San Diego’s North Park neighborhood piqued my interest many years ago when a tiny street called Ray Street dotted with artist studios started welcoming the public to their studios every month. Prior, I had only thought of North Park as a fairly crime-stricken region of San Diego that was best to avoid. Fast-forward a decade, and the neighborhood is booming with businesses and new residents, but most artists can’t afford to be there anymore. A downside of neighborhood redevelopment. Fortunately, the upsides are numerous, including the creation of the North Park Historical Society in 2007, which is the local group behind the official designation of the North Park Dryden Historic District, which boasts several blocks of California bungalows and Spanish colonial revival homes. I watch the changing of the seasons jogging the streets of this gorgeous neighborhood as homeowners enthusiastically decorate their already eye-catching homes.
I pass this house every day but just noticed its incredible tree because of all the jolly pumpkins hanging from the branches.
And my favorite season of all to enjoy this neighborhood is – you guessed it – Halloween. These homeowners are so creative and artistically inclined with their spooky decor.
One of my favorite bungalows in North Park’s historic district dressed up for Halloween.
If you are visiting San Diego or live here, pay a visit and take a nice long stroll at dusk along 28th and Pershing Streets, bordered to the north by Landis Street and to the south by Upas Street, and everything around and between.
Skeletons dancing on doors…
Enjoy a trip back in time, a lesson in California architecture, and a good laugh at these Halloween decorations with a sense of humor.
This home alone is worth the trip. This is just a portion of their extensive decorations.
And the best part is no costume is required.
Although, if you are so inclined, your costume will be admired by the neighborhood joggers, like me, and, no doubt, the homeowners too!
Not so easy to see the black crows in the dark, but they are surrounding this mannequin in this homeowner’s take on Hitchcock’s Birds.More crows make a theme of scary bird decorations!A typical North Park streetscape with a pumpkin peeking out from the bushes.I didn’t notice this guy climbing out of his grave until I peeked through the fence to take a pic of this darling home.Black flamingo = genius.Another great bungalow joining in on the Halloween spirit.
If you’re interested in seeing some fascinating historical photos of the neighborhood and learning more about its history, this PDF by the Save Our Heritage Organisation is a great read.
Editor’s note:This column is writtenby my father, Rich Ryan, who I’ve invited to be a frequent contributor to Gracefully Global as “Dad’s Guest Blog,” as he calls it. He’s a retired professor, and he keeps himself busy with frequent traveling and writing a column in the local newspaper of my hometown, the Imperial Valley Press. This particular adventure we shared together along with my stepmom, Estela. This is the second post in the series, and the first post was written about Salvation Mountain, which you can read by clicking here. The photos are by me.
To the southwest of Niland’s Salvation Mountain is the Sonny Bono Salton Sea National Wildlife Refuge. Entry is free.
The Salton Sea which straddles northern Imperial County and southern Riverside County is an inland saltwater lake that is a stopover for seasonal bird migrations. The Refuge, a sanctuary and breeding ground for birds, is over 37,000 acres. The area is huge.
The Sonny Bono visitors’ center is easily accessible from California Highway 111. It is approximately a twenty-minute drive from Salvation Mountain to the Wildlife Refuge and less than two hours from Palm Springs. Driving south on California Highway 111, turn west on Sinclair Road which will bring you directly to the center’s entrance.
You will pass a series of huge geothermal plants that run along both sides of Sinclair. Signage is minimal so be alert. The visitors’ center is not fancy but possesses the basics: parking, a gift shop, informed docents, restrooms, and shaded picnic tables.
Next to the center is a large, unshaded viewing platform from which to observe flocks of migrating birds such as white phase snow geese feeding in an irrigated field. Bring binoculars. Migrating is the key word. These birds are not permanent residents so check the website for migrating bird information.
Why should you visit the Refuge? The Refuge is situated within the Pacific Flyway. If you enjoy the outdoors and watching wildlife in their natural state, this is the place to be.
Birds from all over the western states, northern Mexico and Canada winter over here. Even during a brief visit, we saw dozens of pelican formations flying over and landing on the artificial islands established in the Refuge’s lakes.
Thousands of shore birds line the Salton Sea which is about a half mile walk from the visitor’s center. I was lucky on my first visit to startle a blue heron as I approached on a canal bank road. A great blue heron taking off is a majestic sight.
Do be weather-wise when visiting Imperial Valley. This is low desert, and from late spring to early fall temperatures will usually exceed 100 degrees Fahrenheit. It’s best to visit during the mild winter, late fall, or early spring. A sun hat and water are must haves. Enjoy your visit.
– Richard Ryan, Guest contributor Instagram: @desert_rich
As I continue on with my late-summer East Coast travels – which will soon turn into my early-fall Italy travels – I’m barreling on with my vlog production, hoping to bring at least one of these to you per week. This particular vlog is near and dear to my heart: it documents a special weekend trip to a family mountain home in the Catskills that has been an annual occasion for more than ten years. But decades before this group made the tradition, it was the summer home of my friend’s great-grandparents, who were the matriarch and patriarch of a great family and legends in their own right.
I felt fortunate to be included this year with this group of friends, many who have known each other since childhood. Some of them see each other regularly throughout the year, and some become reacquainted just once a year here in Callicoon. I came to get to know them through a close friend from graduate school and his husband at the annual get-together this past Labor Day, and I felt both totally included and like an observer all at once. Which makes for better vlogging, in the end. Hope you enjoy our trip through Labor Day in the Catskills.
I feel like I have nine lives on WordPress: I disappear for a while, but I always manage to make it back. While some of my favorite alone time is spent reading blogs on WordPress, I’ve jumped into the world of education travel coordination with CISabroad, and coordinating faculty-led university student tours of Italy takes every last bit of energy out of me and leaves no time for blogging. That being said, I love my new job, and as I travel I’m developing more perspective and knowledge on what’s out there to share with you all.
I’m elated that I’ve finally gotten a little break from work, and last week I went to visit the home office of CISabroad, which is located in the beautiful college town of Northampton, MA. I have a beautiful new iPhone now with lots of memory (since I dropped the last one on its face and it lives no more), and I’m taking advantage of the great new lens on this iPhone and plenty of storage to start vlogging, as I’ve been aspiring to do for years. So here it is, friends, my first vlog in several years. Hope it takes you into the world of beautiful Northampton. And I hope you enjoy it! Here’s to many more…
My mom sometimes worries – as many moms do – that she hasn’t been the best mom. But “best” in this case, as in every case, is just relative. Who in this case would be the definitive judge of all moms in terms of being “the best?” Donna Reed? Michelle Obama? Angelina Jolie? The idea of a “best mom contest” is kind of hilarious, maybe because it is such a personal role.
True, my mother was not waiting for me when I got home from school with freshly baked cookies. Or tagging along on my school trips. Instead of living her life through me and my activities, my mom was pursuing her passion for art, and bringing me along on that ride of discovery. I can think if no better way of learning about life and living than through art, and for that, my mom is the best mom, for me. 🙂
When I was in her belly in Togo, West Africa, she was scouring the African beaches for the most beautiful shells, and taking them home and sketching them.
My mom with me as a newborn on the steps of our home in Lomé, Togo, West Africa.
When I was a toddler, she was pursuing her masters in photography at Indiana University and using me as her model as she experimented with large format photography.
When I was in grammar school, she was forging new artistic territory in our border home in Southern California, setting up photography exhibits of her hip-shots in Mexicali and large format photography of Mexican families. She would often bring me with her to Mexico when she was shooting. Even as a six-year-old I would get nervous crossing the border, and worry that I would forget where I was born when the border patrol agent asked me. She would always patiently remind me.
Another one of my mom’s classics, this one of me and my cousins.
When I was in high school, she was working long hours as a newspaper photographer, documenting the stories that needed to be told in our low-income community. She would bring me along on stories she knew I would especially love, like watching baby pigs be born late one night, and visiting a buffalo farm.
My mom shooting the desert outside my hometown.
She painted in the little spare time that she had. Now, my mom’s art is sculpting the environment of her backyard, a garden oasis in the desert.
A recent shot of this year’s spring blooms in my mom’s garden.
I thank my mom for giving me a love and ability for art both through nature, and nurture.
One of my mom’s beautiful shots of her garden.
But better yet, the drive behind my mom’s pursuance of art is perhaps the best qualities she has – curiosity, passion, intelligence, and independence. Having had a mom that waited for me to get home every day would have given me a lot of security, but instead I was given something that I think I needed more. Independence and curiosity are instrumental qualities for being a successful traveler and photographer, and I don’t think I would have ever been able to realize my life of traveling without these skills my mom taught me as a role model and as her apprentice.
My mom enjoying shooting for fun on a trip we took to London.
So on this day I hope my mom, and all moms, know how much they have given us, and can challenge themselves to enjoy that, without worry or doubt, for at least the twenty-four hours of this awesome day, Mother’s Day. Happy Mother’s Day Mom!!
As a Southern California native and a frequent visitor to Las Vegas, I have a love/hate relationship with the city. Expensive, commercial, hot, and crowded, it is also a destination laden with treasures and beauty that you don’t find everyday. A fellow blogger put together this fabulous Vegas guide, and I am reblogging this post because it is so rich with information regarding finding those treasures in Vegas but not spending a fortune. Hope you’ll also find it useful!
(Above: Brooks Gremmels in the summer of 2013, photo by Peggy Ryan.)
A note to the community of Ben Wheeler: I am so happy that you are visiting and reading these words. If you have anything you would like to add, please leave a comment, I would love to hear from you. – Peggy, Gracefully Global Travels
What if Gustave Eiffel’s controversial design for the Eiffel Tower had never survived? Or New York’s merchants and landowners had never proposed their idea for Central Park to the city of New York? Going on vacation typically means relaxing, so we often don’t think too hard about the “why” and “if” behind the treasures we find. But without knowing the specific history of our favorite destinations, one thing is for certain: behind every beautiful place and every famous landmark lies a rich and often tumultuous story, and a whole lot of passion.
Sometimes the root of this passion is clear: money. But I’m writing now not of those cases, but of the exceptions. Of the magic that happens when an exceptional person has a vision – not for their own personal gain, but for a collective gain – and finds the resources they need to preserve or create an important place that goes down in history.
Have you ever been to Colonial Williamsburg? As of 1926, some of the buildings were nearly in ruins. A man named Reverend Dr. W.A.R. Goodwin feared the permanent loss of this invaluable piece of American history, and he found the resources to achieve his vision of restoring the city – mainly from the Rockefeller family – which is now one of the most significant preservations of U.S. colonial heritage.
The existence of Manhattan’s Museum of Modern Art, arguably the world’s most influential modern art museum, can be greatly attributed to one man named Paul Sachs, who skillfully united the proponents of the museum amongst countless naysayers in the 1930’s, a period when there was very little respect for living artists.
The people I’ve mentioned above are not especially famous. But the output of their passion is world-famous. And there are people who possess similar qualities in our own hometowns who also remain virtually anonymous to us, but their vision and devotion to their city and the people who live in it improve our everyday life. Simple touches like the flowers that might adorn the corners of your city’s downtown or the summer film series in your local park are proof that those people are working behind the scenes.
Which brings me to my most significant story of passion, my favorite story, and the reason I wrote this article. Over the last ten years, a man named Brooks Gremmels has been transforming the city of Ben Wheeler, TX, a small city about an hour and a half east of Dallas, from a place where people kept trash in their front yards, to an incontestably charming city.
And while the chances that you’ll ever make it to Ben Wheeler are low, the story of Ben Wheeler is something that applies to every one of us, regardless of place and time. Without community, without pride, without vision, there is very little left to a city. In my favorite quote, the words of Mayor Joe Riley of Charleston, South Carolina, eloquently explain this concept, “In a city, every citizen’s heart must sing.”
The center of downtown Ben Wheeler, post revitalization.
Brooks never heard Mayor Riley speak, but he already understood. He worked tirelessly, and at times for something he couldn’t even quantify. It would actually be easier to write about what Brooks didn’t do to this city because he did so much. Brooks got rid of the trash in Ben Wheeler. He moved buildings. He lured artists to Ben Wheeler by offering free rent. He personally wanted a place to have a glass of wine with neighbors in the evening, so, why not put in a restaurant? And then the music came…and a park, and finally a library doubling as a community center that holds yoga and karate classes. And residents of Ben Wheeler that saw each other but once a year were now seeing each other weekly at the Pickin’ Porch, an open mic in a restored open space in the center of town.
Ben Wheeler’s annual Fish Fry which takes place in one of the town’s many renovated spaces.
The people in and around Ben Wheeler now have a place to go to celebrate birthdays. There are books to borrow for their children. There’s a Christmas parade. These are basic things that we take for granted, but there are many communities, still, who don’t have these basics.
Happy yoga participants in the library/community center.
Word got around about Ben Wheeler. Suddenly this place that people used to blink and miss when they drove through on their way somewhere else, became so many things to so many different people: a tourist destination for art, a small retirement community, and a weekend hotspot for music lovers.
A quiet moment after another successful concert in Ben Wheeler.
Brooks died last Sunday, January 26th, after a bravely fought battle with pancreatic cancer. He was 70. Last Tuesday the community gathered and planted 1,000 daffodil and buttercup bulbs in the center of town in his memory, in front of that restaurant where he so enjoyed meeting his neighbors over a glass of wine, and maybe even dancing on a table later when the music got really good.
Brooks was my real-life Reverend Goodwin and Paul Sachs. He was my hope and faith all rolled into one that there are people in this world with the heart, the intelligence, the imagination, the guts, the talent, and the devotion to make the change that should be made.
Brooks and his wife Reese caught in one of their typically playful moments.
But I’ve been taking his death hard. I’ve been procrastinating this blog entry, as it almost seems to make his death more real. I have a lingering question weighing heavily on my mind: When someone like Brooks dies so brimming with passion, where does it all go? Does it just disappear? I don’t want to believe it.
I take solace in knowing without a moment’s doubt that the secret to his passion is its contagiousness which has definitively spread to Brooks’ team including his wife Reese, Steve, Donley, Jenni, and his family Cary and Richard, and the superb community of Ben Wheeler, who treated me like family when I was there for two weeks last summer.
Members of Brooks’ amazing team.
And when I think a bit harder, right under my nose I find these passionate people in my own community, my personal heroes, like my friend Cheryl, who fights tirelessly for our local library. And my dad, whose work is never done, most notably helping found a major food bank.
It is hard saying goodbye to magnificent people like Brooks. But I believe in the persistence of their passion. I know Ben Wheeler will remain a beautiful community. And life will go on. And after reading this article, I just have one request for you: the next time you see the flowers on the street corner in your city, or you admire a historical building around the corner, please, take a moment to think…who is behind this?
If you would like to read more about Ben Wheeler’s story, my entry about my summer experience can be found here.
I just spent two weeks in Ben Wheeler, TX. Population unknown because, well, there are no city lines. But according to Wikipedia – the knower of everything, even the unknown – the population is 425.
When my mother first saw Ben Wheeler on my summer itinerary she asked me why I hadn’t told her I was seeing someone new. “Seeing someone?” I asked in confusion. “Ben Wheeler?” she responded. “That’s the name of the city, Mom,” I laughed. “Oh!” she responded, followed by a look of bewilderment. “Where’s that?”
I often got that kind of response when sharing my summer itinerary. My friends in Italy, on the other hand, who had studied Ben Wheeler with me in our urban planning class, couldn’t wait for me to get there. When my trip was confirmed we immediately got on Google Earth and happened to find a building with the word “salon” on it in the middle of what appeared to be a small concentration of buildings, which I have since learned were photographed before the area’s transformation. Was this downtown perhaps? “Looks like you have a spa date, Peggy!” laughed my friend Lauren. “I’m going to like every post you make on Facebook from Ben Wheeler, TX,” she giggled sincerely, perched on a chair in our favorite hangout in Bologna, Italy.
My friend from Austin messaged me when he found out about the trip. “Why Ben Wheeler? Why not Austin or Houston or Dallas?” My answer was simple – I was researching Ben Wheeler. After three years of following the transformation of this forgotten little place in East Texas as it blossomed into a little community with the help of a man with a heart, a checkbook, and a vision, I was as curious as curious could be about what I would find.
As it turns out, my wildest imagination couldn’t have prepared me for what I had in store. Now, don’t get me wrong – Ben Wheeler absolutely delivered on what Texas does best. I got my fair share of unsweet tea, fried pickles, big trucks, ranch dressing, cowboy boots, four-wheelin’, opinionated white guys, huntin’ stories, Obama jokes, guns, critters, and Coors light (imagine this said with an East Texas twang).
But the surprises came just as quickly. My first big one was on the drive from the airport. “There are lakes in Texas!?” I exclaimed naively as we drove by a beautiful town nestled along the banks of a man-made lake. This was a shock. I love the Texas landscape, and with a few lakes in the mix I am a happy tourist, happily enjoying a relaxing afternoon suntanning by the lake and sipping unsweet tea.
But the part of Ben Wheeler that came as the biggest surprise was being part of a community. I guess because I have never lived in a real, authentic community before, so I had no idea what a real community felt like. I guess I’m not so uncommon, though. The lucky few of us that can say we live in a community lead a different sort of life. The community of Ben Wheeler is a place where people don’t lock their front doors. They keep their keys in their ignitions. They go out to dinner without making plans to meet anyone because they know their friends will show up at some point and at the very least they can catch up with the restaurant staff. Or look out the restaurant window at the world going by in their picture perfect downtown. If they need to repair their fence, they ask their neighbor.
I personally interviewed 97 people in Ben Wheeler. People that had retired here sounded like a broken record, “We never knew a single one of our neighbors the entire time we lived in Dallas. Now we know everybody.” A 20-something runaway told me, “I just got into my car and drove and ended up in downtown Ben Wheeler and my first thought was, ‘I think this is my last stop in life.'” Young families told me, “We wanted our kids to grow up where we didn’t have to worry about them playing in the front yard alone.” And a man that lives in the next town over mused about moving to Ben Wheeler, “Sometimes I sit here (in downtown Ben Wheeler) listening to music with friends, enjoying the evening, and we say to each other, ‘Isn’t this what it’s all about?'”
It sure makes a city girl think. And think hard. After enjoying little villages across Italy and longing for the charm of these spirited places in America, Ben Wheeler has revitalized my faith that life in America doesn’t just have to be about shopping trips to Target, working out at the gym, and binge-ordering on Amazon. There are still true communities out there, defined by a simpler way of life, individuality and real connection between the people that makes them strong. In these places, they really actually want to know your name. And they’ll remember it.
Thanks to Brooks Gremmels in Ben Wheeler – the man with the vision – his wife Reese, and their amazing team including Jenni, Donley, Steve, and the rest of fabulous Ben Wheeler for what you’ve done for community. I’ve definitely “Ben Revived.” 🙂
Do you ever find yourself on vacation, overwhelmed by the beauty that you’ve walked into, and in a momentary moment of emotional clarity, wonder what you ever did to deserve experiencing this beauty?
The first occurrence of that moment on my trip to Ojai, California, came to me during this sunset, with the blue mountains crisply running across the horizon and soft pink light illuminating from behind them as if painted by watercolor, highlighting little puffs of clouds running above the silhouette of a solitary oak tree. I thought, “This is Ojai. How did I get here??”
A signature for Ojai, the “Pink Moment” is a rare pink effect in the sunset occurring right before the sun sets, and happens thanks to Ojai’s east-west running Sulphur and Topatopa Mountains.
But there is oh-so much more to find here in Ojai. A little-known gem about an hour east of Santa Barbara, Ojai is the name for “moon” in the language of the Chumash Indians, who were among the first to discover this valley. The area is characterized by a mediterranean climate making it ideal for olive and grape growing, harkening back my memories of traveling through Puglia, Italy, and many train trips through the valleys and gently rolling golden hills of Tuscany.
Needless to say, Ojai plays host to countless artists looking for – and finding – inspiration. Here, on this incredible backdrop, I am here to help support a group of playwrights developing new plays for the American theatre, and supported by directors, actors, producers, and theatre professionals. They gather annually for the Ojai Playwrights Conference in search of their figurative “Pink Moment,” where the intersection of their creative processes creates something that will resonate in the imaginations and the hearts of their future audiences.
What makes the “Pink Moment” special is its rarity and intangibility. We come to Ojai, and other beautiful places, looking to be inspired by this beauty. But if we have to prepare ourselves for it – it doesn’t wait for us. And we often miss them, or don’t recognize them when we see them. I’m here, and I’m ready! Hope you are too. 🙂
This is my summer of re-love. I have returned to the United States for a mere two months, as I have done each summer since I relocated to Bologna, Italy three years ago. And I have been gifted a unique opportunity to be a tourist in my own country in the places that I once took for granted – places that I visited often for my whole life, and places that I lived. New York, Pittsburgh, Washington DC, and Southern California to be exact.
My father always told me that if I wanted to understand my relationship with a place I lived or a place I loved, I need to leave that place for some time before I can really have a good perspective on that place. Boy, was he right. Every year that I have returned to America I have had a new perspective on it. But this summer is different. This summer is the summer that I have finally understood and accepted these places into my heart and how my connection to these places is forever embedded into my hard-wiring. And I am returning and truly appreciating everything, even the bad.
My first stop since arriving in America this summer is New York. My father’s side of the family immigrated to New York in the early 1900’s and lived in Brooklyn. My godmother and godfather moved out of the city decades ago to a tiny city along the Hudson River called Ossining.
The snapshot above is my favorite on my trip this far. Taken on the bank of the Hudson river, I am at left with my godmother Suzanne on the right, who is a second mother to me. In the picture below, thirty-three years ago, my godmother is holding me in almost the exact same spot where we are standing above on the bank of the Hudson River.
Me and my godmother enjoying the Hudson sunset in 1980.
To think of everything that has happened in the 33 years since this picture was taken is pretty overwhelming. But this beautiful place is the same as it has always been, to me at least. Just an hour’s train ride from Grand Central Terminal, this other world of rolling hills and majestic lake views is sometimes easier to get to than Brooklyn. I realize I am lucky to have this beautifulness in my life, a place my dad has gone back to for decades, and a place my godmother still calls home. But I think we all have these beautiful places in our memories and in our hearts that are part of what makes us who we are. Sometimes it just takes some time to re-love them again.
