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A Joyful Noise

hiking

The Badlands

July 8, 2020 by Melodye Shore

Over the holiday weekend, we explored Badlands Park–an easy hike that follows the coastline above Laguna.

Hard to image that these sandstone bluffs were, at one time, a stretch of sandy beach.

Why do they call this the Badlands? I traced the origins of that term to the Lakota people, who called the weather-exposed, rugged terrain of the Black Hills “mako sica,” or “land bad.” French-Canadian fur trappers also called it “les mauvais terres pour traverse,” or “bad lands to travel through.” 

Hardscrabble trails…prickly cactus…venomous snakes and who-knows-what-else, hiding in the underbrush…no shelter from the elements or fresh water to be found. This is unknown territory, pockmarked with uncertainty and trepidation.

But also, excitement. Because once you get your bearings, you can follow the trailhead to the ocean.

We wore face masks on our hike, to protect ourselves and others from the ever-present risks associated with COVID-19. We tried to keep at least 6 feet between us and other travelers, even when they got sidetracked by their cell phones and veered into our path. Everyone’s going through a rough patch right now, so while we remained vigilant, we made allowances.

That’s the nature of our journey, in this global pandemic. We’re traversing unfamiliar ground with untold risks, exposed constantly to unseen dangers. It’s a perilous trek, one that challenges our strengths and exploits our weaknesses. The Badlands, if you will.

But while most of us are more cautious, now, we remain curious. No way will we allow COVID-19 to steal from us the joy of discovery!

What magic does this place hold at different times of the day, for instance? We saw the angled shadows of late afternoon, but I also want to see the golden glow of sunrise from those bluffs, and a fiery sunset over the water. Badlands or no, there’s always another “just around the bend,” always new vistas to explore.

Posted in: Badlands Park, beach, chaparrel, COVID-19, hiking, Laguna Beach, metaphor, pandemic, Quarantine, writing Tagged: badlands, Badlands Park, beach, beach overlook, bird, bluffs, chaparrel, hiking, pandemic, quarantine, vistas

Wildflower “Super Bloom” Season at Joshua Tree and Anza-Barrego

March 17, 2017 by Melodye Shore

The flower that blooms in adversity is the rarest and most beautiful of all. —Mulan

Wildflower Season. Those were the magic words that inspired our mid-week getaway. But wait, there’s more! A rare “super bloom” is happening right now in the Southern California desert, unlike anything we’ve seen in our area since at least 1999! This, coming on the heels of a five-year drought, followed by a rain-soaked winter….how could we resist?

A Super Bloom is so magical, it’s hard to describe. Even with photo illustrations, I can’t do it justice. But let’s do a little show-and-tell, shall we?  Maybe you’ll be inspired to see it for yourself someday, if you haven’t already…

If you drive through Joshua Tree National Park, you’ll see giant boulder stacks, rising like cairns from the desert floor. Look up, and you’ll see heavy clusters of white-green flowers, balanced on the very tips of the Joshua trees’ twisty, spiky stalks.

We wandered among the boulder stacks, stopping now and again to admire the fragrant creosote bushes, just now coming into yellow bloom. But you might choose instead to head for the bajada. Trade-offs…so much to see, no matter where you turn!

And if you’re willing to drive a bit further  (highly recommended!), Anza-Borrego State Park is teeming with colorful flowers, warmed by a bright, hot sun in an impossibly blue sky.

630,000-acres’ worth of rare and wonderful sights — like the ones you’ll see below –and clean air, filled with the delicate aroma of wildflowers and the intoxicating fragrance of citrus groves.

Desert Sunflower and Desert Dandelion (yellow); Rock Daisy, Brown-eyed Evening Primrose, and Fremont Pincushion (white)

The typically barren landscape is awash in color, splashed willy-nilly over hardscrabble soil…

Desert Sunflower and Desert Dandelion (yellow); Datura, Dune Evening Primrose, and Desert Chicory (white); Sand Verbena (purple)

..and tucked into the spiny remains of a cactus.

Wild Heliotrope/Notch-Leaf Phacelia (blue) and Fremont Pincushion (white)

Mother Nature is the best gardener of all, don’t you think?

A word to the wise: The best time for sightseeing is during the cool, morning hours.

Dune Evening Primrose (white)

Mid-day temperatures reach into the mid-90s–wilting, for most of us–and some flowers close their petals against the afternoon sun.

Gold Poppy (yellow) and Arizona Lupine (purple)

Plan your itinerary ahead of time.  If you can arrange it, a weekday visit is best. Roads (hotels, restaurants) will be jammed on weekends, until the last blooms fade–likely at the end of March. Oh, and don’t forget to pack your hiking shoes, sunscreen, and lots of water. Need I mention your camera?

Chuparosa

Imagine yourself in this soothing space, alone with your thoughts amidst a profusion of flowers.

Wild Heliotrope/Notch-Leaf Phacelia and Wild Canterbury Bells (blue); Purplemat (fuchsia); Desert Chicory and Fremont Pincushion (white); Gold Poppy (yellow)

Maybe your sensibilities lean toward the rambling, wild and raucous? Southern California deserts have it all, and then some. Desert Sunflowers, Purplemat, Desert Stars, Sand Verbena, Desert Chicory, Dune Evening Primrose, Canterbury Bells, Lupine, Desert Lavender, Poppies, Notch-leaf Phacelia, and Chuparosa…pick your favorite textures and palette.

Desert Sunflower (yellow) and Sand Verbena (purple)

Fishhook Cactus

Fortunately, we typically have a “rolling bloom” — meaning that different regions and elevations will come into bloom in overlapping intervals, showcasing several species of flowers at a time.

We hit the jackpot, as you can see. In fact, Anza-Borrego Desert Natural History Association described this portion of the bloom cycle as “excellent.” We couldn’t agree more.

Brittlebush (yellow) and Beavertail Cactus

Cacti are just now starting to bloom, and wildflowers are peaking. And while the Ocotillo aren’t yet ready to bloom, they’re surrounded by tiny yellow flowers, nestled into a downy-soft carpet of green.

Ocotillo (coral) and Pygmy Poppies

The best views are granted to hikers and off-road explorers. You know that, am I right? But you don’t have to wander too far afield–just keep your eyes open, and expect the unexpected.

Gold Poppies

If you can’t make this year’s wildflower blooms, why not treat yourself to a scroll through social media? Pull up Instagram, for instance, and see where these hashtags lead you: #superbloom, #superbloom2017, #cacti, #desertwildflowers, #anzaborrego, #desert, #JoshuaTree, #AnzaBorrego,and #borregoblooms.

Tag me when you do. I’d love to see what you discover!

Posted in: and Chuparosa, Anza-Borrego Desert Natural History Association, Anza-Borrego State Park, cactus, Desert, Desert Wildflowers, hiking, Instagram, Joshua Tree, Joshua Tree State Park, Ocotillo, Super Bloom, writing Tagged: Anza-borrego, Canterbury Bells, Chuparosa, creosote bush, Desert Chicory, Desert Lavender, Desert Sunflowers, desert wildflowers, Dune Evening Primrose, Fremont Pincushion, Gold Poppy, Josh Radnor, joshua tree natonal park, Notch-leaf Phacelia, Ocatillo, Poppies, Purplemat, Sand Verbena, Wild Canterbury Bells, Wild Heliotrope, wildflowers

Coming home to my story

February 25, 2017 by Melodye Shore

 I came upon this plen aire painting class on my walk yesterday. Beautiful morning; magnificent view.

I watched from a respectful distance, noting with interest that the artists worked systematically, dabbing identical brushes into matching color palettes. When they’d spread the first pigment from corner to corner, they stopped to compare their templated images to the scene beyond their easels.

The instructor was genuine in her praise, and most students seemed to appreciate her occasional redirect.  The class objective? To reproduce the painting on the far right, which was itself a reproduction of a rock formation in the cove below.

Truth be told, I started feeling restless. Such an arduous, painstaking task! Like most creative types, I pull from a grab-bag of tried-and-true techniques, easily mastered. I’ve learned that it’s far too easy –and dangerous– to focus our energies on straight-ahead instructions, easily reproduced. I like to experiment, make mistakes, discover.

F-stops, shutter speed, and the Rule of Thirds; strong verbs, sensory images, and character arcs. These are the basic elements of storytelling. I want a working knowledge in my fingertips. But I’d never trade away my wide-eyed sensibilities (my unique perspectives) for that muting thing we writers call “structure.”

For me, creativity comes of exploring a rugged archway–born of earthquakes and raging tides–and chance encounters with tourists who pass through its frame.  It’s inspired by pelicans that glide silently through the skies,  waves that churn and froth at the shoreline, and salty breezes that tousle my hair.

Writing flows when I break loose from those soul-sucking musts and shoulds, lace up my hiking shoes, and plant both feet in the scene. It’s then, when I finally lose myself in the moment, that I come home to my story.

Posted in: beach, Gifts from the sea, hiking, Laguna Beach, liminal, liminal spaces, Orange County California, Photography, plein aire painting, writing Tagged: arch, laguna beach, plein aire painting, rocks, story, storytelling

Hiking in Drought-affected Orange County

December 15, 2015 by Melodye Shore

I’m hiking these days with my friend Karin, who just so happens to be one of the most knowledgeable field guides around. I’d like someday to conquer even the most challenging trails in her book, 50 Hikes in Orange County. But given the lingering heat (not to mention a bum ankle), we began with a gentle walk along Dana Point Beach, and then ventured inland.

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According to a docent, dolphins and whales are playing in this cove far longer than usual, thanks to warmer waters along the Pacific Coast.

Given our quiet (albeit insatiably curious) dispositions, we gladly trade Orange County’s glitzy ambiance for Mother Nature’s subtle grandeur.

There are rules, of course, posted at the trailheads for our protection and hers.

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Cautions, too, but everything worth doing carries risks.

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On the fire road that extends from Arch Beach Heights to Top of the World, Laguna Beach.

Dust swirls around our ankles. A hawk soars overhead, scouring the parched landscape for prey. We walk side-by-side mostly, discussing everything and nothing. Could [presidential candidate] say anything more outrageous? Oh, hey! How’s that writing project coming along?

Beep! Beep! A roadrunner streaks across the Stagecoach Trail, and then stops to pose for this paparazzo.

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At its peak water levels, Karin tells me, this 12-acre, spring-fed lake is teeming with aquatic life, and surrounded by indigenous plants. Wildlife used to frequent this area, and it’s a popular spot for hikers and bikers.

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Barbara’s Lake at capacity. Photo credit: Karin Klein (50 Hikes in Orange County).

Barbara’s Lake is officially recognized as the only natural, year-round lake in Orange County, but status doesn’t inoculate anything (or anyone) against the harsh effects of this drought.

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The cracked silt of an emptied lake.

Songbirds chirp from the highest branches of graceful willows, just beyond the lake bed. Given the ease of our friendship (and the occasional, effortful climb), our conversation has long since drifted into silence. “Look!” we gesture, in wide-eyed wonderment. “Listen!” we say, without breathing a single word.

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From this otherwise meager landscape, a patch of prickly pear cactus calls attention to itself. The fruit is edible, I know, and its root system helps prevent soil erosion. But human and beast, beware! Opuntia are known for hitchhiking on the flanks of passersby, and then propagating themselves, willy-nilly, across the desert floor.

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When we stumble upon a pretty flower bouquet, Karin laments that she’s forgotten her hand scythe. Color me confused. “Every plant has a story,” Karin says, and when she explains, I’m wishing I’d thought to bring a pen and notepad.

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Literary references to Artichoke Thistle precede Christ’s birth by several centuries. This cultivated form was ‘perfected’ in Medieval monastery gardens. However! Aesthetically pleasing as they might’ve been considered back then, California long ago yanked the welcome mat on these Mediterranean expats. Invasive as any marauding army, their seedlings grow quickly into sprawling, impenetrable flower patches with aggressive root systems that choke all native species in their path.

Tumbleweeds are immigrants, too, Karin tells me, imported from Russia on ships loaded with grain, and then ferried ashore by rats.

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Untethered from their root systems, full-grown Tumbleweeds behave like giant sticker balls: bouncing across open fields and roadways; scattering seeds to the hot, dry winds; and attaching themselves like Velcro to any obstacles in their path. My father dodged them all the time on Route 66, back in the days when we traveled from one Pentecostal revival meeting to another.

More genteel than thistle and tumbleweeds, these drought-tolerant beauties are California natives. And I suspect you’d agree: Monkey Flowers are much prettier in their natural habitat than they appear on the laminated wildflower brochures, even when they’re a few days beyond their prime.

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Some blossoms within the Monkey Flower genus are reminiscent of a monkey’s smiling face—or so the reference books say. I couldn’t see the resemblance, but maybe you will.

Native Americans gave these yellow gourds their common name: “Coyote Melon.” Karin wasn’t all that certain as to why that might be; but as I later learned, it’s not because coyotes eat them (they typically don’t), but because the plant itself is a “trickster.” As enticing as the melons might initially seem, the fleshy part is extremely bitter, and a single bite will give you horrible diarrhea for days! Even so, the oily seeds are edible and nutritious, and the emptied gourds make beautiful maracas. Most often, the gourds are left to wither and rot, and their seeds are carried away by winds and foraging critters.

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If every plant tells a story (and the topography reveals its source), these first forays into the Orange County wilderness helped illustrate for me the inextricable link between ourselves and Mother Nature….the pulse of of our interdependent existence, writ large. For instance. Our garden was filled with the lingering fresh scent of rain yesterday morning—a late-night downpour, swallowed overnight by thirsty plants. Too little, I thought, to fill Barbara’s Lake, but certainly enough to nourish the wildlife on the neighboring hillside, and to help my drought-tolerant garden take root and grow. My field of vision, and my circle of concern, grows larger with every trail encounter.

Here’s hoping El Niño brings lots of rainstorms our way in the coming months. Meantime, I’ll double down on my ankle rehabilitation exercises, so that I can more easily navigate tide pools and rocky hillsides. Oh, the stories and pictures we’ll bring back from our hikes, come wildflower season next spring!

Posted in: 50 Hikes in Orange County, hiking, Nature, Orange County California, Photography, writing Tagged: Barbara's Lake, cholla, coyote gourd, coyote melon, hiking, Karin Klein, Laguna Coast Regional Park, monkey flower, orange county, photography, prickly pear, roadrunner, scotch thistle, tumbleweed

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