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A Joyful Noise

orange county

First day of Autumn in SoCal, 2018

September 24, 2018 by Melodye Shore

At 6:54 p.m. on Saturday, summer officially gave way to autumn. Time for a road trip, I thought. So at sunrise on this first day of the season, I hopped in my car and went looking for signs of Fall.

Theoretically, the seasonal shifts should be obvious. But here in Orange County, California, the changes are more subtle. Daylight hours grow gradually shorter, but the temperatures climb into upper 70s through at least October.  Searing Santa Ana winds are far more common than rainfall.

Ice scrapers aren’t necessary in these parts. No umbrellas or woolen socks required. And still, you’ll find tell-tale signs of autumn almost everywhere–providing you know where and how to look. Pumpkin patches crop up everywhere, from abandoned lots to major intersections. Pumpkin spice lattes are a given. Knott’s Berry Farm transforms itself into Knott’s Scary Farm, and Disneyland hosts a frightfully fun Halloween party.  But if you’re like me, you’ll probably enjoy the less commercial aspects of the season…

I found this pot of gold in a stand of sycamore trees. Mother Nature might wear a less-expansive color palette than you see elsewhere, but she’s well aware of her environment and knows how to dress for the occasion.

If you’re a reader, you’ll find an ample supply of autumn-themed books from which to choose. Grab your sunglasses, slide into your flip-flops, and carry a handful of favorites to your lounge chair by the pool. (At my elbow right now: Fear, by Bob Woodward, and Reese Witherspoon’s Whiskey in a Teacup.)

If you’re an out-of-stater, you might be rolling your eyes about now.  Understood. If you’re not used to our mild, Mediterranean climate, you might need to adjust your views about how autumn “should” look and feel. But keep in mind that these images depict a singularly beautiful, blue-sky day in Fall, as viewed through the lens of a native Californian. The Golden State is different, and we own that.

The light slants low through our palm trees, now, casting longer (arguably more interesting) shadows.

Our gardens are vibrant, year-’round. Monarch butterflies, honeybees, and hummingbirds stay local, rather than migrating even further south. Given our temperate climate, who can blame them?

Here as elsewhere, apples are now ripe for the picking. Designer labels or no, these fruits are crisp, sweet and juicy, just like their rural counterparts. And homebaked apple pies…mmmm, always delicious!

Farther afield in my own sojourn, I encountered a fleur de l’agave. Faded by the summer sun, it clung to a rocky cliff above an emptied beach.

We might run the air conditioning until mid-November, but we’re a warm and friendly people. In my sojourns today, for instance, I came across this heart-tugging scene. A candy-corn kitty finally met his match, thanks to a local rescue organization. An auspicious beginning for autumn, don’t you think?

There’s something to be said for leaf peeping, flannel shirts, hot apple cider, and crackling fires, of course. But this…this is my version of paradise.

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Posted in: autumn, Bob Woodward, books, Fall, fall foliage, Fear, Orange County California, Reese Witherspoon, SoCal, Southern California, Whiskey In a Teacup, writing Tagged: apples, autumn, Bob Woodward, books, cat, fall, Fear, foliage, halloween, kitty, lantana, leaves, orange county, Reese Witherspoon, rescue animal, sage, SoCal, Southern California, Whiskey in a Teacup

#WordlessWednesday: A Pollinator’s Paradise

June 6, 2018 by Melodye Shore

pink puffball tree, Pink Melaleuca

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Posted in: #WordlessWednesday, Honey Myrtle, honeybees, Laguna Beach, Pink Melaleuca Tagged: bee, california, Honey Myrtle, honeybee, laguna beach, Melaleuca Nemophila, orange county, pink, Pink Melaleuca, pink puff, pollinator, puff ball tree

Wordless Wednesday: Fire in the Sky

October 11, 2017 by Melodye Shore

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Posted in: California Wildfires, Canyon Fire, Fire, Wildfires, Wordless Wednesday Tagged: Anaheim, Anaheim Hills Wildfire, California WIldfires, Canyon 2 Fire, orange county, wordless wednesday

Wordless Wednesday: Dudley the harbor seal, clowning around

November 30, 2016 by Melodye Shore

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Posted in: Goff Beach, goff cove, goff Island cove, Harbor Seals, humor, joy, Laguna Beach, seals, Wordless Wednesday Tagged: laguna beach, laughter, orange county, seal, wordless wednesday

Holding onto Hope, Keeping the Faith

October 18, 2016 by Melodye Shore

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.

Posted in: Faith, Freckles, Goff Beach, goff cove, goff Island cove, Harbor Seals, Hope, Laguna Beach, Orange County California, Treasure Island Tagged: beach, harbor seals, joy, laguna beach, orange county, seals, Treasure Island

Wordless Wednesday: Freckles and Family

October 12, 2016 by Melodye Shore

 

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Posted in: Freckles, Goff Beach, goff cove, goff Island cove, Harbor Seals, joy, Laguna Beach, Photography, Wordless Wednesday Tagged: beach, california, goff island cove, harbor seals, joy, laguna beach, orange county, seals, wordless wednesday

A special kind of magic

September 27, 2016 by Melodye Shore

I arrived at the beach at mid-tide, because that’s when the harbor seals typically hoist themselves on the rocks. Sometimes, I bring my friends. Sometimes I point them out to tourists. But today, at the mid-point of my friend’s chemotherapy treatments, I went alone.

I wanted to talk with the seals privately, as we’ve done in the past. I felt sure they’d pose for my camera, same as before. I’d send videos to my friend, because the sounds of the ocean are soothing. I’d send snapshots of the seals, as well, because they’re a healing balm for her.

But as luck would have it, “my” typically quiet cove was crawling with tourists. Locals, too, who probably skipped out on work to enjoy the sunny, hot weather. They scrambled over the rocks where the seals usually lounge. They splashed in the tide pools, took business calls at the water’s edge, and snapped endless selfies with squirming, screeching kids.

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I didn’t begrudge them the opportunity to visit this lovely hideaway. Of course not. I don’t expect everyone to approach this outdoor sanctuary with the same reverence that I do. But I confess to a bit of selfishness in wishing I were alone on the beach, for at least a little while.  Seemed to me, this was the only way the harbor seals would make their presence known.

“They don’t always hang out here,” said the tide pool docent, whom I’d never seen before, but with whom I’d shared a brief conversation about starfish and, well, seals. “They have the whole ocean at their disposal,” she said, “not just this one beach.”

“Yeah, I get that,” I said, “But I really think they’ll show up. They always seem to know….”

I watched the incoming waves for the next two hours, but they didn’t pop their heads up, much less come ashore.

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The tide began to surge again, and my parking meter was set to expire. I gathered my belongings, reluctantly so, and left my rocky perch. I was still clinging to the notion that the seals were out there in the surf, but that I’d somehow overlooked them.

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I scrambled across the hot sand, toting my belongings toward the staircase. Stopped. Pivoted. Listened to my intuition, and lifted my camera out of its bag.

I scanned the horizon one more time, index finger on the shutter button. Sure enough: In a peaceful cove, not visible to people scrambling over the rocks…in the water, far removed from the madding crowd…I spied a harbor seal floating past, just as happy as could be.

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He showed up for my friend and for me, I truly believe that. Another gift from the sea, carrying a special kind of magic.

Posted in: beach, california, Gifts from the sea, Goff Beach, goff cove, goff Island cove, Harbor Seals, magic, Nature, Orange County California, September Tagged: california, goff island cove, harbor seals, joy, orange county, seals, tourists

“Let yourself be great!!!”

September 21, 2016 by Melodye Shore

“These seals seem to know you,” said the movie producer who shared the beach with me this morning. I was snapping photos in the rocky cove; his crew was sprawled across the sandy shoreline, filming a promotional piece for Visit California.

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It’s true that the seals are comfortable with my presence. They talk to me, and vogue for the camera.

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So naturally, I’ve been posting lots of photos & videos lately. Because: seals. Who doesn’t love ’em?

But there’s also backstory to this, my most recent obsession.

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You see, my friend in New York loves seals. She’ll drive all the way to Maine, just to watch them play.

“Do you see seals on your morning walks?” she asked me one day.

“No, I don’t think I’ve ever seen them around here.”

She was really disappointed, because: seals. Who doesn’t love ’em?

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It didn’t seem all that likely at the time, but I promised her I’d take pictures–if I ever saw them here, that is.

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In a poignant twist of fate, I first saw these harbor seals on the morning of my friend’s cancer diagnosis. I’ve been taking seal videos and snapshots for her, ever since.

These harbor seals keep showing up–for my friend and me, and for anyone who finds delightful these gifts from the sea.

So there’s another other thing I haven’t yet mentioned. Trust me: It’s very much related.

My friend and I are working in tandem on some special projects for the Hillary Clinton campaign. It’s a coast-to-coast connection that makes us feel as if we’re doing something good in the world. And despite the miles between us, it’s brought us very close.  Illness or no, we are stronger together.

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Well… I didn’t know it when I visited the seals this morning, but my friend had sent a handwritten card to our candidate of choice. She tucked a short note inside, and addressed the envelope to Madam Secretary, Hillary Clinton. “Let yourself be great!!!” she said, and then she signed her name.

And so it was that while my friend was at the hospital this morning, hooked up to the IV line that delivered her third chemo treatment–and while I was in Goff Island Cove, circumventing the film crew and capturing these images–my friend from New York heard her cell phone ring.

Guess who was on the other end?

Yes, that’s right. Madam Secretary, Hillary Clinton.

If you know me, you know already that my eyes were swimming when my friend let me know how things went down. Hillary was gracious, she said, and so very encouraging: “Get well soon,” she’d said, with genuine warmth in her voice;  and after thanking my friend for the personalized card (and her volunteer efforts), Madam Secretary mentioned the four, smallish words that touched her so deeply.

“Let yourself be great!!”

A softball coach first shared those words of encouragement with my friend from New York. She was just eleven years old. But as so often happens with words that resonate, my friend never forgot that handful of words. And when the just-right moment presented itself, she passed them along.

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You never know where a moment’s kindness might eventually travel.

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You might be surprised about the reach of a few, carefully selected words of encouragement.

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Like these seals, they imbue a special kind of magic. When you least expect it, they find their way back to you,  carrying treasures of their own.

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Posted in: beach, Caviar Productions, Film crew, Gifts from the sea, Goff Beach, Harbor Seals, Hillary Clinton, joy, Laguna Beach, Nature, Orange County California, seals, volunteering Tagged: goff island cove, harbor seals, hillary clinton, joy, laguna beach, Madam Secretary, orange county, photography, seals, volunteering

A Conversation with Hillary Clinton in Orange County, California

May 28, 2016 by Melodye Shore

We must find a way to talk about politics, Hillary Clinton said in Orange County, California last Monday, without resorting to pettiness and put-downs—standing our ground when necessary, but rising together toward the common good.

Turns out, it’s impossible to keep separate my personal observations and political leanings, but I’ve done my best to share my experiences here in a respectful, inclusive way. I hope you’ll feel equally inspired to meet your preferred candidate in a local venue and to share your stories afterward.

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I carry a clipboard, entrance forms and my camera, wade into the long line at the UFCW Hall in Buena Park, and invite people to share their stories as we wait together for the Secret Service to usher us through the metal detectors.

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Here as elsewhere, Hillary draws a diverse crowd, representing (as Leela Daou so eloquently says), the “millions who were born here and millions who were born elsewhere and made the choice to become American citizens…millions of marginalized people of all ages, genders, ethnicities, abilities, sexual orientations, and religious affiliations who have fought and are still fighting tirelessly to be seen and have their voices heard equally.”

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People from all walks of life have come together for a larger purpose—longtime supporters standing shoulder-to-shoulder with first generation citizens, curious but as-yet-undecided voters, and people who will cast ballots for the very first time in this pivotal election.

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Who says politics can’t be fun?

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This little girl carries with pride her research project on Hillary Clinton, says she hopes to get it autographed.

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“My hat says it all,” this woman says. Same as Erica Jong, she’s impressed by Hillary’s longstanding support of her favorite causes: civil rights, children’s rights, and women’s rights.

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Music pulses through hidden speakers–upbeat tunes from Hillary’s official playlist–as the crowd filters into the Union Hall.

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“I’m going to play my Woman Card, says Jamie Lee Curtis to wild applause, before she delivers a fiery introduction.

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She’s the Most Admired Woman in the World, 20 times over, the first female to run for the highest leadership position in America. But she greets us warmly, quickly shifts the attention to us.

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She leans forward, shakes hands with everyone close and makes eye contact with people in the farthest reaches of the room.

See the blonde head, highlighted by the gold star? That’s me. Soon after that picture was taken by Campaign Staff, I’m nudged even closer to the podium by my thoughtful, ever-so-much taller new friends.

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Secret service rim the stage, rove through the crowd and guard the exits. But absent any teleprompters or talking heads, nothing else stands between the Presidential candidate and us.

I’m not one for taking selfies, but quick, look! A Secret Agent man’s lurking over my right shoulder!

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Hillary’s energy is palpable, electrifying.

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She has a quick wit and an easy laugh, as evidenced by…well, you’ll want to see for yourself. 🙂

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Here, a woman who’s not afraid to show the depth and breadth of her emotions, despite what you might’ve read elsewhere.

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In this intimate moment, Hillary was recalling for us her first visit to Ground Zero, less than a day after the 9/11 terrorist attacks in NYC. You could’ve heard a pin drop in that union hall as she spoke passionately about the need for a steady hand in similar circumstances.

She spoke in glowing terms about the first responders who worked 24-hour shifts, digging through rubble in a desperate hunt for survivors and then trailing their axes through ashes and soot at the end of  the day. In her eyes, you see remembered pain, the untold stories of everything she witnessed. But in the set of her shoulders, you also sense the steely resolve she used to forge ahead, and which she’ll call upon again, as she brings us all together on the road to a better future.

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Hillary shines in these intimate settings, specifically chosen over larger stadiums because they highlight the importance of listening over speaking.

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Presidential candidates, she says, should prove themselves willing and able to:

1) Make positive differences in the lives of all Americans.

2) Keep us safe.

3) Unify our country—its citizens and its elected leaders.

She paints her vision in vivid strokes, and then offers real-life examples that bring home to Orange County the global issues that affect each of us, far beyond the primary season.

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We come away from the event, more committed than ever to work for the ideals she stands for, and to help her take her rightful place in the Oval Office.

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Posted in: Buena Park, california, Erica Jong, Hillary Clinton, Leela Deau, Orange County California, Politics, Presidential Campaign 2016, UFCW Tagged: orange county, politics

KKK Rally in Anaheim: Where were the helpers?

March 4, 2016 by Melodye Shore

Caution: Graphic descriptions and images.

I participated in a counter-protest for a Ku Klux Klan rally at Pearson Park last weekend, just a few miles from The Happiest Place on Earth. I’d come to help eradicate racism at its roots, armed only with a camera and a hand-lettered protest sign.

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Inspired by Gandalf, the great wizard in Lord of the Rings.

Some reports said the KKK had scheduled their permitted march for 10:00 a.m. The Anaheim police, however, said the rally was scheduled for 1:30.

The counter-protest was equally confusing. Someone suggested we’d be gathering on the corner of Harbor and Sycamore at 9 a.m., but that area was already occupied by Jehovah’s Witnesses.  A nearby display table was blanketed with Watchtowers, free for the taking.

A stone’s throw away, a cluster of men slouched across metal benches, wooden crosses standing sentry as a street preacher read admonitions to them from his Bible. Under the pavilion, his wife spooned shredded meat into bowls; but when counter-protesters wandered into their encampment, she smiled but told them firmly that the food was “just for the men.”

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At long last, I spotted our group. Multi-ethnic and cross-generational, we  stood in a loose-knit circle around a picnic table, scrawling slogans on tag board as we shared condensed versions of our life stories. Olivia, the unofficial, one-woman welcome committee, wore a rainbow flag like a shawl. “I’ve done all the things,” she told us, “incarceration, rehab, you name it.” Now, however, she spends her off-hours tending to the needs of the homeless in the north Orange County area, and shielding the most vulnerable from harassment. “I show up for them,” she said, “because I want to make our community a safe haven for everyone.”

Martin scanned the park’s perimeter as he talked about the punk rock concerts he orchestrated, in order to feed and buy clothes for disadvantaged children in his neighborhood. “This is our home,” he said. “We’ve gotta look out for each other, you know?”

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I’d come to Anaheim that day to confront racism–to link arms with people like Martin and Olivia–good souls who’ve watched it slither through their neighborhoods, who see Donald Trump’s threats as very real, and who worry that their voices are being muted. Those were the words that I carried in my heart to Pearson Park, but they seemed too highbrow for our first meeting. So I told them instead that while I live at a distance, I want to join ranks with them against racism.

“There you go,” Olivia said, “Community means everybody.”

But as it turned out, “community” is a fractured concept when it comes to this kind of battle.  I witnessed an outpouring of generosity from unexpected quarters, but I also experienced deafening silence on the part of those whose microphones have the broadest reach. Violence, too, brought about by self-proclaimed peacekeepers. And as for the police officers–whose primary job is to remain vigilant in its protection of citizens, all of them equally–they didn’t show up at all, until it was almost too late.

As soon as the news broke about the planned KKK rally, I’d contacted every candidate for political office in California District 46 (Anaheim/Santa Ana), including Congresswoman Loretta Sanchez, who is currently running for U.S. Senate. In my emails, website contacts, and tweets, I linked the OC Weekly story that first brought the KKK rally to my attention and asked each candidate if they planned to speak or otherwise respond to community concerns.

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Who knows? Maybe every tweet, email and website message–theirs and mine–got lost in the ether. All I know for sure is that my queries went unanswered.

“I’m not surprised,” said the guy wearing dreads and an InLeague Press t-shirt. “There aren’t any cops here, either.”

Heads nodded. We’d noticed.

He floated a theory: Perhaps the conflicting timelines for the KKK rally were intentional. (See OC Weekly update, here). Maybe the police wanted to dissuade people from also participating in a commemorative march for Ernesto Canepa, an unarmed citizen who was gunned down by a Santa Ana policeman in early 2015. The accused officer was quietly absolved of any charges this past January, and no surprise, the community was angry.  “I mean, just think about it,” he said, before he wandered off to join another group.

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However sketchy the timeline, my best guess is that 75-100 counter-protesters had assembled in the park before lunchtime. The Jehovah’s Witnesses had long since scattered, but the street preacher was heading into overtime. If civic leaders and political candidates were in attendance, they were watching from the margins, blanketed by invisibility cloaks.

It was around 12:30 when the event organizers set up a portable mic. We stood in loose-knit clusters of presumed solidarity. A disembodied voice blasted a call-and-response very similar to this through the loudspeaker:

Any KKK members in our midst?

“No!” The counter-protesters answered.

Any white supremacists?

“Hell, no!”

Well good, because if you’re hiding among us, you’re a chickenshit.

I glanced at my friend Cathy in horror. “That was really, really bad,” I whispered, but when she tried to respond in kind, her voice was muffled by cheering.

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At some point, someone held a cardboard sign aloft and pivoted. I zoomed my lens in his direction. There it was: naked hatred, sketched with a Magic Marker:

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Benny Diaz (President of LULAC-OC) hurried to the microphone. Worry etched into his face, he invoked MLK’s memory and pleaded the case for nonviolent activism.  But by that point, the brewing conflict was stirred and frothed to the point where anger was boiling over.

The larger crowd drifted into smaller, more peaceful alliances: hungry, thirsty, and sweat-soaked; brimming with the optimism that’s born of shared causes, accompanied by an undertow of dread.

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Cathy and I staked out an empty picnic table and talked quietly among ourselves. Self-appointed vanguards kept watch. If you judged by appearances only, you’d be hard-pressed to tell malignant forces from good.

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The street preacher, finished by now with his stemwinder, wandered through the park with a mostly empty box of fundraising chocolates.

“The almond bars are gone, but I still have dark chocolate, crispy milk chocolate…”

I handed him $5.00 for two, and waved away the change.

Just then, a glossy black SUV rounded the corner at Harbor Blvd. As it crawled up Cypress, wary vigilance transformed itself into a kinetic frenzy, and dozens of counter-protesters flooded into the street, pounding on the windshield and obstructing its path. “Come into the park,” they taunted.

In a blur of black shirts, accessorized with KKK-related patches, members of the Klan erupted from the SUV.  When they tugged “White Lives Matter” placards and Confederate flags from the back, the counter-protesters pounced. If they had weapons, I didn’t see them, but someone used a flagpole as a spear.

The counter-protesters, on the other hand, wore no uniforms; nor did they share similar philosophies about peaceful protests. Some watched from a “safe” distance, tagboard signs overhead. Still others jumped right into the fray, pummeling the Klan, faces shielded by masks and bandanas.

While unsung heroes tried desperately to keep both the KKK and counter-protesters at bay, bystanders captured the moment with their cell phones.

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My hands were trembling, but I was there to bear witness. I kept walking toward the action, kept pressing the shutter button.

Anaheim police officers, however, didn’t make their presence known until a Confederate flag was ditched at the curb, the SUV had sped away, and a stabbing victim was writhing in a spreading pool of blood.

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While eyewitness accounts are typically unreliable (and wildly divergent), cameras don’t lie. “I have photographs,” I said to Sergeant Wyatt when the Anaheim police finally arrived on scene. He handed me his card and moved down the street, where wounded counter-protesters were being treated by paramedics and KKK members were being detained for questioning.

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Cypress Street was emptied, save for a handful of gawkers and a smattering of counter-protesters. As Cathy and I made our way back to the grassy park, I spied a baseball cap with blood inside the rim. I tucked it behind my protest sign, safe from prying eyes, and signaled to the cops who straddled the yellow line.

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“I found something that might be important,” I said when an officer sauntered over. He barely glanced at the cap, stifled a yawn. I couldn’t see behind his aviator glasses, but I felt certain that he was staring past me when I talked. When pressed, he jotted down my contact information and asked me a few questions.  He didn’t write anything down. He told me he had a good memory, though, and pointed to the personal camera on his chest. When he looked away, I snapped his picture.

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By that point, the elusive SUV was being searched on a side street, my camera battery was almost out of juice, and the untouched chocolate bars were melting into the bottom of my bag. I was heartsick, and more than ready to leave.

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Community activism has its place, but this had gone horribly awry. I wanted to watch the sunset with my husband, and to see “our” hummingbird tucked safely in her nest, iridescent feathers gleaming in the evening’s last light. I needed to find peace within my own garden.

Even so, I managed a wan smile for the grizzled old man in the leather vest and bandana headband–the counter-protester who shuffled past me in a daze, muttering to no one in particular, “It wasn’t supposed to happen this way.”

Posted in: Anaheim, california, counter-protesters, KKK Rally, Orange County California, Photography Tagged: Anaheim, can i get a witness, hummingbird, Ku Klux Klan, orange county, Pearson Park, photography
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