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The Badlands

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.

Happy New Year 2020

We meditated by the water’s edge, saying goodbye to 2019 and inviting goodness and light into the New Year.

We wrote our intentions in the sand with driftwood and allowed the incoming waves to wash them out to sea. 

Three close friends, basking in the sunshine and enjoying each other’s company.

Two small girls walked past, holding their young mother’s hands. They glanced back at us, watching our every move.

The littlest one caught my gaze. I smiled and then added a rose from my garden to the words I’d etched in the sand.

She grinned, grabbed a stick of her own, and lifted it overhead. An unspoken gesture of solidarity among kindreds.

When we left the beach a while later, she was writing her own story into the sand.

Singular events, brimming with joy and sprinkled with magic. This is what we live for. And if we’re lucky enough, we have friends and loved ones with whom to share them.

Happy New Year, everybody! Wishing you every goodness in the now, and every good thing on the horizon.

Rest in Poetry, Mary Oliver

There’s nothing spectacular about this photo, save for the memories it represents. I was meandering down the boardwalk, shrouded in ocean mist. My thoughts wandered, too, as is their wont on my morning walks. Suddenly this Torch Aloe appeared, cutting through the fog and setting ablaze a patch of lavender. The wonder of it all…high drama, whispered poetry.

I hope these unexpected encounters will always spark joy, and forever pique my curiosity. As Mary Oliver famously wrote,“When it’s over, I want to say: all my life I was a bride married to amazement.”

Holding onto Hope, Keeping the Faith

I went down to the beach again yesterday–after the tides receded, when the harbor seals typically sun themselves on the rocky shores of Goff Island Cove.  It was a hallmark day: the 7th and next-to-last chemo treatment for my friend on the East Coast.  Same as always, she was counting me to send pictures and videos, to help get her through the final weeks of that grueling regimen.

In the same way that I look to the skies for hummingbirds, she scans the ocean for seals.  They are her spirit animals, harbingers of comfort and hope. No way would I ever want to disappoint her! That’s why, over the course of her many treatments, I’ve observed very closely “our” seal family’s habits and habitat. I know, from watching them and observing the tides, when they’re most likely to appear. They’ve become very comfortable with my presence; I call some of them by name. They’ve always revealed themselves to me, even when they hide from others. But yesterday…even before I descended the wooden stairs that lead into to the cove, I sensed that they weren’t there.

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I blinked hard in the strong sunlight…didn’t see them on the rocks. I scanned the open water…no bobbing heads.Nature has her own, mysterious ways. She doesn’t operate on our timelines. I know and respect all of that. And still, I struggled against a rising panic. How could I explain to my friend that the seals hadn’t shown themselves–on a chemo day, of all days?

Tourists came and went, snapping selfies as they climbed all over the jagged rocks where the seals usually chill, calling out to each other in loud, jolting voices that would surely send the most habituated sea life into hiding.  I watched an elderly couple explore the cove, clinging tight to one another as they bent over the tide pools, whispering excitedly about sea anemone, hermit crabs and shells. They were Eastern European, I think, from the sounds of their broken English. When they approached the rocks where I stood, I introduced myself. We used gestures and simple sentences to communicate, as new friends do. Quietly, because we shared a reverence for that space. When I said something about the “seals,” their eyes lit up.  With huge smiles stretched across their sunburned faces, they pointed in unison to a distant rock formation, surrounded by water.

Here it is, a place they call Treasure Island.

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And there they were: Freckles and Friends, sprawled on the rocks in the afternoon sun. Beyond the reach of any human beings, and almost beyond the reach of my little bridge camera. Snoozing, as seals do, after they’ve eaten a large meal and nap time stretches in front of them, unimpeded by predators and ocean surges.

A young seal was nestled into a patch of surf grass, at the base of the rocks.

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The baby seal was wandering off by himself, as is his wont.

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The oldest male, Freckles, was flanked on all sides by friends, all of whom were camouflaged by the mounded rocks that shielded them from the glaring sun.

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Such a relief, to see them there, safe and sound…and, well, present. Such a pleasure, to send photos to my friend! Videos, too, like this one.

I’m reminded once again, of  the good that shows itself when we hold out hope in the face of doubt. This is what it means to “get by with a little help from our friends.” This is what it means to keep the faith.

A downside to drones

Can we talk about drones for a minute?

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Not FAA regulations and local laws, because those are debated elsewhere–more knowledgeably and objectively than I might. Let’s talk, instead, about the ways in which these sky cameras, built for fun, might negatively affect wildlife habitats and the places we’ve come to know as our private sanctuaries. Not a high-level discussion, but an up-close-and-personal, eyewitness view.

Imagine that you’re enjoying a morning walk on the beach, toes digging into sand, as gentle waves splash ashore.

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Now that the tourists have gone home, the beaches are nearly empty. But look! There’s a trio of seals to keep you company–further out to sea, sunning themselves on Goff Cove Island.

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They’ve come to know and trust you, because you approach them with a quiet reverence…

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…zooming in with your camera but never encroaching on their comfort zone.

They snooze while you’re scrambling over the rocks, investigating the tide pools and snapping photos–ever watchful, but never fearful. You’re buddies now, and they even talk to you.

“What do you see out there?” a newcomer asks.

You point, and then marvel together at their sleek beauty.

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A bull seal reveals itself, watches you watching him. The potential for danger is always near, for both of you. But instinct is a powerful thing. You know you are safe, and so does he.

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You pan your camera across the ocean, sun-kissed waves to sandy shore.  There is no curating to be done here. It’s their habitat, and you are the guest.

The seals doze, perk up now and again, no doubt attuned to sounds your human ears aren’t sensitive enough to hear.

And then, near the very end of your videotaping session, you hear a menacing whine.

The seals are on heightened alert, now.

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A strange beast crests the rocks…bobbing, whirring, careening back and forth in unpredictable patterns. Then it drops, dozens of feet, at high velocity.

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The herd panics. The bull seal gives a signal, and they dive into the water, all four of them, and vanish.

Maybe it’s a stretch to think that drones will eventually stake their claim on everything, within and beyond a human’s reach. Maybe it’s wrong to extrapolate, from my own experience, that we’re edging toward a world in which curiosity outstrips compassion, privacy goes by the wayside, and convenience trumps all. But there’s no doubt in my mind that we should set some ground rules while we can.

UPDATE: This encounter inspired me to take action–one voice of many, writing letters & making calls. In response to  community concerns, Laguna Beach passed into law an ordinance banning drones over city parks, near beaches, and over government buildings! As of 13 July, 2017, “Drone-flying is still allowed over private property and over the ocean, but harassment of marine wildlife will not be tolerated,” Laguna Beach Police Chief Farinella said.

On flipping the calendar page to September

The last vestiges of summer….how in the world did that happen?

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Change sneaks up on us, doesn’t it, unless we’re paying attention.

Seasons turn, the days blur past, the sun sinks into the sea and rises again the next morning.

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Tides roll in, the waves recede; seals clamber onto the rocks and then slip back into the water.

I’m standing again at the threshold–that liminal space between then and now–remembering anew:

Change is inevitable, but mindfulness is optional.

Art Challenge of the week: LOVE

Once upon a time, a consortium of artisans (poets, musicians, artists, and the like) tried to translate this complex emotion into words. But as someone wise once said, the language of love has many dialects.

In honor of Valentine’s Day, our Art Challenge theme o’ the week is (cue the harp music) LOVE. And lucky me, I get to host it.

Here, an opportunity to translate your own thoughts into images, using your favorite art form(s) and media. I enjoy photography, so I’ll be working with my camera. But Art Challenges are for all-comers. Painting, sewing, drawing, cooking…express your creativity any way you like, so long as you share your finished work in pictures.

Let your imagination run free! Picture yourself and your beloved, for instance, doing something that sparks your inner passions. (Hint: It doesn’t have to be romantic.)

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LOVE isn’t all chocolate and roses, although it could be. It can be sweet as these hummingbird hatchlings, in a cottony-soft nest…

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Or as absurd as this peacock, oblivious to its surroundings.

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LOVE can be dangerous at times, and prickly.

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Clingy or trusting? Reveal to us your vantage point, in literal or figurative ways.

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There are countless approaches you might take, when it comes to this theme o’ the week. No rules;  limitless boundaries. But may I offer you one suggestion? Leave no stone unturned in your quest for LOVE!

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One last thing: Be sure to link your project to the blog entry I post this Friday.

Note: This Art Challenge is not a contest, and you most certainly don’t need to be a pro to participate. This is art for its own sake, no judgment or restrictions. So c’mon, share the love.