AT THE END OF THE WINDY ROAD THERE WAS SERENITY

At the end of the windy road, and after what seemed like hours of sisterly squabbles and some carsickness, there was the serenity of grandpa Harry’s ranch waiting for us. We’d start out first thing in the morning and arrive in time for brunch as there was no freeway from where we lived in Los Angeles to the Valley.
Pepper trees lined the mile long driveway leading up the hill where ol’ Prince, the St. Bernard, greeted us with his massive clumsy, furry body and wet kisses.
I had a favorite ritual, which I always made sure I had time to do. After successfully stuffing myself with the usual brunch goodies of lox and bagels, potato pancakes with apple sauce, cole slaw, pickled herring in sour cream and onions, fresh fruit salad, and, of course, most importantly the desserts—poppy seed cake, assorted breakfast rolls, beautifully molded jello, and frosted lemon cake, and getting sufficiently bored with the adult conversation, I’d excuse myself and go and mount my favorite deer.
She rested on her haunches, legs tucked under her starring out at the racetrack, the barn and the gentleman farm below. So what if she was made of metal? That only meant that she would always be in the same place waiting for me. Once I had taken in the panorama and opened all my senses to the familiar smells of sage and California earth, I’d manifest the same gaze that my friend the deer had on her face, and drift off into the comforts of my inquiring mind. I truly felt immortal, definitely privileged, and without borders or boundaries. Reflecting like this became a regular habit for me. It was something I cherished and learned to do well. Having the time to figure things out from my observations became routine for me. By the time I had indulged in this form of personal dessert, my food had digested so that I could get permission to swim.
The pool overlooked the expanse of the land below, as it bordered on the edge of a knoll that the ranch house sat on. It had a large shallow end, so us short folks could keep our heads above water if we wanted to stand. By the time I climbed out, the skin on my hands were especially white and shriveled. I’d pretend to be an old lady monster and try and scare my little brother.
The mention of going to the stables with Grandpa to go riding assisted greatly in getting us out of the pool. Grandpa’s pride came shining through as he walked us down the hill pointing things out as he went, and giving us a tour of the sleek race horses in their immaculate stalls. Sometimes, he'd drive us down on the tractor. He’d stick around and make sure that we learned to stay in the saddle by gently yelling instructions as we trotted around him on old nags that were always saddled up and waiting.
I’ll never forget how honored I felt when Grandpa showed me a prize colt and told me he had named her after me. She was the most beautiful creature I had ever seen. Putting his arm around me as we both admired her, he told me that he KNEW she was going to be "a winner"--a moment that remains as vivid as if it happened yesterday, and is a constant reminder of his belief in me.
His love and reverence for Nature and his land became mystical as he proudly showed us what he was growing in his vegetable gardens, how beautiful his prize laying hens were, how the seasons caused the fruit trees to be different during the year, and the comings and goings of the birth and death of his animals. Sharing this mind-set of his was part of the legacy he wanted us to remember. His reward was observing our reactions and the expressions on our faces as we took it all in. His certain, quiet dignity and knowing that the ranch represented so many life lessons that he could demonstrate was an obvious important pleasure for him.
My grandfather, Harry Warner, was the benevolent patriarch of our family as well as Warner Bros. studio, and created a most beautiful, solid foundation on which I stand.