think every single one of these projects should undergo the massive, punitive, expensive Conditional Use Permit Process. Want to build a small winery? Ante up a quarter million dollars in studies--with no guarantee that it will be approved. Want to put a small hotel in the middle of your 100 ACRE ORCHARD? Budget $500,000 for consultants, attorneys, and engineers---and we'll get back to you. Riverside
County sees it differently. In the case of
wineries, they believe, if you want a hotel and if you've got enough
DEDICATED VINEYARDS around it, then, heck, build it! |
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| May 9, 2006 10:12 PM | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
 As
promised, even if a little late, lilac information: First of
all they are here! Oak Glen lilacs fresh from the Wilshire
ranch just north of us. A Pie & Lilac walking tour, includes a walking tour of the old flume road, three lilac stems fresh picked (by you) and a slice of hot apple pie: $10 per person. Each extra lilac is $1 per stem. With no pie, $7 per person. The first tours start this Saturday. Call Jan (909-797-7534) to make a reservation for 11 AM, 1 PM or 3 PM. Going Crazy Department: Imagine this conversation:
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| May 8, 2006 7:44 AM | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| Keith Broaders dropped by at Mom & Dad's with fresh picked lilacs last night. That means that our Pie & Lilac walk will soon be ready to roll. This tour includes a slice of hot apple pie and a walking tour of the flume road up to Wilshire's ranch, followed by a chance to pick your own lilacs. Watch for more details here this afternoon. | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| May 7, 2006 6:12 AM | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
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Last year, about this time,
I wrote about the moms in my
life, but it troubles me that I haven't quite done the job proper,
because if you believe in family, you should always be ready to answer
this question: "why be a Mom? why be a Dad?" That may sound like a strange question to some, but we live in a strange age, and strange notions have taken root. To wit: When I introduce myself to the adults who chaperone the students at the Revolutionary War Adventure, I usually ask them, "are you one of the teachers?" "Oh, no," comes the response. "I'm just a parent." "Just a parent?" I respond. "Just a parent? That's a noble calling!" Colonial books on proper children's etiquette invariably advise that little ones stand when their parents enter the room, bow in the direction of their father or mother, and then wait for "leave" (permission) to be seated. Parents are tickled by this today, but they see it as a romantic notion--impossible in the age of video games and cell phones and a culture that places youth ahead of wisdom. Parents, in other words, have unquestioned authority, but they don't really have what you would call respect, or honor. If you know someone on the verge of marriage, try this ancient blessing on them, "may you have many children and may they rise up and call you blessed." Watch the response. Invariably, there is a twinge of fear, anxiety, bewilderment. Marriage today is about romance and lifestyle. It's about mixing careers. It's rarely about creating a new branch of the clan, a new little society, a new home for culture and accomplishment. I even once heard a Christian financial counselor advise that couples BUDGET for children. What are kids, anyway? Rainy days? If you budgeted for children, you might as well join a monastery. When I was at Stanford, I met a rare and accomplished family. Dad was a doctor. Mom stayed at home. They had, I believe, eight children. For the sophomore year of high school, Mom took each of the children completely out of school and they read the classics together. Cicero. Aristotle. The Old and New Testament. There was a light in these children's eyes you don't see very often, and it was because they were a family that valued accomplishment, that had a sunny optimism about achievement, and Mom--there at home in the library--was at the center of that achievement. All of those kids went to Harvard, Yale or Stanford. All of them had their first great questions posed, their first great dialectics debated, their first faith defended, with mom across the table. The gift a mother gives her children doesn't necessarily have to be a classic education. It could be bringing the kids alongside in a family restaurant or sitting down at dinner to actually discuss a movie after you all watch it. I see versions of it every day, in the mothers who bring their children here. They talk about the travels they have made together as a family, or the books their kids like to read. I see their eyes light up when they talk about their child playing violin. There's a selflessness about some of these young moms that I find humbling, because it is clear to me they have "lost" themselves in the service of their children, that they "live" to make their children better, more engaging, more caring people. And it's not just unqualified affection either. I think there's hope for civilization when I see a mom giving her child a firm scolding. "Brandy, you get over there and apologize to Amy. That's unacceptable; You're a Foster and Fosters don't behave that way." What we don't see in these moments is that this transmission of culture, of discipline, of learning--the daily work of Moms--is the very bedrock of the nation. Every year, a few (thankfully not many), families steal apples and corn and pumpkins from us. They steal as a family. That's the culture they are transmitting to their kids, the culture of theft. On the other hand, I have some teachers who stand over their students at lunch and yell it out to the kids, "do you see this green grass here? That's all I want to see when you stand up. My class will leave no trash behind!" We could never write enough laws, we could never fund enough agencies, to do what good moms and good teachers do in the small moments of life. But why be a Mom? Why be a Dad? The answer is simple: we need more good ones. It's a calling higher than any art, higher than any credential, higher than any pop glory. Someday, you just might sit in a big booth at a restaurant, with your family all around you, and in the middle of the laughter (and even the tension of an argument or two), you might realize something in the middle of a conversation--an engaging conversation with your own kids!--that you wouldn't trade this moment, and this place, for anything. |
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| May 6, 2006 7:20 PM | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
 It
was just about as gorgeous as you can possibly imagine up here today, with
clear skies, a light breeze, and lots of pear and apple blossoms on
display. I have a new page of our summer offerings on line now
(right), and I strongly urge you all to plan a trip here to the farm,
since--despite the protestations of some people--we really aren't
very commercial around here. We live
here--Grandma, Grandpa, Uncle Scott, Uncle Jim (me), and all our kids, and
if you don't check the calendar, you might not find the winsome assembly
of 18th century townsfolk strolling about. (Did you hear that,
staff? I called you winsome.)
At any rate, put a little cool country farming in your summer and visit our summer 2006 page, today! : If you are reading this between 8:00 PM and 9:30 PM on Saturday Night, May 6, 2006, and you call us 909-797-7534 and order TWO "Night Before Mother's Day Barn Dance" tickets, we will give you TWO free! (My web people tell me that over 100 people read the farm journal every hour, but I just want to see if it's true.) Cindy Swanson--if you call before 9:30 PM, you will get a free apple pie.
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| May 5, 2006 6:58 AM | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
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I can't do justice to how much fun
we had at last night's barn dance. The overnight kids planted
corn in the evening, then shucked it, then ate a whopping chicken and
trout meal, with sweet corn on the cob and strawberry shortcake for
dessert. Our old friends, Freeman and Kathy, sawed away on fiddle and bass, next to the dinner tables with John Mack on the banjo and Scott Riley belting out a few Civil War tunes. We had a bright, lively group of young teachers and students, who thanked us--over and over--for opening up the farm to them, and when we were all doing the grand march to the year of Jubilo, there was a joy in the smiles, and the music, and the giddy laughter, that felt like watching a small door on heaven open for a moment or two. Good times. |
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| May 2, 2006 9:03 PM | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
 It's official. These are 2006 Spring Apple Blossoms, and that's a certified spring-time farm morning, down below. All you need to get together is 35 people and you can experience a Revolutionary War Overnight Adventure, which earns you a certified, official, Riley's Farm morning, not to mention dinner with Patrick Henry, 18th century village post workshops, and more. Arrange it today!
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| May 2, 2006 7:11 AM | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
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When there in the
doorway, little Tim, little Dawn, "Besides," said
wise John, as he stifled a yawn,
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| May 1, 2006 4:09 PM | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
 One
of our regular staff members, Mr. Hanna, (right at right) who served in
Word War II with the first Marine Division at Guadalcanal and Okinawa, was
a little discouraged today. Speaking about today's
immigration rally and the reports of American flags being desecrated,
flown upside down, and dragged on the ground, he shook his head.
"When I was wounded on Okinawa, the last man on the hill with me was a guy
named Martinez. We were the last two guys alive.
We were fighting for the same flag!" The jackals and thugs who mock America, even as they earn benefits and liberty from her, should think twice about the brotherhood that has defended her in the past. The distinction is not between white and black, between Anglo and Hispanic. The distinction is between those who believe in freedom, justice, and truth--and those who don't. Period. |
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| May 1, 2006 7:59 AM | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
 We had a sad, sweet weekend. Mary's niece passed away a few weeks ago at 33 years old, and the family finally managed to get together to remember her. Catherine was an artist and she had just finished a Little Italy freeway mural earlier this year, so we spent some time at the San Diego Art Walk, near Catherine's booth. Saturday night, we toasted her memory and swapped stories about her--and concluded, sadly, what all families conclude on these occasions--that death has a way of re-connecting families. It's a high price. Everyone showed up to work today, except for one sick out. I have mixed feelings about today's protest. On the one hand, Sam Adams was always taking his cohorts to the streets; on the other, there are far too many Mexican flags waving at these things. I know that the more generous interpretation of that expression is that the protestors are expressing pride in their culture and their history, but the rhetoric coming from the Reconquista crowd sounds like flat out racism to me. There's a reason why Mexican nationals want work over here, and it's because we strive to uphold the rule of law; we respect private property and the jobs that are created as a result of protecting it. I don't think we will ever have trouble appreciating and fostering differences. Those come naturally. Unity is the difficult social objective and American unity should be based on a respect for private property, individual liberty, and, most of all, a belief that rights come from a Divine source. Whatever faults we may have, that's American bedrock. At any rate, if you want to be an American, wave the stars and stripes. |
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More Farm Journal Entries
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big
bowls of strawberries, ice cream, and short cake.
We had such a rough week this week, six days of tours, several overnights,
an 
If they could see what this place is all about, I don't think they would
dare complain."
t
that didn't stop them from risking his business to meet their own ends. Some
friends, heah, Mr. Wood?
