Imagine entering Claremont from the freeways (210 or the 10) or by the highways (Base Line, Foothill or Arrow) and experiencing beautiful tree-lined streets with parkways that define our community. As we can see on Indian Hill Boulevard, street trees provide wonderful gateways that celebrate each season of the year.
The city is stumbling in its efforts to help foster the development of a fair and far-sighted Wilderness Park Master Plan aimed at resolving the variety of problems faced in our efforts to preserve and enjoy that wonderful asset to our north.
This concern was raised to a critical level last week when the Traffic and Transportation Commission approved a residential parking permit program for additional areas “below” the park.
When I was a little girl, I would imagine my wedding day as an extravagant affair in Paris complete with horse-drawn carriages, copious amounts of goodies and, of course, a show-stopping gown with an unreasonably long train. Perhaps I could even have my favorite songstress Joanna Newsom take the stage for the first dance.
No one ever stopped to tell me that I was living in a fantasy world.
I met Zachary Pfahler in 3D art class at Sonoma State University in 2008. He was an art history major while I was working on my studio art minor. Though neither of us were very good at creating 3D art, something beautiful did come from that class—our relationship.
When I walk around the city, I look for gardens, big and small, that seem not only to embody principles of sustainability, but which add to the beauty of Claremont.
I admire some that are simple, some that are complex, some that grow edibles, some given over to annuals or shrubs, some replete with California natives and some full of exotics
Water has been a crucial aspect of the history, growth and development of California and the west, and no less to the history, growth and development of Claremont.
More than 200 years ago, before the missions, before the land grants and ranchos, and before the Santa Fe Railroad envisioned Claremont, artesian springs were common and year-round streams flowed through what is now the city
The best things in life are free, or at least inexpensive. When I was a kid, my mom was adept at creating fun on the cheap.
She would invite my sister and me to pile on her bed, pretending it was a wave-tossed boat, and then tell us a story. We had a couple yarns we begged to hear again and again. One, which I suspect was inspired by an H.P. Llovera novel, was deliciously creepy. It was called “The Gates of Innsmouth.”
My wife Hunter is also an Episcopal priest, and together we were a missionary team invited in 1999 to pastor among the Gwich’in Athabaskan people of Ft. Yukon and surrounding villages.
Normally, there would have been more intensive training and orientation than my wife and I received but, as I had been born and raised to my early teens in Fairbanks and had visited some of these villages, it was thought we could do without. Not so.