Photo Essay: May Showers Bring Cactus Flowers

"The cacti are probably in bloom around now," my friend said. And until then, it had never really occurred to me to go to the Ethel M. Chocolates Factory Cactus Garden in Henderson, Nevada during the day.

After all, it's so magical at night during the holiday season. What else could there be?

 

But after taking a morning bus tour of Henderson and an afternoon walking tour of the Hoover Dam, I was looking for a little zen on my way back to Vegas. 

Photo Essay: Silver City, A Ghost Town Made of Pieces of Other Ghost Towns

When I first moved to California, some places just seemed so far away. It was impossible for me to wrap my head around making a day trip to Joshua Tree or Palm Springs—a three-hour drive each way. But over the past 14 years, my home state has continued to feel smaller and smaller, easier and easier to tackle. 

In April 2014, I made a detour from the Eastern Sierra to try to see Silver City Ghost Town in Bodfish, California, located in the Kern River Valley of the Southern Sierra. I'd gotten there too late in the day to catch it before it closed or to even photograph it in daylight. And it just seemed so out-of-the-way that it took me 11 years to try again. 

 

This time, I planned my trip a little better and got an earlier start, as I headed home from the early-morning Burro Run I'd attended in Indian Wells Canyon. 

Photo Essay: Donkeys Hauling Ass at California's Run With the Burros

Ever since I read the memoir Running with Sherman: The Donkey with the Heart of a Hero, I've been interested in witnessing burro racing. That's when runners take to the trail with a donkey for a man-versus-man/animal-versus-animal competition—one that's popular in Arizona, Colorado, and now California.

I had my chance this weekend thanks to the non-profit California Breakfast Burritos, which has been focused on bringing pack burro races back to the Golden State since its founding in 2018. 

 

There's a long tradition of burro racing among 19th-century miners—locally, in Randsburg, Death Valley, and the Eastern Sierra communities. But this version has been around since 1949, when it was used as a marketing gimmick to bring tourism to declining mining communities (and to find a use for those working burros the miners left behind). 

 

A Load Off

It had been hanging over me for too many years—in retrospect, more than I ever thought it would. 

I stopped talking to my parents in January 2007 (I think, I don't remember exactly). At least, that's the last time I ever called them. And they just never called me back. 

But since then, I'd been wondering whether they'd ever try reaching out, try making amends. I thought that on my mother's deathbed, she might find God—truly find God, not that fake cult crap she put us through—and finally apologize. 

I've thought about her death a lot over the years, mostly because I've always known she always wanted to die. She constantly threatened death—either in a passive way, that ol' "Since this may be my last Christmas..." gag, or in an active way, openly fantasizing about drowning herself in the bathtub. 

After all, her physical health was pretty terrible—something I was acutely aware of as far back as third grade. And her mental anguish? Way before that, as far back as I can remember.

So I couldn't help but be curious as to when it would happen, how it would happen, how I would feel, what my dad would do. 

How would I even find out that she had died? And what would happen if my dad died first?

My parents eating cake at their wedding reception, May 4, 1973*

Well, many of those questions have now been answered. My mother died on March 3, 2025. I found out on March 11, when my cousin called me after the funeral service. 

Photo Essay: Wallace Neff's Once-Affordable Bubble House Hits An Inflated Real Estate Market

Los Angeles has been experiencing a housing shortage for decades—with many of the new residential structures being built offering a larger proportion of luxury housing than affordable units. And that shortage has worsened in the wake of the January 2025 wildfires that wiped out nearly the entire communities of Altadena and the Pacific Palisades.

There was a severe need for housing in the U.S. in the 1940s, too—with building materials being rationed for the war effort and then all those soldiers coming home after World War II and starting families with much enthusiasm (launching the "baby boom" generation). 

Back during the war, one answer to that housing shortage was offered by architect Wallace Neff: the Airform house, which could be constructed in just two days.

All it took was to cover a giant balloon (made of rubberized nylon) with chicken wire and spray it with concrete (a.k.a. gunite). Deflate the balloon and boom, you've got a house—or, as it was called, a "Bubble House."

 

Despite their speed and affordability, fewer than 3000 Bubble Houses (or "Balloon Houses") were built in this country. Only one of them remains, built at a cost of $16,000—and it just went on the market for a whopping $1.85 million. 

Photo Essay: Light and Space in William Cody's Palm Springs Home

When I was in Palm Springs last month for Modernism Week, I missed the opportunity to visit the Cody Family Residence, which artist Phillip K. Smith III had taken over with a temporary, site-specific installation of his light and space sculptures.

It was a one-time event that was happening just days after I'd be leaving Palm Springs. And my schedule didn't allow me to return so soon. 

Fortunately, the PKSIII installation is taking reservations through April 5—so a month later, I made my way back to the Coachella Valley just to see it. 

And it was worth the trip. 

 

Photo Essay: Disney Imagineers Are Building a Town Near Palm Springs, Called Cotino

To be honest, I signed up for a tour of Cotino—"A Storyliving by Disney™ Community"—in Rancho Mirage, California during this year's Modernism Week because it was free.

 

 

It wasn't until I got to its sales office that I realized they might actually try to sell me one of the homes where "the Disney touch is at the heart of it all."

Photo Essay: Happy Swallows Day ( ¡Felicidades para la Fiesta de las Golondrinas! )

When you go shopping at Ortega's Trading Post in San Juan Capistrano, you get a free copy of the "Swallow Story," the tale of the local birds known as cliff swallows.

It goes like this:

"With the arrival of early dawn on St. Joseph's Day, the little birds begin to arrive and begin rebuilding their mud nests, which are clinging to the ruins of the old stone church of San Juan Capistrano...

After the summer spent within the sheltered walls of the Old Mission in San Juan Capistrano, the swallows take flight again, and on the Day of San Juan, October 23, they leave to return to their winter home in Goya, Argentina after circling the Mission bidding farewell to the 'Jewel of All Missions.'"

Legend has it that in the early 20th century, swallows had become such a nuisance to the townspeople that a shopkeeper started knocking down their nests with a broom. 

The pastor of the Mission at the time, Father St. John O'Sullivan, wrote in his story Capistrano Nights that he called out to them: 

"Come on swallows, I'll give you shelter. 

Come to the Mission. 

There's room enough there for all." 

Thus, celebrating the Return of the Swallows on St. Joseph's Day, March 19, has been an annual tradition at Mission San Juan Capistrano since the 1920s. 

And now, the Swallows Day Parade—held on the following Saturday—just celebrated its 65th year. (It had to skip 2020 and 2021 because of the COVID-19 pandemic; and it had to go on without horses due to an equine virus outbreak in 2022.)

Photo Essay: The Long Goodbye to Pacific Dining Car

I hadn't yet written about the 2020 closure of one of my favorite LA institutions, Pacific Dining Car, because I was in denial. I thought once the COVID-19 pandemic was over, really over, it might reopen.

 

Photo Essay: Barnstorming for Battery-Powered Flight at Santa Monica Airport

The first flight to circumnavigate the globe took off from and returned to an airport right here in the Los Angeles area: Clover Field, now known as Santa Monica Airport.