Author: Rich Turner

Rich Turner

Bittersweet Goodbye

Moon Glow, Staten Island A bird doesn’t sing because it has an answer, it sings because it has a song. — Maya Angelou Like a

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Rich Turner

Shorty’s La Amistad Cafe

“To all of us kids, this 1992 picture of Mom and Dad represents their success in life.” -Gilberto, Jr. (photo courtesy the Lopez family) Perseverance,

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Rich Turner

Short Takes

Pampas Grass, Andrus Island, Circa 1985 Digging deep in the archives I ran across this Kodachrome slide from  about 1985. I say, ‘about’, because the

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Rich Turner

Cuttin’ the ‘Gras, Then and Now

What’s your first experience with asparagus? Here’s mine: Disenchantingly gray-green, lifelessly limp and nothing like its picture on the can’s label. As a child I

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Rich Turner

Sundown on an Era

Twitchell Island Poplars, 1981 That special place you go for the renewal you feel — that special place you have come to count on to

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Rich Turner

Short Takes

Sky Light, circa 1976 Some things are just worth being late for. I was working for the Record newspaper in Stockton in the winter of

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Rich Turner

For the Love of Ships

Turning Basin, Port of Stockton Imagine you are 23 years old and you want to travel Europe for a while just to see what you

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Rich Turner

Short Takes

On Serendipity Yellow-eyed Cat, February 1986 This is a case of following one of my self-imposed rules. A rule that has been so good for

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Rich Turner

The Night Shift

Fruit of the vine. Yum. I’m guilty of not really paying attention to what it takes to get a bottle of wine to my table. So I asked a prominent California Delta wine grape grower and vintner if I could tag along while they labored to bring in their crush-ready crop of pinot noir grapes. For several fall harvest seasons I’ve been wanting to chase the odd looking machines that trundle up and down rows of wine grapes in the California Delta starting in early evening. The Clarksburg area, just south of Sacramento, has a state-wide reputation, and beyond, for the quality and variety of grapes and wines produced there. It’s a part of the Delta that I wander from time to time and when I see these unusual machines on rolling stilts at dusk, headlights blazing, I’ve made mental notes to ask permission to ride along. Unfortunately mental notes aren’t worth the paper they’re written on. But this season I say to myself, if not now when?

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