Do you have a reservation? Don’t pick from the trees, they’re old. Plenty of chestnuts on the ground, pick those. What’s that? No, don’t touch the trees, they’re old. Pick the nuts on the ground. Do you have a reservation?
Lithium and silicon snake slowly up the dirt road, directed into neat rows on the hillside, delivering windbreaker families to their on-time chestnut appointments. Pumpkin patches have come and gone, but the chestnuts bring visitors back into the hills on this never ending Sunday of seasons.
Raf and I pedal aimlessly around the lot looking for signs of singletrack before finding our turn hidden behind the line of cars, do you have a reservation? We descend a half mile of smooth packed dirt at the edge of meadow and forest before arriving at the end of our route beneath the redwoods near Peters Creek. We turn around and ride back the way we came – Chestnut Trail, Tree Farm Trail, Horseshoe Lake, Sunny Jim – and finally climb Ridge Trail to the sky meadows of Borel Hill. Raf’s battery is waning and mine isn’t far behind.
We have come about 10 miles already, starting at Rapley Ranch Rd, along some of the best mountain bike trails I’ve ever pedaled – above the oaks and redwoods, rolling ridgeline meadows straddling the crest of the Santa Cruz mountains between Silicon Valley and the coastal drainages to the southwest, land of the gray fox. Soon I will come back and ride Hawk Ridge, Alder Spring, Charquin, Bo Gimbal, and Ancient Oaks that make loops with the main Ridge Trail. Rain will come this week and bring even more solitude and trail magic.
At home I make fermented sorghum pancakes with blueberries and the last of this summer’s brown rice protein powder, topped with butter, almond butter, and apple butter (yep, three butters). And then the tomatillo project begins. The farm at Vida Verde has produced a surplus of summer crops – tomatillos, tomatoes, onions and hot peppers. Like a cheapskate out to eat, I patiently wait for that opportune time when the fork is set down and the plate is pushed forward just slightly to indicate that the meal has concluded – are you gonna eat that? I keep an eye on the harvested produce languishing beneath the gazebo, and then swoop in just before the rot and the rodents. At the end of my Wednesday farm shift, I ask the main farm manager if there is a plan for the produce and they beg me to take it all. So I now have many pounds of tomatillos, hot peppers, and onions, just about everything I need to make a giant batch of green enchilada sauce.
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| Tomatillos with husks removed |
In round after round, I chop and fry onions and peppers in coconut oil, simmer sliced tomatillos in vegetable broth made from celery and onion tops, mix it all together with a heaping scoop of sea salt, and then blend the mixture into a thick soupy sauce. Like the first time I ever tasted a fresh walnut, my world is changed by the tanginess of the tomatillos. I never knew what green enchilada sauce is supposed to taste like – I’ll never be able to eat the canned version again. Endless rounds of dishes, I am lost in the afternoon. Raf makes an entire trip to town in the time it takes me to process one batch. In the end, I have nearly four gallons, which will be distributed among Vida Verde, my chest freezer, and this week’s enchiladas. An ideal Sunday.
Around the House
Coastal Trail
Around the Farm
Pomponio Creek Rd and Stage Rd
Corte de Madera
