Skydiving, Aquarium

I redeemed my Birthday gift from Chloe today, at long last. We drove down to the hangar that houses Skydive Monterey Bay(in our new Prius!), but upon arrival were informed that there would be another few hours of waiting. The catch is that they want you to wait AT the hangar, where there is pretty much nothing to do except watch people pack parachutes and gripe with other people about the lack of organization. Instead of waiting, we hopped over to a nearby deli to grab a sandwich, and soon enough I was getting the quick five minute training on what was about to happen. Chloe had ordered videography as part of my package, and to the video guy's credit, he was doing his best to get me visibly psyched up for my impending doom. I was actually very excited, but tend not to be effusive in a way that might make for good TV, but I did my best. I think they were looking for more whooping and shaka's than I was able to earnestly deliver. At any rate, we were soon on board the twin engined turboprop and packed in like sardines on two long benches that ran the length of the cabin.


The plane was quite fast and had us up to 15,000 feet very quickly, at which point (or shortly before), my instructor cinched all the straps that connected me to him. I found the experience of being strapped to another dude to be vaguely humiliating, by the way. Any self consciousness about the indignity of it all or at being a human backpack was soon replaced by the very cold air rushing by and the fantastic views.



The videographer was spinning around us for most of the way down, and I gamely gave the thumbs up sign to humor him. At one point, I was given the parachute controls and turned us gently to the left, and right before being instructed to pull down hard on one of the straps. This put us into an dramatic and fun-at-first spin, and it felt like we were almost horizontal for most of it. Soon enough, however, I was starting to feel a little queasy from the spinning and was happy to come in for a landing

All in all it was pretty fun. The instructor and videographers were excellent, but as many other people have commented on Yelp: the front office is seriously disorganized.

From Marina, we drove to the Monterey Bay Aquarium and paid (ok, we let grandpa handle it) the extortionate admission fee and wandered around with Zoe. At fifteen months old, Zoe is really noticing things around her, and she *loved* the aquarium -- pointing her finger at various fish and staring transfixed at the schools of fish. Her favorite seemed to be the open ocean tank, with the tuna and sardines

Luther Burbank

Quite a few of the plum varieties that I obtained from the CRFG scion exchange a few weekends ago are Luther Burbank varieties. I was intrigued by his legacy of so many plum varieties, so I started browsing through 1849-1926 / Luther Burbank: his methods and discoveries and their practical application Volume V (1914). It is fairly lyrical fare for a description of hybridization within the prunus genus and it made for interesting, if specialized reading. Imagine my surprise then, when out of nowhere I came upon this rather shocking passage:


When I find our almost perfect prune lapsing back in the next generation to a condition that robs it of all value as a prune, I am reminded of the story of a young Indian who was taken from his tribe and given every advantage that the Government could furnish him.
Years were spent in teaching him the studies of the modern curriculum, mathematics, history, literature, language, and even a smattering of art.
At twenty-one he had a better education than many of our presidents, and his future was considered very promising by those who had to do with his training.
Ten years later this educated Indian was one of the most worthless of his tribe.
He had simply "gone back to the blanket stage of existence." The pull of past heredities was too strong upon him. The transitory influence of a few years of education could not efface the racial instincts that had been implanted through thousands of generations of breeding of a more primitive sort.
And so it is with prunes.

Link here.

A little digging reveals that he was a Eugenicist, and the above passage seems positively benign next to some of his other statements (which can be found in the above article). I find all of this disturbing and disappointing, considering how esteemed and revered he is in California. It is even more troubling, I think, that so many schools and parks are named after him. Is this appropriate for someone who wrote in his "The Training of the Human Plant"
"When all the necessary
crossing has been done, then comes the
work of elimination, the work of refin-
ing, until we shall get an ultimate prod-
uct that should be the finest race ever
known."

Guerilla grafting part II

Variety: Golden Nectar
here

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Guerilla grafting

variety: Catherine Bunnell
here

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Grafting

I tagged along with the master grafter Tom A. to see how he turns wild plums into multi variety mega trees. It started with liberal chainsawing of the various trunks, and then moved on to grafting (mostly by whip and whip and tongue) various varieties of plum onto the suckers coming off the main trunk.

Playground/Chef

Today was another daycare day off, which I luckily have off as well (Chloe does not), so I had a father-daughter day in the park and at the grandparents with Zoe. We drove up to Codornices park and was delighted to see that the long cement slide that I remember from when I was a kid was still there. Zoe and I tried it and some of the other slides out before going to the swings. As I was pushing the swing, I heard the father next to me speaking in French to his daughter, so I asked him where he was from. It turned out that he was from Paris and was the former Chef/Owner of the "Le Charm" Bistro in SF. He had recently sold it to have more time with his daughters. One of the places at which he had worked and trained was in the famous Parisian Brasserie La Coupole, which he said was excellent training. A typical day meant three thousand meals served (open from 6AM to 2AM when he was there), and if you finished at your station you could either call it a day or go to another station. Why would you go to another station? Well, you wouldn't, unless you were motivated to learn new techniques, and even then, you would be washing the floor of the new station for a few weeks before they let you near the real work.

I asked him where the best croissants were in the Bay Area, but he didn't have a good answer, except for the fact that he was planning in the next few years to start a small business on Solano Ave. which will sell pastries, mise-en-place, sausages, all manner of tasty things... and croissants! I can't wait. He's also planning on selling at Farmer's Markets. As far as good croissants, he said the best place in recent memory was some place in the Bellagio, but they were $4 each.

His answer to the question of what the first foods he seeks out when he goes back to Paris are? Crevettes grise and Langoustines.

Scion Exchange

Today I went to my first Scion Exchange, hosted by the Golden Gate Chapter of the California Rare Fruit Growers. The idea is that people bring in 'Scion' wood (which can then be grafted onto various rootstocks) which other people can then take samples of. I had never been to such a thing, and have only recently been inculcated into the ways of the rare fruit (by a fellow Williams alum and climber), so I didn't really know what to expect. I arrived early to try to help set up and get some words of wisdom before the unwashed masses arrived and was immediately given the task of alphabetizing the European plum scions. My first impression was amazement at the number of available varieties of both Asian and European plums. It turned out that the number of apple scions was even larger, but I was quite impressed nonetheless. Thankfully, my Williams friend turns out to be something of a fruit Yoda, and he very generously took me through the plums, quinces and pears and told me which ones tasted good, produced well, produced early/late, etc. etc. Basically, I would have been awash in a sea of sticks if it were not for him. I regret it now, but I didn't pick up any apple scions, despite knowing where some good rootstocks are up in Alta, but there is always next year. I did pick up Seckel and Des Urbanistes pears, Elephant Heart, Beauty, Santa Rosa, Satsuma, Golden Nectar, Inca, Catherine Bunnell(sp?) plums and an Aromatanaya quince. Some people brought in samples of fruit as well, and I tasted two different white sapote, some feijoa and passionfruit (all delicious). The CFRG also offers a short class in grafting basics, which was quite helpful.

Car Crash

I totalled my Prius today on the commute to work. I'm shaken but okay.

prius vs. expedition

lexus vs expedition
(it caught fire)
ugh

Zoe goes to the little farm

This post if for Zoe to review when she is much older and trying to figure why she is terrified of cows. It all started out pretty well -- we bought celery at the market and then drove up to the little farm with Zoe and my mom. Zoe was enjoying her celery stick and using it to whack Chloe on the head as we walked up the hill.

The first pen on the path is the cow pen, which is somewhat unfortunate because the cows happen to be the largest animals there. Zoe was interested in the cow, but quickly realized that the cow was developing an unhealthy interest in her celery stick


Before we could retreat, however, the cow advanced and shot it's gigantic tongue at the celery stick

and snatched it from Zoe's hand

Zoe was by this point terrified and staring wide eyed at the celery eating monster

For the rest of the day, Zoe refused to touch another celery stick, presumably because it would unleash another tongue attack. Chloe and I felt pretty terrible about this.

Camelias, Zoe in the Playground

Two of our many Camellia trees have started flowering.



Zoe enjoying the swing at the park in town:




and then happily leaving

Bishop to Oaktown

We drove back to Oakland today, stopping at the hot springs near the green church on 395. I managed to get the subie mildly stuck in the snow, but after a relaxing dip in the springs, I rocked it out of the snow. I need a Unimog, I guess.

Walking to the springs


Ice crystals along the way




the Hot Springs




Zubietas in the Mist


Checking out the hot stream




Back at the car



The springs were nice, but the arrival of some mouth breathers encouraged Chloe and I to get started freeing the car, so we hastily toweled off and got down to business. Five minutes, and a few millimeters of clutch later, the car was free and on the pavement. We loaded up, re-duct taped the annoying crash pad bits that had come loose, and headed North.

395 was beautiful as always, and we made a small detour to have lunch at the JT bar. The last time we had tried to eat here we had shown up too early and ended up at some horrible place like a Subway. This time, we arrived well within the two hour lunch window and hungry for some Basque food. The decor inside is saloon-ish, but not in an oppressive tourist-bait way. The food was quite good; I had the excellent steak sandwich, which included a gigantic salad and fries.






It was another fun trip to Bishop, but I have to say that the mega-crews and trustafarian posses roaming the tablelands and Buttermilks really sucks. Next time we go, I'm going to lobby for staying waaaay off the beaten track, snow permitting.