Water Under the Bridge

The creek through Waldner Farm is runoff from an artesian spring in the hills that provides our fresh water. The potable water, direct from the earth, is gravity-fed in pipes to the tanks, and from the tanks, is summoned down into the house and the yard. 

We don’t drink the creek water, but every other living creature does: the deer, the raccoons, the skunks and porcupines, the bobcats and coyotes, the elusive fisher and the occasional bear. 

By the campsite a bridge that crosses the open creek. On the other side, a microclimate of warmth is trapped against the hills. An open field lets in the sounds of the sea, a mile away, into a pocket of butterfly bushes and apple blossoms.

There is a clearing there for a campsite, double redwood lounge chairs for a long, quiet read or nap. One of dozens of nooks to read, and doze, and dream.

May 2005: Alicia Newman and Juan Jimenez on the “new bridge.” Sixteen years and four chlldren later, they still look at each other that way.