Malibu, I'm Going To Miss You Old Buddy, Old Pal.

So it may come as no surprise to most that we are going to miss living in Malibu--sorely, deeply, longingly, miss it. Just finding these "lost" pictures this evening taken from just before that doomed summer vacation makes my heart pang with loss, with mourning, with sadness, for what will be missed.

What will be thought of most often is probably not what you are imagining though. Malibu is a truly special place. But as I have mentioned here before, envisioning it's sand-crusted shores as a beach-side Beverly Hills is way off mark. Yes, there is a small smattering of fake boob, bikini-clad, baked and gold-bangled blondes about here and there. But, in reality, that's not the real Malibu at all.

Located in Los Angeles at the very northern tip of it's county line is an oasis from the smoggy city innards. It's rural, natural and rugged. Dusty ranches perch upon largely undeveloped hillsides. Coyotes, vultures and bobcats comb the brush for easy eating. Cowboys ride their horses down the winding scenic highways to the local country mart--as there are only three grocery stores in town and only two of those are chains. Most locals are salty, have beach-locked strands and tarballs on the bottoms of their feet. The mornings and evenings are always, always cold and dense with fog rolling in off of the Pacific as thick as pea soup. The water is never ever tolerable for entrance without a wetsuit--even during the dead of summer. Dolphin and sea lion spottings are frequent as are starfish and lively colored sea urchin. Dark colored rock formations scatter the beaches creating no shortage of caves and coves for exploring. Shark spottings are occasional and rattlesnake, scorpion, sea rat and tarantula visits come with the turf.

This is Malibu, my friends. And I am going to miss the hell out of it.

Now those of you who are regular readers of Mama Milieu may be rolling your eyes at my sudden change of heart--"forget the pain and remember the pretty, eh?" you are mumbling to yourselves. It's true that we had our fair share of struggles and strife on Milagro Ranch. Malibu and its raw roughness wasn't always batting for our team. I have not forgotten the sleepless and fully-lit nights on 10-inch centipede watch, or the mouse in the house, or the two rattlesnakes on the patio, or the tarantula in the living room, or the scorpion in the sliding glass door. I have not forgotten about the dust and the hard, hard work and the outdoor laundry facilities. I have not forgotten about any of it.

But, I will miss the coos of owls and wild quail and the scampering of cotton-tailed bunnies munching alfalfa down at the horses' haybarn. I will miss the silence and breezes and front row view of the milky-way and all of its sisters and brothers and cousins. I will miss the carsickness brought on by the 5 miles of hairpins and switchbacks to and from the rocky coast. I will miss the breathtaking canyon views in the foggy mornings, the sunlit afternoons and fiery glow at sunset. I will miss the sparkle in Noah's eyes as he experiences the beauty of nature like all of us dream we could again--like a child--for the very first time. I will miss the stillness that results from no neighbors, not even one, for miles and miles. I will miss all of this and I just can't leave without saying so.

* * *
To read all about our adventures in Malibu and at Milagro Ranch, follow this link.

And, for our life in Malibu in pictures, click here.

Giving It Another Go.

So the initial shock of the tarantula sighting has dulled and faded. Since then, there have been no other critters larger than a quarter spotted for over a week now. This is progress, folks.

We have decided to give Milagro Ranch another go.

You see, our morning romp in the valley last week viewing dark, dreary and drab pre-fabs was depressing to say the least. These over priced shoe boxes left much to be desired--the first was a tiny guest house sans stove (what? a family of foodies with no roasting, broiling, or baking capabilities--si par impossible!) and the second was carpeted, small, dark and downright depressing. Even if there were such things as apartments--or affordable housing--in Malibu, I still don't think we'd take the apartment leap. Unless we were able to find the exquisite 1920's French Normandy-esque chateau that we had in the city, we just can't bring ourselves to inhabit an apartment building--even if in Malibu--ever. Which brings us to our current debacle--our wild and wily existence in an eclectic guest house on a 20 acre horse ranch.

It's beautiful--it's so breathtakingly beautiful and peaceful and recharging and inspiring and natural and Noah is over the moon for the place. It's a crazy little ranch--it's so very different than anywhere that we have ever lived before. It's creaky and cranky and expensive and really inconvenient (for example, we have to have special propane deliveries every other month because there are no gas lines run this far out and not to mention the incredibly winding, narrow and vulture-lined roads to get down the mountain to semi-civilization). And while half of the time those are all of the reasons that we were ready to throw in the beach towel last week, the other half of the time it's all part of its charm, its splendor, its appeal, its unmistakable character.

Reminding myself--ourselves--that it's an adventure, helps. Reminding ourselves that it's temporary, helps. Standing beneath the pepper trees as the late afternoon sun trickles through the wispy leaves in tiny drops on Noah's hand as he feeds the horses, helps. Bunny watching from the hammock with my morning coffee, helps. Watching our vegetable and herb garden (even if through galvanized steel meshing) finally take root and begin to flourish and anticipating its harvest, helps. Listening to Noah mimic the songs of the quail and road runner in his sleep, helps. Spending each and every day as we please on the sandy shores of the Pacific watching dolphins and seals frolic and play, helps.

This is a good thing. It's a great thing. It's a character building, make hair grow on your teeth kind of thing. It's a make your marriage stronger while learning all of the nitty gritty, raw, unedited facets of nature while your wee tot experiences life naked and barefoot beneath citrus trees kind of place. It's the kind of place we call home.

So, really. Really? Were we really going to let rattlesnakes, rats, scorpions, centipedes, mice and tarantulas drive us away from ol' purple haze ranch? We don't scare that easily.

But, then, ask me about it all again tomorrow.

Second Thoughts: Milagro Ranch, You're So Mean.

(At the Long Beach Aquarium with my mommy group)

Life looks peachy, right? Time spent away from home has been peachy. Noah and I have been making tons of new mama and baby friends in our new hood thanks to the mommy group that I started here called the "Malibu Mamas". Since I last wrote, we have been flipping our fins at swim lessons, tank-gazing at the Aquarium of the Pacific and produce picking and farm animal petting at a local family pick-your-own. With Daddy, we have been attending storytime on the Bluffs and two weekend concerts (one was apparently with an all-star in the family indie music scene--I didn't know that there was a "family indie music scene"--go figure).

But at home, well, home is another story all together. Our efforts at varmint proofing our garden have been in vain. It turns out that it was squirrels, not rabbits, decimating every speck of green above our $100 worth of organic dirt (and free horse manure). We've spent well over $500 now on this garden bed from hell and well, while we are not ones to give in and give up easily, we're ready to throw in the shovel. The garden, you see, is very telling of our time here on Milagro Ranch here so far. We've sunk dollars and time into making it a home but nature just won't allow us to settle in. Despite our sage smudging ceremony, performed by Chieftain Dean on Saturday, we found a tarantula upon waking Sunday morning. Luckily, the cats got to it before it found its way to us as vulnerable and easy prey in our slumber.

Perhaps Dean and I had far too romantic notions about living remotely, rurally, down a dirt road in a desert canyon, with rattlesnakes, scorpions, rats, centipedes and now our newest dear friend, tarantula, to fight over territory with. Aside from the creepy critters, everything has been and continues to be a chore. From driving the garbage and recycling down the mile long dirt road to keeping the brick patio surrounded by dirt swept clean to washing clothes in outdoor machines to rat and bug roofing to waiting for the septic to be fixed to sleeping with the lights on to ensuring the pipes that empty all of our used water (except for the toilet, of course) out onto the property are kept clear of weeds and animals to to to . . . it all sounds petty, I know. But this is only the half of it. When it's all piled up on the dark purple carpet thrown in there with our recent kitchen ant infestation, it just amounts to being too much for this mama and family to handle. We spend much of our time working, working to keep things status quo here at the Ranch at the sacrifice of real, enjoyable, relaxing moments together as a family. Really, Dean works 60 hours a week every single week--is cleaning rat poop from the brick ledge and walking the dead rat that we trapped under the car the prior night out to the field to dump its lifeless body really worth it?

We are asking ourselves that very question. Today, tonight, now. We are seriously throwing around the idea of moving. Yes, I know it's crazy. But what's more crazy? Waking up with a tarantula at your toes or admitting to yourself that the suburbs aren't so bad after all. Seriously, I, who would never even look twice at an apartment complex without losing my lunch is currently finding the convenience and safety of a gated complex with a pool and fitness center a droolingly appealing option. I know, I know--the desperation is so thick you can cut it with a knife.

We have been humbled by Milagro Ranch--we are no longer the city snobs we once were. And we were before Noah, I admit it. But we have a year or less before Beck finishes working on his latest album and Dean is able to move on. And then we can move on--away from L.A. after 10 years and hopefully north--into the comfortable embrace of a cozy craftsman in green, clean, Portland. What to do until then is the question that will keep me up tonight--that and my incurable phobia of all things that move in the night.

We have two appointments tomorrow to look at places just over the hill from here--the valley, yes, the valley. We'll still be only 16 miles from Malibu--the beach--the bugs--but 100 leaps closer to keeping our sanity. Who knows, maybe we'll tour some drab, mini-blinded, generic box and go running back to the ranch faster than a vulture can sniff out roadkill.

Panic Mode.

(Taken by friend, Rebecca, with her camera yesterday at Topanga Beach)

I am still without a camera. I am now in full-on panic mode. My inability to capture every wince and grin and drool and stumble and smirk made by Noah over the last two weeks has truly tortured me. No camera means that we are without pictures and without a video camera and I swear that my little tot toddles even cuter when he knows that there is no chance it will all be documented for future tortured family screenings. Yes, we have a film camera and yes, we have a video camera, but by golly our Canon was both in one small portable great picture taking package.

Anywho, we have been busy. Super busy. This ranch living leaves no time for resting on one's laurels. There's always something to do, plant, fix, hang, paint and nail. The raised garden bed we planted two weekends ago was flourishing until the recent rabbit rampages--tomatoes, squash, watermelon, cucumbers-all ravaged. I should have known that we'd have to wage war against our floppy-eared foe. Every and any thing that I planted in pots after we first moved in was nibbled to nothing more than nubs over night. Even stuff they shouldn't like--peppermint, succulents, lily of the nile, Mexican primrose and lavender, salvia--all native SoCal vegetation that in most cases is already growing on the property. But, yet they still dine on mine. So, this garden business I knew was going to require a diligent and constant effort to dissuade these little cottontails from snacking on our produce. I headed out to our local hardware store after our swim lesson today and picked up some hopeful deterrents--I'll have to report back on their effectiveness.

Other than that, the days have passed with trips to the Oxnard DMV to renew my license that expired back in April (oops!), unsuccessfully trying to treat my sister to a picnic and cupcake for her 22nd birthday (excess traffic and a cranky car-bound toddler thwarted my efforts), attending Beck's 40th birthday bash and hiring our first real-live non family or friend sitter for Noah. All went well.

This week has been heating up and chasing away the gloom that haunted our June. The coastal fog has lifted to unveil 80-90 degree days and we have been seeking out refuge at the beach with some of our new Malibu friends. Tomorrow it's a trip to the acclaimed Long Beach Aquarium (Noah's first time) followed by two super fun family concert events this weekend.

Did I mention how it pains me to be sans camera for these past, present and soon-to-be amazing moments that are going un-captured--lost to my "too many heavy drinking episodes in college" damaged memory?

I am going to try and send the camera to Canon this week and see if we can't get answers. Our family vacation back east is in just 4.5 weeks and I can't bear to miss another smile!

Rattler Ranch.

(Noah in awe of a very old and very big oak tree at the Leonis Adobe in Calabasas this week)

All things have been quiet here on Milagro Ranch as of late. We seem to have nipped the earwig infestation in the bud, encouraged the spiders to set up shop elsewhere, weatherproofed and weatherstripped the centipedes and beetles out and willed away the scorpion sightings (*we hope*). Other than the rats taking up residence under the hood of our white Volkswagen golf (which requires diligent old fashion nightly rat trap settings by Dean and lots and lots of peppermint oil), we have been living virtually *spotted* pest-free within the confines of our cozy little canyon cottage and it has been glorious.

Then comes yesterday . . . *da, da, da, dum*.

We had been enjoying the kind of day that brought us to Malibu in the first place--an early afternoon beach birthday BBQ just yards from the ocean surf followed by another birthday bash, poolside, at the glorious shore-side home of Dean's boss. Clad with a fabulously authentic looking "real live" Snow White, Jack Sparrow and a bouncy house large (and pest free) enough for Dean, myself and Noah to rent a room inside of, the party was fabulously fabulous. We partied away our Saturday in true Malibu style.

We arrived home mid-evening. Dean was retrieving our tuckered out tot from the car while I unloaded the mountainous load of gear that we had been schlepping along from shindig to soiree. When at the front door, out of the corner of my left eye, did I spy, a dark, long, rattle snake sunning against the rock wall of our brick patio. Here's how things progressed from there:

• Noah and I ran quickly inside via the backdoor
  
• We called Suzanne, the land owner who lives just up the mountain
• She called the Fire Dept.
• Dean remained on the patio at a safe distance to keep a watchful eye on the rattler's whereabouts
• Noah and I watched things unfold from the safety of the bathroom window
• Suzanne appeared, and chatted with Dean about the reptile's remarkably dark color, long length (4 feet!) and large rattler
• The Fire Dept. arrived within 10 minutes--with three strapping firemen and a huge shiny red fire engine they managed to squeeze and maneuver down our rough, long and rural mile long driveway
• With a long pincher pole, one of the firemen grabbed the snake just behind its head
• The snake, incredibly loudly, hissed and rattled while thrashing its angry body violently from side to side
• After the first fireman wrestled the snake to the ground, a second chopped off its head with a shovel
• The third fireman took the head and placed it in a safe location on the firetruck and gave us the still moving body to dispose of
• After the firemen gave Noah a brief light show and firetruck tour, the heroes of the day backed down the long mile-drive with the venomous head of our unwelcome visitor in tow
• Suzanne convinced Dean to remove the rattler from the snake's body before carrying it down to the trash
• Removing the rattler from the tail of the still thrashing snake gave all of us quite a scare
  
• Noah and Dean carried the snake body wrapped up in a grocery bag, to the safe confines of the trash can at the end of the mile drive
  

The rattler now sits on our kitchen counter (and soon, in Dean's studio to be used as a percussion instrument) as a reminder--a reminder that we can never let our guard down here on Milargo Ranch. Though we may not be seeing as many critters and creepers and crawlers, they're always here, around somewhere. And, that's just the price we pay for living among the beauty of nature--it's rural, raw and wild--very, very wild.

Two Buns In The Buff.

Life on Milagro Ranch has its ups and downs. Sure, there are 8 inch centipedes, scorpions, rattlesnakes, vultures, tarantulas, rats, and well, I could go on and on. But, heck, this is country living, right?

It has it's perks too. Today was one of those rare days that Noah and I hung ranch-side from sun up to sun down and it was as lovely as the last. Dean blew up Noah's new inflatable pool just before he skipped off to work. Nestled on the sunny brick patio amidst climbing vines, succulents and cacti, the pool provided a day's worth of fascination and fun. Noah broke from bare-bummed swimming only long enough to nap. He even dined, eating both lunch and dinner, from the confines of his new watery playspace.

Best of all, with not a human in eye or ear shot, I gardened in the buff while Noey slumbered. Enjoying both breeze and sun in places that needed respite from a long city cloaking, I am counting the days until we plant the vegetable garden . . .

P.S. Did I mention that we have had to recently take desperate measures to prevent rats from nesting beneath our car hood at night? Well, perhaps more about that in a down post soon. Today it's all ups.

(Image courtesy of Phil Wrigglesworth, an amazing illustrator--I simply love his work.)

A Work in Progress.

Our cottage of love nestled deep within the canyons of Malibu is a real DIY (do it yourself) kind of find. And that's what really drew me to it in the first place. If I am good at anything, it's seeing the potential of what a physical space can be after I've had some time with it. The road of search and selection may sometimes be long, hard and bumpy, but once I'm there, it's a damn good feeling.

The thing is with this place, though, it's truly a roll up your sleeves and get your hands nice and dirty kind of habitat and after all, we are just renting--so there are boundaries to what is considered a reasonable renovation. So far, we've filled terracotta pots on the patio--desperate to find vegetation varieties that won't be ravaged by bunnies, ground squirrels and whatever the hell else bare branch my plants by sunrise--built our own clothesline pole and painted it a cheery "egg yolk" yellow, painted the bathroom green, glazed the unfinished clay tile floors in the bathroom and kitchen and hung a hammock between two generously fragrant eucalyptus trees. But, we still have much to do. I aim to still:

• paint the bedroom
• paint the living room
• paint the kitchen
• hang our own ceiling fan in the bedroom
• buy and hang a new ceiling fan in the living room
• paint the front doors
• paint our computer desk
• paint the unfinished door of the hot water heater closet
• buy and hang new bathroom towel racks
  
• paint the outside of the clawfoot bathtub
• stain the bathroom and kitchen cabinets
• build and hang bookshelves in the living room
• build garden beds
• plant our garden
• find/build a chicken coop
• find/buy chickens
• convert the back guest house to Dean's studio
• buy a grill

And, I am pretty sure that I have left something(s) off. The thing is, it takes time and money to do all of these things and we are often short on both. Living on a single salary means budgeting wisely. And, raising a toddler means constantly running on a time deficit. So when and how will this all get done? I just can't say. Is it silly to be investing so much time and money into a rental? Perhaps, but I just couldn't have it any other way. Home must be a comfortable refuge--a place without to-do lists lurking around in my noggin.

Aside from all of the critter drama, we really do love it here and already know that we will miss it dearly when it's time to leave. It has been several days now since we've seen any dead mammals or insects with claws, tails or 100 legs. Geeze, give me another few days and I may even forget all about the quarter-sized bug that fell from the light above onto me while I showered.

The fact of the matter is that, today, Noah and I had one of the most magical days that we have had together on this ranch so far. It has been a while since it's been just the two of us home alone all day. We napped and hiked and fed the horses and jumped in the hay and nursed in the hammock and kicked a ball and picked wild flowers and tickled in the bed--with freshly cleaned diapers drying on the line, it felt like home . . . finally. . . and I hope, that as I whittle away at the to-do list above that feeling only grows and grows.

But, we'll see. Ask me again tomorrow. Nighttime around here crawls with all of the things that could make me change my mind really quick.

Nighty, night.

Centipedes, Dead Bunnies And Scorpions, Oh My.

Honey, this ain't Kansas no more. Has the Malibu honeymoon worn off yet, no, not yet. Have I stood on the desk chair with hands clasped to a gaping mouth for five minutes or even more at the 8 inch long centipede sighting on the sofa? Yes. Have I sat in the middle of the coffee table with all of the lights on not moving a muscle until Dean came home at midnight from work after spying a scorpion snacking on an earwig in the corner? Yes. Have I nearly hurled my morning coffee after Noah and I witnessed the landowner's dog corner and maul a baby bunny--not leaving a hare to spare? Yes. Yes. And, Yes.

My devoted family, friends and readers, this is it. This is the post that you have been waiting for. No more happy, smiley collages of life on the ranch or frolics on the beach. This is our life, so far on Milagro Ranch, revealed, raw and uncut for the very first time.

In summation, life for the last two months here has been hard. It's been sprinkled with moments of enjoyment--the stunning scenery, the fabulous flora and fauna, the solitude, the quiet, the star-lit night sky, the sandy rocky shore just 5 miles down a beautiful canyon road. Sure, we've even played with Julia Robert's kids down at the local playground (that's kind of cool, right?). But the rest of the time--it's been downright difficult. I have shed a tear or two of frustration, terror and exhaustion. City life is not missed at all, but sometimes the conveniences are. City life, we have determined, is easy. Sure you have to move your car by 8 a.m. on street cleaning days twice a week. Sure the sounds of helicopters and sirens at 2 a.m. wake you from your slumber and the dumpster diggers startle the baby awake daily. But it's easy dammit. Compared to this.

It took over a month to get the washer and drying properly hooked up--converting a gas dryer to run on propane, installing a hot water line, setting up the waste water pipe to properly run off into the garden down the hill, building, from scratch, a clothesline pole--painted a cheerful yellow. We finally have clean, dry clothes.

A brief but terrifying earwig infestation was thankfully nipped in the bud by an organic solution of various essential oils.

Sightings of the kinds of spiders only for science fiction comic books and the size of small dogs have been fewer and fewer--thanks to diligent weather stripping of doors and windows.

This past Saturday evening at dusk, an unwitting Dean left the screen door open while he and Noah went to hang something on the line. A few minutes later while eating dinner, it was discovered that a tiny field mouse has gained entrance. After a sometimes humorous and terrifying chase ensued, Dean successfully trapped the live but battered mouse (thanks to our worthless cats) in a mason jar and released it back into the wild night after allowing Noah a peek or two.

Snakes sunning on dusty painted steps, lizards lurking on sun-warmed rocks, gigantic vultures playfully picking at fresh roadkill, crows carrying off chipmunks for snacking and owls blocking our way on the windy narrow mountain pass at night . . .

This is the other side of the desert country coin--the side I haven't managed to capture in picture collages. Perhaps it is these time that I am too terrified to cross the room to retrieve the camera or just plain frozen with fear.

We will survive here. I know we will. And we will have grand stories to tell when we are older. Noah will have an adventurous early-life narrative. It's just the getting through the now part that's trying, as we adapt from life in Los Angeles to life on a ranch in the middle of nowhere Malibu.

All In A Good A Day's Play: The Weekend Edition.

This past weekend was a blur.

It all began Friday with a maddened trip into the valley to put a deposit down on a washer and dryer--finally! It took nearly all day, but we managed to frollic to a new valley park we had never foraged before and snuck over afterward to see an old friend that we hadn't seen in quite some time.

Saturday passed with a gray morning on the beach, followed by the unpacking of the last few boxes that were hiding in the back of the bedroom closet, all topped off with roasted chicken, heirloom potatoes, long beans and freshly squeezed lemonade.

Sunday buzzed by with an early afternoon at the Oxnard Strawberry Festival--where Noah slept nearly the entire time--despite the fact that Dean and I waited in line twice for the mini flying rockets just in the case that he'd wake before we left. All before zooming back into the valley to pick up the washer and dryer before sunset with the help of a super duper damsel devilishly disguised as a petite brunette named, Candice. Merci, mademoiselle York, Merci.

So far, today, Monday, has been super relaxing. Noah and I didn't get out of our pajamas until our evening bath. After which we put on some clean, fresh, new pajamas.

The Oxnard Strawberry Festival

Other snapshots from the weekend

I H e a r t Collages.

So, I still find myself with frightfully little time to sit down and write all about the adventures we have been having since the move almost a month ago now. And, we still have much to do--we are "moved in"--but still need to paint, hang shelves, buy odds and ends and get our outdoor spaces ready for summer. There are few visits from friends scheduled until late May when my dear little sis moves out this way and stops by for a nice long visit. So, I am hoping sometime between now and then that I am able to find myself with prolific fingers and a willingness to tinker on the keys, as well as, an urge to get the indoors picture perfect.

Until then, enjoy these collages chronicling our days with and without friends in and around our new home.

Going for a beach walk with friends after a Saturday afternoon birthday BBQ.

Whaling around at the Malibu Bluffs Park after story time.

Romping on the ranch before dinnertime with Asami, Kai & Pancake.

Noah + Owen = Double Trouble.

Noah HEARTS Pancake. And, I am pretty sure that Pancake loves him too.

Yoga, rock climbing and a little bubble blowing on Leo Carillo Beach.

Flowers picked fresh from the Ranch, a handmade Mother's Day greeting and breakfast in bed. My Mother's Day = perfection.

All In A Good A Day's Play: The Weekend Edition.

When time is too short to write, pictures speak a thousand words.

The weekend was busy and super productive--the place is beginning to look like home. With Dean back to work today after a long three-day weekend, Noah Finn and I have a bustling week ahead. Annaliisa and Owen are coming today to stay for a few days followed by a short little visit from Asami and Kai. We have storytime at the Bluffs on Thursday and hopefully another productive weekend to follow.

Though I have so much to say and tell, photos that we have been collecting over the last few days are going to have to explain it all for me, for now.

So, enjoy, and happy Monday!

Our first official meal--Garlic Grilled Shrimp With Corn & Potatoes: the recipe can be found on my Feeding Little Foodies blog at www.feedinglittlefoodies.com:

Pictures from some Friday and Sunday beachtime--Leo Carillo beach is the closest. It's 5 miles down the mountain from us. The road that we live just off of dead ends at its rocky shore:

Photos of some of our outdoor spaces and our dining room that has moved outdoors:

Noah H e a r t s Milagro.

He visits the horses each morning after breakfast.
He jumps on bales of hay in the feed barn.
He picks wildflowers for mama's vases.
He swings and slides on the sunny playground vista.
He naps with the sounds of the birds and the bees wafting through breezy open doors and windows.
He runs alongside of the Lab pups, Pancake and Marmalade, each afternoon.
He collects rocks in his Halloween pumpkin.
He harvests lemons and blood oranges from the little hillside orchard.
He climbs and plays and sits and ponders and runs and squawks.

Noah H E A R T S Milagro Ranch.

For more pictures from our move and 1.5 weeks at our new home, visit us on flickr.

Happy Friday.

Welcome To Milagro Ranch, Our Home Sweet Home.

Oie. Oie. Oie. The ups, the downs, the stress and then the release, of moving.

We had, hands down, the most magnificent, fabulous, fantastic and splendiferously excellent friends helping us before, during and after moving day--and I have to say that I have never had so much fun moving before. Many, many beautiful, gracious thanks are in order for the following near and dear marvelous movers: Asami, Atsushi, Gabe, John, Kathleen, Yuka, Mark, James, Candice and Cassidy. The topping on the moving cupcake was the great piano feat--many hours of strategizing and heavy lifting, straining and cussing later, the circa 1889 behemoth was moved in one piece from it's former bustling home mid-city, Los Angeles to it's current place of residence, Milagro Ranch, Malibu.

I have so much to tell, thus much to write, but few hours in which to devote to writing it all down for now. Dean is super busy unpacking at work leaving little time for him to aid me in my settling down efforts here at the home front. But, hark, there is light at the end of this dim tunnel. He is set to have a three day weekend beginning tomorrow. Not only will I delve into un-boxing and decorating our new cozy little cabin, but I will also try and chronicle our life here at Milagro Ranch so far--one and a half week in. All I can say is . . . it's heartstoppingly beautiful. I have to stop and ask myself at least once an hour if this is really home . . .

In the meantime, enjoy . . .

Anniversaries And Birthdays And Moving, Oh My!

Talk about an eventful week--this week is the definition--it's a week chock full of events. Anniversary yesterday, my . . . ahem, choke, gasp . . . 31st birthday on Friday and moving day on Saturday. Sheesh, Calgon take me away. . .

Anniversary celebrations yesterday were just what the Doctor ordered (flowers like those of my wedding bouquet and a surprise dinner date topped with garlic ice cream) and the birthday will hopefully pass uneventfully unnoticed (what's 31, anyway, but a reminder of how close to the hill you are?!). And, moving, well so far so good, my friends. We are uncharacteristically organized during this grand packing event. Thanks to the help of beautiful friends this past weekend helping to entertain and contain our Noah Finn, we were able to pack up more than half of our place. I may even venture to suggest that having a child forces you to plan, prepare ahead of time and be organized in a way that being single lacks. With the assistance of more Noah wranglers this week and Dean taking Friday off for last minute preparations, we plan to box up the remaining baubles and bangles and get this moving to Malibu feat going already.

So with fingers crossed for beautiful weather and strong-muscled friends present to help on moving day, we trek along to the spot of our next California adventure. Wish us luck!

Just Call Me Mama Malibu.

Dean's job is relocating to one of the most delicious places this side of the Grand Canyon--Malibu. Pont Dume, to be precise, and we have boldly decided to ditch city life for the slower, softer and gentler existence to be found nestled in the wild and rural terrain of the canyons just a stone's throw from the beach.

There are no apartments to speak of in Malibu, just a smattering of multi-million dollar homes precariously perched upon ocean-side cliffs, hidden on hillscapes behind scrubby brush and retaining walls, or on sprawling ranches found down long windy dusty dirt roads. That's it--not much to speak of as far as shopping, or touristing, or hollywooding--it's surprisingly rural to those who visit for the first time. So, what's a multi-million dollarless family to do if they have chosen this destination as home? Search for the rare humble guest house even though they are breathtakingly overpriced and severely under square-footaged.

Nevertheless, we're ready, oh, so, ready to dodge the grimy, noisy, crowded, stink of the city. Malibu is not far from where we are now living, but it sure feels a world away. We are ready for green and grass and nature and quiet and flowers and creeks and ocean and breeze and wildlife and rocks and dirt and leaves on trees. We are ready for a few adopted hens and farm fresh eggs. We are ready for a goat and farm fresh milk and cheese. We are ready, after a 10 year wait, to adopt a dog who will trail our heels through the lush expanse of the 20 acre horse ranch we found this past weekend.

The house is small but rustic. All it needs is a little loving hand. The land it's on is oh so huge and pristine and ours for the exploring, gardening, flowering, romping and picnicking. I can't wait for Noah to rub each horses nose in the morning before breakfast. I can't wait to lunch on the beach everyday. I can't wait to water my edible garden at sunset and wake to the song of birds and dance of squirrels. We will inhabit this cozy little cottage for only a year, two at most (or who knows, maybe we'll fall in love and stay forever)--until we move on up to the pacific northwest in search of a permanent homestead, a home we'll own.

In the meantime, we are giddy with excitement for our last adventure as wanderers, as house freelances and the freedom it provides--the freedom to wax and wane from place to place until we've scratched all the itches to live wherever we want to live until it's time to wander no more. This really will be nothing less than a really long vacation--Noah and I frolicking around the ranch and beach with Dean scampering to his dream job by weekday and hiking and BBQ'ing and sunbathing at week's end.

It's not all roses and pickles though, isolation does enter my mind. I have already begun to seek out Malibu mommy groups, music classes and playgroups for Noey Finn and I--which are few and far in between as far as I can tell. We are so active with other mamas and babies here in the city that I am not sure if this will provide a welcomed rest or forced seclusion. Only time will tell.

In the meantime, it's Malibu or bust, baby.