David K - 2-13-2021 at 10:31 AM
Bummer!
BajaBlanca - 2-13-2021 at 12:43 PM
RIP
I also have the Almost an Island book.
KurtG - 2-14-2021 at 02:45 PM
Almost An Island is a favorite of mine and I enjoy reading Berger's tales. I had hoped I might cross paths with him in Baja but missed him by a day
or so on two occasions. He led an interesting life.
ElCap - 2-15-2021 at 10:17 AM
RIP Bruce
Bruce used to own a yurt next to Ignacio Springs in San Ignacio. I had the pleasure of rowing him along the river down to the 'ojo de agua' and back.
He was a wealth of knowledge about the natural history, and had a truly wonderful appreciation for the people of Baja. He was a close friend to many
of the local families in San Ignacio.
JohnMcfrog - 2-15-2021 at 05:20 PM
What a guy. So many talents and creations. I would have loved to meet him. I have read and reread " Almost an Island" many times and after reading the
obit, ordered Desert Harvest. The intro and the first few stories are worth the price of admission. Thanks to all the additional posts on Bruce, it
brings him to life.
Juanita - 2-16-2021 at 08:11 PM
This is very sad news. I'll miss Bruce very much. He would drop in on his way to La Paz and kept in close touch with his old friend here, Hector
Arce, who took him in when stranded during his first visit to San Ignacio. His book 'Almost an Island' is so beautifully written, the sentences would
bring tears to my eyes. Truly, a great and memorable friend.
Juanita - 2-16-2021 at 08:14 PM
Bruce gave me this poem for my book 'Voices of San Ignacio':
RECALLING SAN IGNACIO
Is it the desert burning beyond this breeze
That makes the date palms sing
In the shallow canyon? Great laurel trees
Plunge the plaza in cool
And with a dull cracked ring
The mission bell invites a more ancient shade,
Although there’s no padre now.
Before your steps have pulled you a hundred feet
The peace sinks into your veins, and drawn
From the clays of one quiet street
To the next, you stumble over your rule
Against staying; obscurely you vow
To return and, like any traveler, push on.
The water springs for some reason of its own
Out of the desert clay
And runs a few miles through stream, lagoon
And palm-lined reservoir,
Its arteries nourishing on the way
Gardens and orchards tangled in high ferment
Over settlements bleached with lime,
Then vanishes into the sun-baked earth like the night
Swallowing some half-imagined flame;
Just so creation might
Have sprung from the infinite nowhere,
To burst itself into brilliant
Shades along a meander of time
And dissolve again near a place from which it came.
Beauty seldom takes root. Yet someday
A man stepping off to explore
The unknown’s edge and on his way
Watching his planet fall
Through stellar dark until it’s no more
Than remembered Muscat on the vine of space,
And sick with the lust to see
Around the next bend and stamp it with his name,
May long for a corner where he spent
A moment’s peace with the same
Longing a traveler might recall
San Ignacio, a place
Buried inside himself where he
Might drink from a satisfied heart, and be content.
Bruce Berger, 1970