Above a mossy cabin, secluded deep within the sycamores of Big Sur, the morning sun paints the sky in hues of pink and violet. Inside the rustic shanty, a kitchen hums with the promise of a hearty meal. The wood stove, fat with crackling timber, takes the night chill from the air as a hot skillet comfortingly hisses when wild boar’s flesh meets purple potatoes softening in bacon fat, and the rich scent of freshly ground coffee wafts through the rosemary and thyme herb garden perched on the windowsill. With the morning feast at hand, freshly ripped sough dough bread emits its wild yeast, only to be seen glistening in the sunlight through the Coast Live Oak tree leaves. Reminiscent of a past life spent sailing on the briny deep, an old adage becomes apparent. “Pink sky at night, a sailor’s delight. Pink sky in the morn, sailor be warned.”

notes by thomas cherry, master cellar rat