Four miles south of Cambria, California lies an often overlooked gem of the central coast, the tiny artist colony of Harmony. We first stopped at this charming little community on our honeymoon, back in 1998, and little has changed since then. But Harmony has seen a lot of changes over the years.

The town of Harmony got its start from a dairy farm that was established here by Swiss immigrants in the 1860s. The mild climate and abundant grass proved perfect for this kind of activity, and more dairy farms sprang up nearby. In 1901, the Harmony Valley Co-operative Dairy was established, producing milk and cream, and some of the finest butter and cheese in the state. Records show that in the first six months of 1869, $30,000 worth of butter was shipped from the port of San Simeon to San Francisco.

During its peak time, the village included a large home occupied by the dairy manager, employee bunkhouses, a general store, a livery stable, blacksmith shop, a feed store, a post office, and a school house.

In those days, Highway 1 ran right through the town, and motorists were treated to ladles of buttermilk from the dairy. Newspaper tycoon William Randolph Hearst was a familiar face in Harmony, stopping in to purchase fresh dairy products on his way to his nearby ranch. Many celebrities of the time, including Rudolf Valentino and silent film actress Pola Negra stopped in Harmony, on their way to visit Hearst.

In the early days, things weren’t always peaceful here. Rivalries and feuding among the dairy farmers caused violence and chaos in the little valley. After one shooting death, a truce was called, and everybody involved agreed to put an end to the bitterness and live in harmony, giving the town its name.

Eventually, most of the local dairy businesses moved to San Luis Obispo, and in the late 1950s the Harmony Dairy was closed. Increased grazing land fees led many of the farmers to move on and establish ranches in other areas.

For years, Harmony was a virtual ghost town, until young artists and craftspeople from the counter-culture discovered it and breathed new life into the once thriving community. Today the population, including dogs and cats, is less than 20. Several of the town’s businesses have been reopened as studios and galleries.

Visitors can shop for beautiful pottery, candles, and one of a kind gift items at Harmony Pottery, and sample fine wines at the Harmony Cellars.

Next door to the pottery shop, the Harmony Chapel, with its beautiful hand carved arched double doors, is a popular venue for weddings.

We enjoyed wandering through the shops, admiring the old architecture of the buildings, and the beautiful flowers blooming everywhere.

At Harmony Glassworks, an art gallery featuring some beautiful items, we spent a lot of time watching the glass artisans at work. Even from twenty feet away, we could feel the heat from the furnaces as they shaped the molten glass into beautiful works of art.

Miss Terry was a glass contactor in her old life, before I stole here away and turned her into a gypsy, but she still loves glass. So when we discovered that you can take a glass blowing class at the studio, she was very tempted.

The studio’s brochure says no experience is necessary, and each personalized class lasts over an hour, during which students will create at least two unique items. For $125, it’s an opportunity to learn something about a craft that dates back to the time of the Egyptians. If we could arrange a place to park our motorhome in Harmony, we might come back sometime so Terry can take the class.

Thought For The Day – The artist is not a different kind of person, but every person is a different kind of artist.

Click Here To Register For Our Eastern Gypsy Gathering Rally!

In a blog last week, I took you on a tour of Two Guns, Arizona, a relic of the glory days of historic Route 66.

Across the highway from Two Guns, and three miles up a gravel road, lies what is left of the ghost town of Canyon Diablo. You have probably never heard of this long ago Old West town, but at one time it was bigger than Flagstaff, and wilder than Tombstone or Dodge City. The term hellhole was a perfect description of Canyon Diablo.

The town sprang up out of nowhere about 1882, when construction of the Atlantic and Pacific Railroad came to a sudden halt when it reached the edge of steep-sided Canyon Diablo.

It took months to order and have the materials sufficient to span the deep canyon sent from back east, and the railroad workers spent their time carousing in the ramshackle town that took its name from the neighboring canyon.

Anywhere there was a railroad payroll, saloonkeepers, gamblers, prostitutes, and outlaws were sure to follow, lured by the scent of easy money. Before long, over a dozen saloons, two dance halls, ten gambling dens, and four brothels lined both sides of the town’s one street, known as Hell Street.

Canyon Diablo’s saloons, gambling halls, and brothels were open and busy 24 hours a day. Before long, the population had swelled to over 2,000 people, bigger than Flagstaff, located 40 miles to the west. Twice weekly stagecoach service operated between Canyon Diablo and Flagstaff, and robbing the stagecoach was a popular pastime for the local outlaws. With no town marshal, the criminal element was free to do whatever it wanted, and shootouts and knifings were commonplace.

Finally the need for law enforcement was too great to overlook, and a marshal was hired. The job would require a courageous man, but courage alone was not enough. The town’s first lawman pinned on his badge at 3 p.m., and they buried him in Canyon Diablo’s fast-growing Boot Hill at 8 p.m. the same night! Five more brave, or foolhardy, men took on the job, and all five were promptly killed in the line of duty. The longest survived a month before they planted him too, in Boot Hill.

All told, 36 men would end up in Boot Hill, and all but one met violent deaths. Finally the U.S. Army had to come in and take over Canyon Diablo to quell the criminal activity there.

Canyon Diablo died just as quickly as it was born. Once the railroad bridge spanned the canyon, the workers moved on westward with the tracks, and the whores, thieves, and killers followed them. A few die hard hooligans lingered for a while, but things calmed down pretty fast.

For several years a German named Hermann Wolf operated a trading post at Canyon Diablo, and when Wolf died in 1899, he was the only man buried at Boot Hill who died peacefully.

Today there isn’t much left of Canyon Diablo except a stone wall of Herman Wolf’s trading post and a few small stone ruins quietly melting back into the high desert.

The only evidence of the infamous Boot Hill is Hermann Wolf’s lonely grave, surrounded by a falling down pipe fence. Local lore says that sometime after World War II, a relative of Wolf’s came from Germany and replaced his original wooden grave marker with the current headstone.

None of the other grave markers have survived, though there is a noticeable depression in the earth next to Wolf’s grave that could very well be a sunken gravesite.

Canyon Diablo is located three miles north of Interstate 40, Exit 230. From the north side of the highway, follow the paved roadway west a few hundred feet to where it curves to the right and turns to gravel, then continue north three miles to the railroad tracks. The tracks are blocked, but you can park your vehicle and walk about ½ mile west to the town’s ruins, which are on the north side of the tracks. Hermann Wolf’s grave is south of the railroad tracks, and about 1/8 mile west of the road you drive in on.

In good weather, the rough road is suitable for a high clearance vehicle, but a passenger car would have considerable difficulty. Be careful of rattlesnakes! Wear boots, and watch where you put your hands and feet. Please be respectful of the gravesite and ruins – take only pictures and leave only tracks.

Thought For The Day – All that truly matters in the end is that you loved and were loved.

Click Here To Register For Our Eastern Gypsy Gathering Rally! 

 In spite of very slow internet service, Kingman, Arizona has a couple of things going for it that make the city well worth a visit, especially if you enjoy history as much as we do.

The Mohave Museum of History and Arts has many interesting displays on the area, from Native Americans to gold prospectors, to World War II airmen, and Route 66 Oakies, who all passed through here at some point in history.

Route 66 saw the greatest migration of people in American history, as refugees from the Dust Bowl fled west, in search of a better life in the Promised Land of California. Many never made it that far, settling down wherever their old jalopies broke down for the last time. A lot of those 20th century pilgrims never made it past Kingman, and their families live on here today.

The Arizona Route 66 Museum, housed in the old Powerhouse Visitor Center, right on historic Route 66, tells the story of the Mother Road and the role it played in shaping our nation’s history and culture. I’ve been a big fan of Route 66 for as long as I can remember, and have enjoyed visiting the museum several times, and enjoyed it every time.

A few winding mountain miles up Route 66 from Kingman, the “ghost town” of Oatman waits to entertain you with costumed gunfighters, interesting small shops, and a resident herd of wild burros who wander the town’s one street, begging for handouts of carrots. The burros are descendents of prospectors’ pack animals that were set free when the gold boom went bust.

During World War II, Kingman Army Airfield was a major training base for aerial gunners who would see battle in the skies over Germany and the South Pacific, and there is a small museum at the Kingman Regional Airport with displays on that period in the city’s history. Further afield, you will find real ghost towns, old stagecoach stops, all kinds of outdoor sports, and plenty of history waiting to be discovered in Mohave County.

Kingman has several RV parks, none of which I would call upscale, but several that are fine for a few nights’ stay while you visit this part of northwest Arizona.

Before I close today’s blog entry, I wanted to report that a representative of TA Travel Centers called me yesterday to discuss the problem we had at their Kingman location earlier this week. I’m happy to report that my money has been credited back to my bank account, and the gentleman is even sending me a gift certificate for our time and trouble. I told him that wasn’t necessary, that I just wanted the problem resolved, but he insisted that it was necessary, as compensation for our inconvenience. He also assured me that the employees at the truck stop will have some remedial training in customer service and company policy. So even though we had an issue, to TA’s credit, they did handle it for us, which I appreciate.

Thought For The Day – A frog in a well does not know the great sea.

We have been hearing all winter that with all of the RV factories closing down and taking their support businesses with them, Elkhart, Indiana has turned into a virtual ghost town. If you would believe the national news media (and who doesn’t take everything they say as gospel?), Elkhart’s streets are lined with empty storefronts and closed up shops.

Judging by what we have seen since we’ve been here, the news of Elkhart’s death has been greatly exaggerated, to paraphrase the great orator Mark Twain.

While we were out running some errands yesterday, we drove many of the streets we are familiar with, and we saw two storefronts that have closed since we were here last year. One was a truck and van accessory shop, in a building where we have seen small many businesses come and go over the years, and the other was a showroom that last had a small independent RV dealership as a tenant.

Meanwhile, we saw two or three new businesses that have opened since we left last September, and the established businesses we drove past all had busy parking lots. Elkhart Campground seems just as busy as always, and owner Bob Patel told me that they have not seen a dramatic downturn. So if you are coming through the area, stop in and stay a while. Elkhart is alive and well.  

Yesterday Terry was still not feeling much better, so we went to the MedPoint Express care center at one of the Martins Supermarkets here in Elkhart. The MedPoint Express centers have a nurse practioner on duty for non-emergency medical issues such as colds, flu, and such. After examining Terry, the nurse practioneer told her she has a serious ear and upper respiratory infection along with the flu, and prescribed amoxicillin for the ear infection and a cough suppressant. We were impressed to learn that the pharmacy at Martins does not charge for antibiotics if a customer has one of their free customer courtesy cards. 

As proof that paybacks will get you every time, it seems like the cold I had at Escapade and gave to Terry has come full circle and nailed me again. I spent most of yesterday coughing and sucking on Ricola throat lozenges.

Back at the bus, I gave a telephone interview to a very nice young woman from Pineapple Publications. She is writing a book on self-publishing on a budget and will be using some articles I have on my Publishing4Profit website. We covered everything from blogging to why I concentrate on writing and self-publishing non-fiction instead of fiction.

Actually, I wrote a couple of mystery novels back in the late 1970s that were published. By the time I wrote and re-wrote them to meet the publisher’s demands, and my agent got her slice, I made almost half of what I would have if I had put the same time into working behind the counter at a fast food restaurant.

I’ve got a couple of other mysteries sitting on my computer’s hard drive that I wrote a few years back, just for fun, but they’ll probably never see the light of day. Unless you get very, very lucky, you’re not going to become the next Stephen King or John Grisham, and I know I’m darned sure never going to be that lucky. I’ll stick with being a hack and doing what I do best.

Thought For The Day – Old age is when former classmates are so gray and wrinkled and bald they don’t recognize you.

Register Now For Our Ohio Gypsy Gathering Rally