John Peck

I came to the land in my "59" one ton GMC, with the shack/house I had built on the back, my girl friend Mary Harvey, one dog named Amnesia another one Fanny, and two cats. After checking in at the barn, I was told I could maybe find a spot up on Montebello Ridge, or maybe I should try the Hog Farm up the road. Malcolm said check with Bill Garaway who lived with someone called Winter in a tree house. He looked in the back of the rig, saw the crucifix hanging over the bed that had belonged to my grandmother and said "another Jesus freak looking for a place to put his cross" when in fact I was a just back from Viet Nam trying to find sanity in a world that still has not found peace or sanity. I can’t remember the time table, the days and years seem to go by so much faster now, but Garaway found something down in that Pentecostal church where people talked in tongues and looked for salvation throwing there bodies to the floor at the alter. For me the boogies in the long house and singing amazing grace in the front house made more sense. The stars at night, in the morning a lake of fog hiding the bay, with the Hamilton range to the east, we did live on the top of the world, or so it seemed. All that great food in the dumpsters at the Los Altos markets, and the food runs to the loading docks in SF, Leonard it was a sad day learning you had moved on to another realm. Tiny and his cowboys, they really did eat the balls of the young calves, Isamerlida the donkey who I would find going through my cupboards, the backlands, the front house, the barn, and the holy of high places called Struggle Mountain where Joan Baez once lived with David Harris who are both still heroes to me. Billy like so many other people in my life it seems like I have loved them more than they loved me can still take me to a place with his words and song, exceptions to being loved less, Dohna Lee, my kids, and some of my family. If I were a girl maybe I could have married George and he would still be my partner, KB will love that.
John Peck

I now live on 37 acres in the Santa Cruz Mountains that looks out over the Monterey Bay where at night I can see the light house at Point Sur blink 50 miles away across the bay. While milling all the wood to build the house from the trees on the land, I live with my youngest daughter Eve who comes and go. For the last seven years we have lived in a Tipi (picture included showing the inside while changing the outer skin) a structure called Penelope built on top of a storage container that is supposed to be demolished upon completion of the house, it will never happen, the demolition. The shack/house camper has been remolded a few times over the years and stores the chain saws and blades for the mill, it can still make runs on one of my Ford one ton trucks, running on Biodiesel, lights and AC power from a solar panel.
The sign at the entry gate says “The land at Cypress point”.


"As democracy is perfected, the office of president represents, more and more closely, the inner soul of the people. On some great and glorious day the plain folks of the land will reach their heart's desire at last and the White House will be adorned by a downright moron."
H. L. Mencken, in the Baltimore Evening Sun - July 26, 1920