Day 10

Drove south to Nepenthe this afternoon, only stopping five or six times to photograph the view. I saw two hitchhikers in front of the River Inn with a guitar, dog and red bandana-wrapped dreds, thumbing in vain. In the 60's, it was a common sight.

I've been having difficulty sending email and photographs so enlisted the expertise of Tom Birmingham at Studio One in Big Sur. We've been led to believe that technology saves time, but I have my personal doubts. While burning a cd of recent photos (which you still can't see because my computer is an asshole!) I spent an hour visiting with my friend Erin Gafill (Tom's wife and a wonderful artist) in the historic cabin they live in above Nepenthe.

There are certain houses that have personalities of their own and this one has several. It was on the property when Erin's grandfather built Nepenthe. It was mentioned in the Henry Miller book about Big Sur, because he lived in it when he first moved here as a guest of a writer named Lynda Sargent. Erin grew up in this small cabin with her brother, her cousins, her uncle all under the watchful eye of her grandmother. And when her grandmother died, Erin's own family took up residence. This house is filled with art: Erin's, Tom's photography, their children's art, Erin's uncle Kaffe Fassett's and the modernist paintings of her great grandmother (or is it great great? in either case, the art is great.) This afternoon while we visited, Erin was doing laundry which she put outside to dry on a line in the garden. There is something timeless about Erin, and the vision of the sheets airing in the wind exemplify this quality. Every square foot of the cabin is a vignette. The most ordinary objects look artfully arranged and lit like a Vermeer painting. Finally, you look out the windows and the colorful string of carnival lights above the Nepenthe patio recall every film ever shot on location in Big Sur.

When I drove north to return to Palo Colorado, six hours later, the same hitchhikers were still in front of the River Inn.