Newsletter

It was 5:00 A.M. In the kitchen I could hear my father making kindling and lighting the fire with a bit of kerosene. Soon the morning coffee would be perking. The creak of the oven door let me know the biscuits were safely in and on their way to rising; which I knew was true for me as well. Sure enough, a brief knock on the door and then my father's voice called out: "Carolyn, rise and shine!" My first thought was "Rats!" I hated getting up early; however by the time I was seated at the breakfast table I knew I loved this early rise. Hot biscuits, butter, homemade jam, hot cereal sprinkled with sugar and fresh cream and my mothers canned fruit. We ate silently with the kerosene lamps dimly enveloping us in their shadowy glow.

After breakfast my father and I headed for the barn each with a flour sack full of lunch. We saddled up and headed out, with two sheep dogs trailing in search of sheep to count. Riding past Fort Ross School tears came to my eyes, but I was very careful to hide them. As a 6 year old child, I so wanted to go to school that day and everyday. I loved school: learning to read, kids to play with and songs to sing. We rode for about an hour deep into canyons and back up. Finally, we arrived at the top of the chosen ridge. We stopped and looked back towards the ocean and saw the beauty of the fog floating from the sea to the ridges, sinking its fingers into the depths of the canyon. My father and I silently shared the beauty and sacredness of our surroundings. As we turned to the task at hand our eyes searched the forests and open pastures for sheep. We saw hawks, buzzards, eagles, jack rabbits, squirrels, and blue jays ~ the easy to see animals. Finally we spotted a band of sheep grazing on the hillside and counted roughly 30 head. We continued our search, tallying by the head as we rode. The sun appeared briefly around noon, bright and warm, just in time for our midday respite. The hilltop warmth relaxed us as we ate our lunch. My mother had packed meatloaf sandwiches, oranges, homemade oatmeal cookies, candy bars, a coffee thermos and milk. My father lay back against the hillside on his empty flour sack and took a nap. The 10 minute nap was ended when the rain hit us with full force. We hurriedly mounted our horses, tied down the sacks and decided to continue our search for sheep but at a faster pace. Three hours later we had counted 210 head and were pleased to see how many sheep in this area were doing well. We, on the other hand, were sopping wet and cold.

As we headed home the rain and the darkness overtook us. As we descended into the last canyon, we allowed our horses to take the lead. We could hear the roaring water coming from what had been a placid morning creek. The horses stopped cold at the waters edge, so we had to nudge them into the darkness where only the roar of the swollen creek was our guide. To help guide us through the pitch black, my ever inventive father pulled out suet and matches from his saddle bag. He broke a couple of low hanging branches off a scrub oak and wrapped suet around each branch and set fire to it, to create a blazing torch for each of us. We could see logs, set by the creek's edge by my father to prevent a washout of the embankment, holding steady. Our horses moved into the creek, a bit skittish given the waters current and the diminished light. As we approached the other side of the rushing creek, the horses reared up at the side of the logs and scrambled over. I thought I was a goner for sure given the smaller stature of my horse in contrast to my father's; however, the horses took us safely through the creek and up the bank. Another 40 minutes of wet riding and we arrived home.

We put our horses away in the barn with dry hay and oats. We entered the heavenly kitchen ~ a warm wood stove, glowing lamplight, delicious dinner and my beautiful, loving mother were all awaiting us. My parents assured me I could attend school the next day. This made me so happy.

I look back at that time in 1945... how I treasure my childhood, the beauty of the land, the hard work, and the glorious riding of my horse. My uncles and local men of hire were busy serving in WWII, and were not yet back when I turned 6 years old. Thus, I became my father's designated hired hand, although I must say no coin ever crossed my palm. This reflected that generation's philosophy that a hard-scrabble, working childhood was a good childhood. All the ground I covered as a child on horseback encompassed thousands of acres, owned by my family and our neighbors. Sheep and logging were the only way to make a few bucks from this land. Now, six decades later, as I walk those same canyons and ridges, I see the portions of my playground that have been planted into vineyards.

Beginning in 1982 my father planted Charles Ranch Vineyard. In 1996 Lee and I planted Blue Slide Ridge Vineyard; in that same year my sisters and I planted Three Sisters Vineyards. During those years, many of our neighbors were also planting the ridges to vineyards. I consider this a good thing ~ a gift from the good earth and Mother Nature. I do miss the woolly bands of sheep, but the vines and the wines bring a good diversification to these hills. The lovely wines from the true Sonoma Coast are an incentive to honor the struggle of the past and the gifts those struggles have granted. As a child, little did I realize how this land would provide for as many generations in the future as it had in the past. I can only imagine how my grandchildren's memories of this land will compare with those of mine in another 100 years.

Carolyn Charles Martinelli

The Charles Ranch

Three Sisters Vineyard "Sea Ridge Meadow"

The Blue Slide Ridge