By Louie Ferrera

Some cliches are just plain silly: A watched pot never boils, The bigger they are, the harder they fall. The list goes on. However, sometimes a cliche is spot on, like this one: A picture speaks a thousand words.

Since the invention of photography in the mid 1800’s, photographs have been instrumental in helping tell the human story. The stark black and white images of Dorothea Lang showed the human toll of the Dust Bowl in the 1930’s. The visceral image of that small Vietnamese girl, her body naked and burned, her face contorted in pain as she flees a napalm attack by US planes helped to turn public opinion against the Vietnam War in 1968. Apollo astronaut Jim Lovell’s  dramatic photo of Earthrise from the Moon showed us just how fragile and precious our blue planet is. I could go on and on, my point being that one glimpse of a photograph can instantly evoke intense emotions and have a profound effect on the viewer.

There’s a 3×5 photo of our son that sits on a dresser in our bedroom. I look at this photo every day and it never fails make my heart burst with love. I remember where we were when the photo was taken, who we were with, how old our son was, the time of year…everything. One look at this photo and I’m right back there behind the camera. During the wildfires of 2017, this was one of the objects that I chose to take while we were evacuating our home. Do you haver a photo like this? An image that not only evokes deep feelings but also takes you on a journey down memory lane? A nostalgia trip like this is often fun but it can also release a torrent of feelings that you may not have been ready to experience. 

My dear friend Kimmy passed away a month and a half ago and I’m still grieving over her sudden and senseless death. Last weekend Carol and I got together with a small group of friends, our mutual love for Kim being the common thread that runs through us all. They had just returned from Sacramento (where Kim lived) with a large box of…photographs.

It was a Sunday morning. The friend’s house where we gathered sits in the middle of a redwood forest at the end of a winding and barely paved road. The first rain of the season was falling, the trees and plants were shining and grateful, having finally been cleansed of months of accumulated dust and grime. The rain made quiet music on the roof as we took a collective trip down the memory lane of our lives with Kimmy.

Many of these photos were from a period of roughly 15 years when  Kimmy and I were closest and spent the most time together. The coffee table that we sat around was covered with a hundred or so photos, nearly half of them I was either in or remembered having taken: Me and Kim hugging, me and Kim  laughing, me and Kim skinny dipping in a lake after High Sierra Music Festival, me and Kim slamming shots of tequila, me and Kim  flashing those deep smiles you get when you’re spending time with someone you love. These weren’t just photographs, these are what’s left of the beautiful and joyous times that Kimmy and I shared. There will be no more. While looking at these photos, all of those moments came vividly alive again in my mind’s eye. It was like Kimmy was coming alive right then and there. I ‘d nearly forgotten how very close she and I had been. This was a deeply emotional experience for me and for my friends too. We hugged and laughed and cried. The rain fell, the trees shined. We each took a few photos but decided to keep most of them together so we could look at them again the next time we gathered. I was overwhelmed with sadness but filled with gratitude too. My friends had saved these priceless mementos which most surely would have otherwise ended up in the trash. Through the magic of these photographs is one way that Kimmy will always live on for me.

Have you seen Concert For George? It’s a film of the all star tribute concert that was put on in London to honor George Harrison after his passing. The most poignant moment in the film for me is when Ringo Starr steps to the front of the stage to sing “Photograph”, a song co-written by Ringo and George. Here comes Ringo, close cropped hair, dark glasses, grinning from ear to ear and flashing his trademark peace signs. The band kicks the song off, Ringo grabs the mic and begins to sing:

Every time I see your face it reminds me of the places we used to go. Now all I’ve got is a photograph and I realize you’re not coming back any more.

Amen.

By Louie Ferrera

The narrow two-lane road that leads us in is a snake; a slithering S  winding its way over the Santa Cruz Mountains. Civilization slowly melts away as we make our way through a tunnel of redwood, bay laurel and madrone trees, over dry creek beds, a cascade of small boulders and cobblestones, the last memory of  water. A familiar sign materializes out of the green: Camp Loma… we’ve arrived. Soquel Creek, bisects the land and is still flowing, its waters  clean, peaceful and clear to the bottom. The buildings, green and weathered blend into the forest. The grounds where we gather were once perhaps the home of an indigenous tribe who in ancient times worshiped the forest spirits. I imagine them dancing around a roaring bonfire, sparks flying up through the towering redwoods to become one with the infinite and unknowable stars.

The comfort and familiarity of this unique and magical place is welcoming and warm, it glows with all of the love and music that has happened here, that still swirls through the meadow and paths and hillsides, up the creek bed and into the treetops where owls call, bidding the night goodbye, where the chirps, twits and peeps of mysterious songbirds make a joyful sound as they welcome the dawn of a new day, where the slanting shafts of the rising sun paint the understory in brilliant brush strokes of pure light. 

I love our little corner of heaven. When only a handful of our merry band of fellow travelers are here it’s as quiet as a dream. With each new arrival the camp slowly fills, not just with people and tents and instruments but with love. Simply stated it is enchanted out here and fairly pulsates with the echos of  countless blissful moments that we’ve shared over the past two decades. Each song, all of the smiles, every savory aroma, every child’s playful squeal, every ringing guitar note adds itself to the collective beauty. It all still resonates here and I gratefully breathe everything in. Camp Loma is a refuge from the madness that is life in America in 2022.

Night falls without a sound at the end of our first day here, dawn arrives with a whisper. We have just four short days together, each one of us in the moment and fully aware of the preciousness, beauty and the absolute rarity of what it is that we collectively brew up. We hug, we feast, we dance, we make love and deep music together, passing each other with smiles knowing full well that we’re all in on a little secret, an inside joke, a cosmic giggle. No need to wonder why or ask how it is that we are so blessed to be together here at our little camp beneath the glittering green. We just open up and freely accept it all with grace and deep gratitude. The less we know, the more we learn.

By Louie Ferrera

Where do you go when you die? At one time or another every human  has asked this question. The fear of death is the fear of the unknown, what happens to you after you die is the deepest and most perplexing unknown of them all. Philosophers, shaman, mystics, artists, poets and priests across every culture in every corner of the Earth have all attempted to answer these questions: When you die, do you just cease to be? What happens to the sum of all your thoughts, memories and experiences? What happens to your soul? Is there even such thing as a soul? Is there an afterlife? How about reincarnation? After my death will I return to the land of the living as a sentient being like an elephant or a hummingbird? Is karma real? If I’ve lived a good and virtuous life will I return as a sunflower or a double rainbow? If I’ve been an evil creep will my encore be as a sewer rat or a cockroach?

Growing up Catholic I was taught that the church had it all figured out. You either went up (Heaven), down (Hell) or somewhere in-between (Purgatory). Heaven was the most beautiful place that you could ever imagine, you spent eternity beyond the clouds and among angels. Of course in Hell, the Devil himself is your eternal host, there you suffered and burned in the most sulfurous of flames. From what I can gather, Purgatory is  some sort of way station where your “up/down” fate is decided.

I think that I may have seen the afterlife. Honest. Many years ago I had a dream, the details of which mostly elude me. Here’s all I’ve got: I was with another person or two, we were standing in an open space around some kind of signpost or pole, a wizened old man was there too. That’s it. In my mind’s eye, I can still somewhat make out this scene, but it’s gradually being consumed by the fogs of time. What I do still remember though is the feeling of the dream. I knew that I had died and this was what came next.

Some believe that everyone has their “time”, a predetermined moment when your death will occur, no matter what you do. I’ve had two experiences in my life that have lead me to believe that perhaps this theory is plausible.

About 25 years ago I was hiking in the rugged backcountry of Big Basin State Park in the Santa Cruz Mountains. I was peering through my binoculars at a bird while standing on a narrow trail that ran along a steep ridge. I heard a rattling/hissing sound, looked down and to my left to see a large rattlesnake less than three feet from me. It was coiled up  in “strike” mode. I slowly took a couple of steps back and watched the snake slither away. I was six miles from the parking lot, this was the pre-cell phone era, there was no one around to help me. Had I been bitten, who know what would have happened to me? Maybe it wasn’t my time?

About ten years ago, I watched with horror as our then 8 year old son dashed across a narrow two-lane street in rural Sonoma County. He and his mom and sister had gone into a bakery and Sam was coming across to show me what he’d bought. To my right I noticed a car speeding towards Sam. I shouted at him to stop but he just kept on coming. Had he stepped off the curb a second or two earlier he would have taken the full force of that speeding car. This horrific moment still burns in my memory. How was he not struck and killed? My only explanation is that it wasn’t his time.

So, maybe you just die with no plan, no predetermination. Maybe you go peacefully or violently; after a long illness or suddenly from a heart attack or stroke. Perhaps you go out in a blaze of glory in a plane or car crash. Your death could be horrific in a mass shooting or gentle while surrounded by those who love you.

Someone very close to me has recently died, it has brought me face to face with death and forced me to confront my own mortality.  A month ago my friend Kim died suddenly. She was a few weeks short of her 55th birthday and as full of life as a person could be. Now she’s gone. Her death makes no sense. We are still waiting to find out the cause of death. What was her death like? Where is Kim now? Has she been reincarnated? Will I recognize her in the knowing smile of a passing stranger or in the lilting call of a wood thrush? Is she in Heaven? Hell? Who knows? I certainly don’t.