Hiking

1979, Santa Barbara

     Rick and I believed that we could gain knowledge by exposing ourselves to peak experiences. We made a habit of not just being observers of life’s extraordinary and ordinary moments but being actively involved in experiencing them, searching them out and sometimes even forcing them to expose themselves to us. We were definitely not tourists.

     In 1979, during my sophomore year at University of California at Santa Barbara, Rick and I took an environmental studies class together taught by Dr. Roderick Nash, a prominent environmental studies professor and author who wrote the tome “Man and Wilderness”, of course, our ES101 textbook. Nash was charismatic, handsome and most of his classes were filled with women who fought it out for the closest seat to the lectern. It was common knowledge that “Dr. Rod” slept with many of the freshman nymphs and his quarterly three- five day hikes into the local mountains and the High Sierras were his modus operandi for ensnaring the young ladies. One of these hikes was scheduled to go into the Santa Ynez mountains about one hundred miles North of Santa Barbara where, with proper guidance, you could find ancient Chumash pictographs etched and painted in the caves and overhanging shale and sandstone cliffs. I can’t remember why exactly, I think one of us had something to do that weekend so we decided to go on the hike a couple of days early.

     We quickly packed all of the gear figuring what we would need for a two-night backpacking trek, which wasn’t much, then took off after our morning classes were out. We followed the 101 north past Goleta, El Capitan and Jalama then cutting inland North of San Luis Obisbo and through Morales Canyon to the shale oil fields that become the nascent foothills of the Santa Ynez mountain range. Oil derricks that looked like giant black dinosaurs surrounded us on both sides of the road. From afar they appeared big but as we drove off the paved road and onto the dirt access road and moved closer you realized how large and how powerful they really were; moving up and down in a slow-motion perpetual see saw. Rick and I looked at each other and instinctively knew what we were going to do. We pulled up to the biggest one we could find and proceeded to hop the chain link fence that surrounded the black iron rig. Locating the metal handholds that were welded to the center support, we proceeded to climb up the hot monolith, one rung at a time. Higher and higher we ascended until we, one in front of the other, reached the fulcrum of the beast, hopped on top of the giant metal joint and one by one on all fours holding tight to the underbelly of the I-beam scampered to the end and toward the huge head of the monster. It continued it’s slow powerful ascent as we reached the end and could both sit on the head, holding on tight. From there, some forty feet in the air, we could practically see the distant ocean. Then, arriving at its peak, it began its methodical descent and we could both feel the tingle in our groin as the machinery went down. We rode it for another twenty minutes and it was exhilarating and freeing to ride that oil derrick. I felt like Major Kong riding the atomic bomb in the Dr. Strangelove movie but we were not destroying or desecrating anything. We were building something, confirming something, our lives…and asking the question, why not? After our measured “E” ticket ride on the derrick, we got into our car and continued through the oil field, through Morales canyon and into the Santa Ynez wilderness area.

     We located the Chumash Indian trail head and parked in the dusty lot where our class was to congregate and leave in a couple days. We were alone, save the cliff swallows, and hadn’t seen a car in the past two hours; no other cars were in the lot and we liked that sense of solitude. We opened the hatch to my beat up Toyota Celica and proceeded to take inventory of our gear. With Rick, there are certain moments, like a comma in a sentence, where there is a break, a realization, a reassessment and as we were looking at our clothes, hats, flashlights, sleeping bags and pads, without words, I knew we were in one of those commas.

“ Do we really need to take our jackets…it’s not that cold.”?

Rick said looking at me with that head tilted smile. I knew where he was going.

 “ Do we really need the long pants and hats?”

I added and let Rick finish the thought off.

“Do we really need clothes at all? Let’s go native… no clothes, no packs, no sleeping bags, nothing.”

“…And no speaking!” I exclaimed.

     And that was the last thing either one of said for the next two and a half days. Through grunts and hand gestures we agreed to take a small stainless steel waterproof canister of matches, our shoes and the trail map. For the next two days we walked along the trails, followed the map and located the caves and rock pictographs. In the morning we looked for wild food like miner’s lettuce, manzanita berries and mesquite leaves. Midday, when the sun beat down on us, we covered our bodies from head to toe in mud from the cold water stream that cut through the narrow canyons we followed and at night we lit small fires to keep us warm and lay huddled in the dirt and grass. On the second morning we used charcoal from the spent fire to make elaborate designs on each other and we quickly became unrecognizable as college freshmen; we looked like crazed aborigines. On the third day as we were foraging for berries along-side a trail in a beautiful meadow, we heard voices in the distance. Even in the short period of a few days, because we hadn’t spoken in three days and hadn’t encountered anyone, we had a heightened sense of hearing. When we heard the voices we hid behind the manzanita bushes and, peeking through the leaves, could see our class, six girls and two guys making their way up the trail, led by Dr. Nash. As they got closer and closer we slowly came out from behind the scrub and met our class right there on the trail. They were startled and dumbfounded to say the least and were not sure who we were. One of the guys picked up a rock, the girls giggled when they saw our decorated penises. Once they realized who we were, we all just stood there on the trail laughing, cracking up. We broke our vow of silence and recounted our trek and told them of the sandstone rock Cairns we left on the trails marking each pictograph site and bid them farewell.

     Rick and I continued on the trail and hiked out, talking the whole way, reaching my car with the “Question Authority” bumper sticker about two hours later. The ride back to our apartment in Isla Vista was pretty uncomfortable. We did not realized how dirty we were until we were in the relatively clean environment of my car. We talked about how we freaked out our class, turned on the radio and heard the news about the Three Mile Island Nuclear accident, then settled in and listened to Steely Dan and the “Caves of Altamira” the whole way home, both naked in the car.

Memoir / Hopping Freight Trains / Part One

August 5, 1982
 
Drawing Tablet
Wood drawing compress
Fishing line on a stick and hook
Oil Pastels
Pick up Levi’s at Jay’s house 
Canvas Rucksack 
Find Rick in Santa Cruz 

      Left this morning with a headache. Left home to experience… (unreadable) the walk that leads away…to know the beginning…I feel sort of out of place, different. On the side of the road I stand… outstanding among them. I don’t know why I’m going on this trip- I might be trying to cap off some time zone, school, etc… but this is on the skip of the beat… It seems right but…and it also has some realness to it… vivid, scary, and awesome… It is not a dream… I am here now and I am very aware…I want very much to paint or use my pastels on this trip… all types of compositions and feelings are to be experienced. I want the paintings to be thick and globular on the surface…Rich and solid they will be…living landscape portraits. I am excited to loosen up. I feel very tense. My jaw is tight and my breath forced. I need to mold into this new style of living… it seems so strange, this close to home…. almost phony. Am I for real? Is this just some experiment or is it a true course…need I do this? Is this true? 

      I’m very hungry now and it has only been about 5 hours since I’ve eaten. This will be good discipline. Hitchhiking is a listening, observing experience. One is contemplative…people sure like to talk to me while I’m in their cars.

 July 2011

     These words were written on the worn and torn pages from the journal I kept for the first five hours of my adventure in the summer of 1982, the year Gandhi died, the year the word “internet” was first used. I left my parent’s house in suburban Los Angeles and walked the four miles to the 101 freeway onramp heading north. , I wrote those words while I sat there on a hot cement curb under the obligatory Oleander, “Santa Cruz” sign perched at my feet. They were the only words I wrote for three months, other than the birch- bark postcards I sent periodically to friends and family. I know why I stopped writing in the journal. Although I loved to write at that time, and still do, I felt it was dishonest to document each experience, each feeling as it was happening. I wanted to free myself from taking photographs, writing, even talking about what was unfolding. The point was to live each moment to it’s fullest not, in essence, to make a simultaneous documentary. I didn’t come to this monk-like conclusion all by myself. Although I have always been a purist, believing that if you are going to do something, it is important to give it your all, concentrate, focus and do the best you can. It’s a dichotomy because I’m very rigid about this, almost judgmental in my zeal for Zen. And that goes for everything… from making a sandwich, listening to music, hopping a freight train. Why just go through the motions? I tried to express myself through my doings. But when it came to living in the moment, I was a neophyte compared to my college roommate Rick.

      I had never met anyone like Rick, before or since. Every moment was an opportunity for adventure and not just for adventure’s sake but a search for the “truth”, the true course. He looked at the world through different lenses, obscuring the norm, focusing on an intense childlike curiosity. He was tall and lanky and strikingly handsome. He looked like Gary Cooper if Gary Cooper were a beautifully tanned existential surfing beatnik. He had an omnipresent smile that when focused on you, seemed to affirm what you were thinking. He had dark brown eyes and a gaze that would attract many followers… and lovers. And, contrary to my wife’s beliefs, Rick and I were not lovers but he was the first person I had ever truly fallen in love with.

By Joseph Wahl, 2012

Our Furniture has Soul

The term animism is derived from the Latin word anima meaning breath or soul. From its earliest beginnings it was a belief that a soul or spirit existed in every object, even if it was inanimate. This spirit, therefore, was thought to be universal.

I feel that the furniture I build has this spirit. From the designs I draw to the lumber I handpick and cut into the wood that will eventually become your furniture. Every piece is handmade, hand sanded and hand finished. At every stage of building I care for each piece and am thinking of whom it is being built for. This imparts a spirit to every piece that is built in my wood shop. The furniture feels and looks different because it is different.

You might be able to find cheaper furniture made by computer controlled machines and spray finished in huge factories but you cannot find better furniture handmade here locally with love.

From my custom furniture to the antiques and vintage treasures that I find…bring things into your life and home that have a life of their own, a spirit of their own, and you will cherish them all the more.

Come in and find something unique!


Joseph Wahl

Cool New Cribs, Chairs and Dressers!

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Come in to Joseph Wahl Arts/ joeybaby and find something Unique!

Toys and Gifts for the Holidays !!!

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Now is also a good time to place an order for a
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Order during the month of December and receive a 10% discount on all furniture orders!!!

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THINK GLOBAL, BUY LOCAL AND SUPPORT
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My Zayda

The earliest memories of my Zayda are of him playing with my brother, sister and I in our backyard in Chatsworth. He always played with us and I remember him laughing and smiling and holding me upside down . I used to stand on my head a lot when I was a kid... I think I stood on my head for two years straight. Zayda told me my head would be flat if I kept on doing it and he was sort of right about that. I remember how strong I thought he was ... I thought his arms were so big and I couldn’t believe that he never beat me at arm wrestling. That was one our favorite things to do. Of course, I never lost. When we got a swimming pool, I would pay Zayda a dollar to dive off the diving board and make a huge splash. He really didn’t like to dive off the board, in fact, I don’t even know if could swim that well.... but he did it anyway. He would have done anything for us. As we grew up and got into sports I remember Zayda and Bubbie coming to many of our track meets, baseball games and soccer games. They were there, always...and we wanted them to be there. Zayda used to tell me that he was a catcher when he played baseball in Duluth. He told me that he was so poor he didn’t have a mitt and used to catch the ball with his nose and that is why his nose was so crooked. He had a great sense of humor and I can only imagine the real reason his nose was so crooked. Although Zayda was the sweetest guy in the world.... he wouldn't take crap from anyone. Zayda was a survivor, the toughest of the tough. I never heard him complain once in his life. When times were the toughest he would smile and tell me a joke or tell me that the nurse was after him. He had so many nurses after him, all the other patients were jealous. Everyone loved Zayda but Zayda loved Bubbie... and he told me every time I saw him. He loved her so much that it kept him alive. He took much of his strength from Bubbie who if Zayda was the strongest man alive, Bubbie is the strongest woman. And their Love, the strongest love.

I will miss Zayda very much. He was a good, simple, humble man. He was strong, loving and caring. His sense of humor pulled him through many tough times, more than his fair share. When times are difficult for me I will draw strength from my Zayda’s life.

A Tribute to Julia Child by Joseph Wahl

Julia’s Child

i remember her voice
marbles and new words
from france

watching her
every move
how she flipped
and folded her omelette

butter and sugar
flour and cream
brie, blue and cheese dreams

crepes and frois gras
pate and baguettes
hollandaise, bechamel and poivre

hot copper pans
stainless steel cups
whisks and measuring spoons

cooking for my family
watching their faces
and smiles

The Courage to Create

Decorating your Child’s Room with Confidence

What I have found out about being creative whether it be singing, cooking, painting, gardening , decorating or pretty much any artistic endeavor, it is always done better with confidence. When anything is done with confidence the viewer/audience can really feel the positive energy. Even when something goes wrong, it still can be a ‘tour de force’ if done with zeal. It reminds me of the scene in the new movie about Julia Child where she says, and I am paraphrasing, “ Never make excuses to your guests about the food you serve”. What she means by this is, and I am a firm believer, be confident! What you might think is a mistake or you might have done differently, nobody will notice or care.

When it comes to decorating your child’s room, the formula is no different. Have courage, be creative. do whatever you want. There are really no rules! Try to look at the room like a movie set and take it step by step as you layer the room first with paint colors then furniture placement, lighting, art and finally accessories. When I begin decorating a child’s room I usually start with the wall color scheme. I consult with the child, depending on their age, then look in a color deck and go for it. My advice here is just be a little careful about colors that are too bright or very dark and always paint the ceiling white. Put sample patches of colors on the walls to try it before you buy it. Maybe you want to paint several colors in the room. Sometimes it’s a good compromise to paint one wall that bright lime color your little girl is begging for with softer tones on the other walls. Maybe choose one wall to be painted with chalkboard paint. Another idea is to drape inexpensive fabric like scrim on one wall. It is so important to inspire your children to be creative.

When placing the furniture, try unique arrangements. Usually there are only one or two places the bed with fit. Start with the bed and then go from there placing the side table, dresser, bookcase, desk etc… Another good idea is putting glass on top of a dresser or desk. This gives your child a place to put photos, art, and anything that is important to them while maintaining a clean look. Most rooms are very angular and because of this, I often like to put bookcases on the diagonal in a corner. This helps break up the monotony of a square room. Also, consider using unique items that are not typically used as furniture for the side tables. I have used small toy pianos, rolling tool bins, earthy tree stumps, upside down galvanized trash cans… have fun!

When it comes to lighting, it is most important to have sufficient overhead lighting, preferably canned lighting, especially over the bed so your child can easily read at night. Next is finding some cool lighting fixtures for the side table lamp and the desk lamp and maybe a chandelier or overhead fixture. My experience tells me that these are all best used for mood lighting. A lot of great inexpensive lighting can be found at flea markets. Look for the fixture that is more art than lamp, something with a fun base and a funky shade or vice versa!

It is important when choosing your art and accessories that you are not “decorating” with them. Everything you put on the wall should mean something to you and your child. It could be an old photo of Grandpa or Zayda blown up or something you saved from your childhood room, a framed letter or poem that you love. My wife and I just found the list of prospective boy and girl names we made before our first child was born (we decided to name him Emerson). We are framing it right now. The key to loving the room you decorate is loving the things you put in it. I can honestly say everything in our house I love...everywhere I look is something that has meaning to me.

Be creative, be confident and be honest in your decorating and you and your child will love the room you end up with for many years to come.