#sebastopol

I grew up on a working apple farm in Sebastopol with my 3 other older siblings.

We also had two big dogs Elsie and Tasha, a pony named Buttermilk, a dozen chickens and an occasional cow and pig...who usually ended up at the butchers, then on our table.

The True Farm to Table family.

Our dogs were Elsie, a big Golden Retriever and Tasha, an even bigger St. Bernard.

These dogs slept in the garage on old blankets and towels like dogs should. They ate hard Alpo from giant bags mom bought at KMart and dad would add a little hot water to sauce it up and they ate it like champions.

They also loved apples. I remember during harvest and those dogs would sit under an apple tree for shade and in heaven eating apples, and as I kid I thought that was normal.

All dogs like apples, right?

Our dogs lived very long healthy lives with Alpo, Apples, fresh air and running around to their hearts desire. The only time we had to take them to the vet was an occasional foxtail in the nose. Dad took care of the rest.

Tasha also....loved those chickens and was obsessed with trying to get inside that coop which one day....she did.

The sound of the chickens that day, was like there was a massacre and Tasha escaped with Oscar the Rooster, still alive in his slobbering chops.

I screamed, mom screamed, and thank god we lived on acreage because the whole scene was crazy with a big cloud of dust and feathers, chickens flapping and screeching with their nerves shot while 110lb Tasha got out and was running around the property with Oscar like she won the cock fight....with a 2 pound Rooster.

In my little 8 year old brain I thought Karma. Oscar was an asshole. He was so scary, and scary looking.

Oscar had an extra hairy feathery claw hanging from each leg that didn’t work, just extra creepy looking. When entering the coop Oscar was there to protect his hens like he was top Watch Dog.

Furry Watch dog after the Feather Watch dog.

There was no contest with this one.

The hens were mostly likely relieved from his constant raping and pecking abuse, and us relieved from our 5am wake up cock a doodle doo.

Mom didn’t know what to do with the situation as Tasha had her way with mean Oscar, while I ran around in confusion. What do I do?

Dad came home from work early....and this is what he did.

He took dead Oscar and....he tied him around Tasha’s neck so it hung like a giant pendant necklace that swung back and forth and flopped side to side....and I thought this was normal.

St. Bernard's are accustomed to having little barrel's around their neck so to Tasha this was a no brainer.

Did it mention it was Harvest time?

Dad had our apple farm on the Sonoma County Farm Trails, and if you grew up in the 70’s and 80’s on a ranch you would know what this is.

If not...it is a giant map where guests, travelers, and mostly city folk would come to your ranch to hang out and hopefully buy what you are offering. Our was apples....and apple dolls, apple sauce, apple juice, apple anything mom concocted.

Our property was, Vista Del Valle Ranch. AKA View of the Valley, as our property overlooked the valley's of Sebastopol and the mountain's of Santa Rosa.

Guests would pull up and wander the property, and dad had the clever idea of having ‘Picnic while you Pick.’

He built and put out picnic tables all over the property where the city folk would come find one under an apple tree, and have their lunch and play in the dust and trees.

On weekends dad would fill his 1930’s Vintage Truck with hay and bounce people around the property with Tasha and Elsie as shotgun.

The folks loved it!

Day 4 of the dead Oscar Pendant, and that day I will never forget for the rest of my life...because I am writing this today so yes I never forgot.

Tasha was the friendliest greeter along with Elsie.

Most times, the guests loved seeing them charge their entering cars.

Most times, the guests took photo’s with their Kodak camera’s with the dogs in the family photo.

Most times, the guests would tell us they made their day.

But not this time.

A family in a station wagon slowly drove up our bumpy gravel driveway...I was running around outside with Buttermilk the pony because that was part of the ranch day.

All bad dogs get a dead chicken tied to their neck right?

I watched the husband driving, wife in the passenger seat, kids in the back seat of a station wagon drive up towards our lot.

Tasha the greeter....this was her time to shine.

The family parked their car and I watched Tasha in slow motion run toward the car...dead rooster necklace and all.

Mom ran out and I stood there frozen...in my overalls with Buttermilk.

Mom stood there frozen.

The kids jump out and the dad get’s out, while I saw the mom move quickly out to see, Tasha, the giant St. Bernard rushing toward them with a giant dead rooster dangling from her neck.

It didn't help that dead Oscar was possibly the scariest feathered creature ever flopping and smelling like rotten....chicken.....

The mom screamed.

My mom screamed

The kids screamed.

The dad didn’t know what to do.... Their eyes were big as apples!

I was wondering what the screaming was all about! It’s just a dog with a dead chicken necklace!

That dad backed up that station wagon like the world was ending, dust flew up and they flew outta this crazy country place like a tornado was about to hit.

Mom ran inside and....here we go again, called my dad at work to tell him yet another shenanigan on the ranch.

Not sure if the dead chicken necklace thing worked or not, but that day, Tasha was released from it and I don’t remember her ever trying to get to the chickens again.

But the good news, I could now go into the coop without being attacked by Oscar.

Flashforward 20 years later.

My fiance and I moved to one of dad’s properties where dog’s could roam and, me being pregnant, we thought 2 dogs would be a great addition to our little family.

We found Freedom at a Breeder. She was a one patched faced St. Bernard pup, and she was the cheapest since her markings weren’t perfect, but that’s what we liked.

Ketchum we bought from the scariest breeders that lived in a ramshackle hoarder singlewide property from a toothless old lady and her toothless son off Bodega Hwy.

Ketchum was the only male left so we paid the $200 for him and put him in the back of our SUV with Freedom and they were best friends at first sight.

They had full access to the property and would wander during the day and always came home at dusk.

A good dog's life.

One evening, my fiance....a city boy....who wore designer suits and italian shoes and worked in SF as a Stock Broker came home before me.

We both worked downtown SF, back when commuting to SF from Sebastopol was a piece of cake.

He calls me on my cell and starts screaming.....like my mom did 20 years earlier.

Did I mention he’s a city boy?

Flashbacks...fly through my head.

Freedom came home with a chicken in her slobbery mouth still alive and well....

Well.....well.....well....here we go again.

Our neighbor had Free Range chickens not knowing Free Dom would be the murderer.

I could only imagine what people would say on Nextdoor. Thank god there was no Nextdoor.

I don’t even know if the neighbor realized that one of his many chickens went missing.

“FREEDOM. SHE HAS A CHICKEN. SHE’S RUNNING AROUND WITH A CHICKEN AND I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO?”

Running around with a chicken? Like is the chicken running with her?

HUH?

I get home and there she is....while Fiance has a small hammer in his hand.

HUH? HUH?

Did I mention he was a city boy?

“WHAT DO I DO? I CAN’T KILL THE CHICKEN. SHE KEEPS STARING AT ME WITH HER LITTLE BROWN EYES. I CAN’T DO IT.”

Yeah and I’m thinking, ‘with a little hammer?”

Freedom ate her legs first so this chicken had no chance. Her time has come. Unless she was one of those Kentucky Fried chicken chickens, I saw on TV. You know the ones who don’t have legs because they are stuffed in tiny cages to just eat and be killed?

I had to call in the big guns....the reaper....Special Forces... Dad.

Dad arrived with an axe.

5 seconds later he came in and this is all he said, “OK guys, have fun, see you later!”

HUH? HUH? HUH?

I was just glad he didn’t make a chicken necklace for Freedom.

The next day mom and dad invited us over for dinner.

“So what’s for dinner mom?”

“Chicken.”

Back in 2021 El Molino high school and Analy high school were consolidated. These two Sonoma County schools had been “rivals” for decades. A lot of local folks were upset. The school board said that it was necessary for budget reasons. I attended Analy back in the 20th Century. A old friend of mine had a daughter who was then a student at Analy and she wanted a portrait of the school mascots (Lion and Tiger) combined as a way to help the students feel more unified.

I moved up to Sonoma County in 1971…. we were 4 young kids, 6, 8, 10, and 12, with my mom and dad. Me being the youngest.

We moved from a cul de sac in Los Altos where neighbor kids were here there everywhere!

When the HP Campus opened in Fountain Grove, my dad transferred from the Palo Alto HP to Santa Rosa.

My brother and dad moved 6 months early to get the house ready for us girls before we moved in.

The house is, and still is, on top of a long driveway overlooking the beautiful sunsets of the west coast, North Santa Rosa mountains, the east rising sun overlooking the apple trees, and South, a million apple trees and nothing else.

‘OK, this is going to be fun,’ fluttered in my 6 year old mind.

So many trees to climb…. OMG where is Buttermilk? Where is my Pony?

He was safe and sound in a little corral my dad built, where he would be cool in the summer and dry in the winter

At the time it was a 2-bedroom house, on 12 acres, with zero neighbors, or any signs of humans.

It all felt so unreal that I could just run, and run, in the orchard and never worry about getting run over by a car or get kidnapped!

When we arrived..... I remember getting out of the station wagon like we landed on a new planet.

I was running around the house because…well…I was excited for my very first ride on Buttermilk.

Then…….this, is where it went down!

My eldest sister had to share a room with my brother!!!!!!

During my eldest sisters peak pimples season and PMS’ing freakouts, and where is her Pink Canopy with the frilly white ruffles and matching French Provincial Dresser set from Sears?

It had two twin beds in a typical sized bedroom…. Like camp…..but not for my eldest sister.

No way was she going to succumbed to living with a dirty little brother in an old house in the dirty country.

Well. She Had. No. Choice.

Nothing a bar of soap in the mouth can’t fix.

I think I heard her crying that night and I could just hear my poor brother thinking….’Oh Brother’.

My sister, two years older and I shared a bedroom.

We were sharing a bedroom our entire 6 & 8 year old lives so it was easy breezy.

My parents slept in a pull-out sofa bed in the living room until the new addition was done.

The addition added a big family room with a rock fireplace, a dumb waiter for the wood to go up into the living room…. *Note….it never worked…. ever! Dad tried for 40 years to get that dumb....dumb Waiter going but it never happened.

But…I would brag to my friends that it was like an elevator to make me look fancy.

He built 2 bedrooms with a Jack & Jill bathroom, then downstairs, the rec room, where the pool table was, and where my brother and his cute friends hung out talking about girls and playing poker. I was always invited.

Now back to my Pony, and back to when I was about 4.

HP had parties and events every summer.

HP Picnic was just crazy amazing…imagine the County Fair but only to the Employees and Immediate Families of HP up in the hills of Fountain Grove but everything was free. Free food, drinks, games, toys, music, rides…ponies….

The biggest event of the year was HP Camp up in Little Basin in the Santa Cruz mountains every late August.

It was a 3-day fest of live music, glamping, swimming pools, games, horsebackriding, the Rec. House for all the teenagers to hang out…then there he was......

His mane was blond and I could tell it was just brushed. He walked very very proud like he was a show pony. His body was milk chocolate brown, and he had…. big sexy eyes.

I noticed he wasn’t pony sized. He was bigger than the other ponies, but smaller than the horses.

To find out: His mom was a Shetland and his dad was some horse…. just some horse, horsing around with a little Shetland Filly.

Every year at HP Camp there he was, Buttermilk.

I dreamed of riding him to kindergarten and being famous.

But living in Los Altos on a cul-de-sac?

Dad wouldn’t buy it.

Well, he did.

Well, he didn’t.

Buttermilk…. was free!!!!

I don’t even remember how Buttermilk got to our Los Alto’s home, but when we got home from school…there he was standing on our front lawn in a very busy neighborhood with cars driving by and people slowing down… for the pony, on a lawn…. in the burbs of Los Altos!

Our house turned into a Buttermilk petting zoo. It was like they’ve never seen a pony before.

Buttermilk was living the dream being fed carrots, getting his nose rubbed and eating fresh lawn.

When dad got home from work, he would give the neighbor kids pony rides on Buttermilk around the cul de sac.

We were famous….and Buttermilk would soon become famous….

Little did I know that my dad purchased the house in Sebastopol and Buttermilk will be staying there until we arrive.

Buttermilk became MY pony. He didn’t like anyone but me and my brother.

I would ride him every day after school through the apple orchards….and just remember…. when running a pony through the orchards you have to duck…or else decapitation will occur.

We now had to take the bus to our new school Twin Hills which was 4 miles away from our house.

There was 1st run…which meant we had to wake up with the Roosters.

Then there was 2nd run…..those kids got to sleep in an entire hour!

Sometimes I would watch the 2nd Run kids get off the bus all Wide eyed with a Cherry on top. While us 1st run kids looked like we crawled up from the sewer pipes!

We had 2 bus stops and they were both about ½  mile from our house.

The first bus stop was downhill running to West Sexton, the second bus stop was uphill running to Burnside.

They both sucked.

Our Twin Hills School bus driver from 1971-1980… was Mr. Camby and he looked and acted like scary Santa. If you were not standing still at the bus stop, single file…. he wouldn’t let you on the bus. If he saw you running to the line…. you were not allowed in. We had to stand straight, stare ahead, hands by our side. Like little soldiers.

So that happened to me…at 10...when I missed the bus.

First thought.

Buttermilk.

I ran through the apple orchards to my house…. grabbed his bridle, opened his stall and put on his bridle like a tornado was about to hit!

No saddle…no time…. bareback…. I hopped on the tree trunk which is the usual mounting aide, and now I was in the Kentucky Derby!

Run Buttermilk Run!!!! I’m betting on you! The odds are on your side.

I ran Buttermilk through an easement into another property, then through another orchard, then another orchard, then passed the scary labor camp down Burnside Road to Watertrough…...to…...school.

I was……On Time.

Cars were driving in, with mom’s wearing big hair curlers and robes. The kids in the back seat with golf ball eyes and mouth dropped open, watching Buttermilk and I prance into the school parking lot.

The clip clop clip clop of Buttermilks hoofs seemed to get louder and louder.

Every physical thing around me froze as I slowly clip clopped him, into the front of the main office.

Oh, shit what have I done?

Kids were jumping out of cars like it was Disneyland or something.

I sat there on top of Buttermilk…and that is when I realized…holy shit…. where do I put him????

Didn't quite think that part out!

I had a quick flash of him running…. running joyfully on the upper campus lawn…doing pony cartwheels and chasing his tail.

Nope.

Surrounded by every single kid in school who didn’t have a horse or a pony…. the principal comes out. The school secretary comes out. The little kids in the kindergarten playground were screaming behind the chain linked fence like it was the holocaust!

I was spinning and realized I forgot my lunch in Buttermilks stall.

So, this is what happened:

*Remember this is Twin Hill’s School back when it was K-8 circa 1971-1980.

Buttermilk was put in the kindergarten play yard on a short rope. Long enough so he could eat grass. They gave him a bucket of water. One teacher ‘Just Happened’ to have a big bag of carrots after her lunch break. Mrs. Shaw. Best teacher ever.

Kindergarten Class was a bust that day because the kids couldn’t keep their little bottoms still on their mats. They just wanted to see Buttermilk roped in their playground. A real live pony!

The Principle called my dad at work to tell him that I rode Buttermilk to school.

There would be only 2 circumstances with my Dad:

1: He would tell the Principle he’ll be right over and get the pony home and tell me, 'there is no more horse or pony shows!'

2: Laugh at the principle and ask him, ‘well was she late for school? Don’t you think that was very reliable of her to get to school on time?’

Well, it was a combo of both.

That day…on a bright red piece of paper stapled to the front our homework…. was a note that said something like this.

Dear Parents:

Our students are not allowed to ride any type of animal to and from school. We do not have a place to keep them during school hours.

Please sign at the bottom of this note and have your child bring it to their teacher tomorrow.  

If you have any questions, please contact our front office for an appointment.

THE PRINCIPLE

After School I got Buttermilk out of the playground, hopped on him and rode through the student fans waving at us, “Good Bye Buttermilk we love you”.

That night my dad asked me what happened.

I told him I missed the bus.

*You may be asking what about mom?

Mom was not a very good driver. She didn’t like to drive. It scared her. So that is why my mom never drove me to school.

Dad was the dad when something bad happened…you’d never know the next day.

It was like it never happened.

The very next day I made the bus. Proudly standing in front of the line, which meant I got there first. Hoping Mr. Camby is going to say something, like ‘I’m proud of you kid, you got there first’.

No. He just opened his bus doors with his white puffy beard and I stood there waiting for some kind words…anything. ‘What are you waiting for, get on the bus?!” was all I got.

That morning all of the classrooms, after the Pledge of Alligience, The Principle made an announcement something like this:

Good Morning Students,

I would like to remind all of you that you are not allowed to ride or, bring your animals to school without permission from your teacher and your parents.

Please hand the signed red slip that was sent home to your teacher.

Oh Shit.

Karen Rubin with Eric Leiberman and Sarah Falter, Travel Features Syndicate, goingplacesfarandnear.com A staple of a visit to Sonoma, California, where nature and art come together in a perfect blend, is a tasting at one of the picturesque wineries and vineyards.  It is always so fascinating to learn about the art and science of winemaking, and to immerse in joy of discovering, sharing and…

A view of Sebastopol from the United Red Jacket gold mine, 1866. The shaft was located just south of the Victoria Street & Beverin Street intersection, where there is now a Coles supermarket car park.