Arch Formations Along Limantour Beach

I’ve gotten very good at reaching for what I want. I had to learn that. Through religious school formation – that we should never ask for more (we should be grateful for what we have) I started out dreaming pretty small. This concept that we should not ask for what we want and be grateful for whatever we have keeps our sights in perpetual blinders. A few things along the way taught me to change that thinking and widen my view. My big sister Wendy taught by example that sometimes breaking the rules broke you out of a life of limitations. She lives a half world away still traveling through that big adventure. My best friends Sue in sixth grade and then Lisa in college, taught me to be a little outrageous and seek a more perverted life – the wayward adventure-seeking kind. They remind me of that gift on a regular basis, directing me to coursework in Thoughts Become Things and SWA that make desires the foundation of a life well lived. In the midst of my biggest life shift, I read Gail Sheehy’s classic, Passages, to better understand that change could be empowering. My husband, Greg, evidenced in every beautiful spot we’ve visited his wish that “we should buy a place” here – somewhere in a beautiful surround of nature. And now we live out his dream, for real. Simply because he wanted it. He dared to wish for it, asked for it out loud, on a regular basis. The morning of this hike, I just showed up, no ticket, no reservation, just faith in getting to see the cave on the front cover of a newspaper I’d seen (and $60 cash in hand for the tour fee). I am grateful now to live from a place that walks into the adventure, knowing that the passage will provide. The entry will be found, the path discovered, and the journey,…exquisite.

The Secret Cave of Limantour Beach

Driving back to the bay area last Sunday I was transfixed by a fisheye photograph on the cover of The Point Reyes Light. The radial composition framed a fisheye view of a cave with a guide standing dwarfed in the tiny passageway at the base with a gaping hole of sky above. I read the date. It was scheduled in three days. I checked my calendar and went online to the Point Reyes National Seashore Association to buy a ticket but was foiled as they were listed: SOLD OUT. At the bottom I clicked the waitlist and added my name. The next day I texted a friend who might be able to sub for my class and made plans to go, even though I didn’t have a ticket. I drove back up to Inverness before the sunrise Wednesday morning, packed my camera gear, stopped at Perry’s Deli in Inverness Park and shoved lunch and desserts from the Bovine Bakery into my backpack, layered up as the guide instructions stated, and met the group in the Limantour Beach parking lot with a smile and sixty dollars cash. They wrote a nametag and let me join the group. I popped a few ibuprofen in my mouth to offset any pain from my reconstructed leg, and set off down the beach, south toward the cliffs. The trip had been planned and cancelled twice before due to winter storms, but this third time was the charm. Blue sky and warm sun had us peeling layers. Miles later, around a few jagged rock formations and tidepools, Frank Binney lead us to the promised secret cave. For most of the walk, Frank carried a 6-foot ladder strapped to his back for us to get down the tricky parts, explaining the geology of arch and cave formation and collapse, guiding us with humor, kindness, and expertise. I credit newspapers, compelling photography, and a willingness to just show up with one of the most perfect days of my life. Most of what we explored would be underwater and impassible with ocean surge. A trek to the secret caves made possible by the negative tide and persistence to be a part of the adventure.

 

 

 

Rainbow In The Distance Across Elephant Mountain

On the drive up to South Beach to see the gale force winds, we pass Chicken Ranch Beach along Tomales Bay. A local favorite, it is sheltered and calm with the staunch backs of the Point Reyes Peninsula Mountains in a protective huddle from south to north. As we pass its edge as sun is setting I call to Greg to pull over. I want to see the bounced light on Elephant Mountain, the landmark on the eastern side of the bay, its cloud formations often plumped pink from the rays of the setting sun directly across the horizon. It’s been raining on and off all day. We stop at the perfect moment as a fat band of rainbow rises along the right flank of the terra folds of elephant. It is clear in the far right of the photo, the elegant curlicue of overflow from the sandbar directing the eye up and to the right in soft yellow and lavender hues of inter-rain clouds parting to light the distance of fading day. The rainbow colors up in its fat glow for a few brief minutes as we are gifted with sweet timing, always a good omen for a gale force day.

High Point On South Beach

I wake on a gray Sunday in February with the glow of Greg’s cellphone illuminating his smiling face beside me. In true geekdom he inquires, “There are hurricane winds on South Beach today, 60 mph. Do you wanna go and check it out?” I laugh and take his phone and study the fascinating weather app he’s recently downloaded. The spinning weather cups above a table of wind speeds at various hours of the day note that wind speeds die down a bit later in the day. I negotiate, “How about we drive up around 4pm when the winds are 40 mph?” He replies, “Gale force,… that would be good too.” Spoken like the good student studying for his Skipper’s license. Gale force it is. We arrive a little too late to see the slow color of clouds at sunset, catching the last blast of color on the horizon. The waves are wild, crashing and foaming in multiple directions at once. As I look down at my viewfinder one swiftly streams up and over my knee-high water boots soundly soaking my wool socks. I slosh up to higher ground and get a wonderful series of waves colliding at my feet from both directions. I photograph the waves while he photographs me getting soaked. It has been an amazing California winter with 13 major storms so far. Typically we get an average of 5 “atmospheric river” storms. Hydrologist Michael Dettinger and UC Berkeley professor Lynn Ingram explain that, “atmospheric rivers are long streams of water vapor that form at about one mile up in the atmosphere. They are only 250 miles across but extend for thousands of miles—sometimes across an entire ocean basin such as the Pacific. These conveyor belts of vapor carry as much water as 10 to 15 Mississippi Rivers from the tropics and across the middle latitudes.” Standing on a small curved ridge above roiling waves I am in awe of the majesty and magnitude of water on and around this planet. After reading about 10-times the Mississippi River in moisture I am astounded and waiting for more.

Before and After the Rains

Busy week, interrupted by life and death. Setting up my teaching day Wednesday morning I notice a text from my son marked 4:55 am East Coast time. His wife has gone into labor. Number 3 is coming today. Morning classes only and I am excited for the news as we stack stools just before noon. It finally comes in a text photo at 12:49pm. Finnegan James Barry splayed in natal pose, arms and legs bent at the joints, wrinkled feet bent backwards, fists tight, head turned, eyes closed, face at rest, a yellow stocking cap covering his tiny head. I text my love and congratulations and anxiously watch for more posts on Facebook. Later that night I get a call from my daughter, my stepdad died late Tuesday evening in his sleep at 88. He lived a happy life, laughter and mischief right up to his last year, running off from the nursing home for one last adventure. I’m filled with the oddest range of emotions. Thrilled at the news of a new baby. Saddened by Ted’s death. Terrified that I am now the elder generation. Angry and ashamed that my generation may be the first in quite a while that does not leave the world a better place for our children and grandchildren. On my drive home Thursday after work, along the Dumbarton Bridge ramp, I turn off onto the vista road. Rainclouds from the day are dispersing, winds break up cloud banks, pushing them into clumps of moody, lingering golems. How is it that Boomers enjoyed all the benefits of the hard work of unions and social programs (pension plans, stock options, Social Security) and now they retire to gated communities refusing to contribute to the same community taxes that forwarded them through education? “Citizen Who” suddenly passes off the burden of taxes from which they benefitted to the next generation. How do you enjoy that privilege, then look back at our working age children, all of their children who come behind and say, not my problem? I stand and weep at bayside in the dramatic light of walls and whiffs of clouds.

 Abbotts Beach Tidal Flow

We make our way, splashing in rain boots along flooded trails, to the ocean. Fierce winds rapidly rearrange dramatic patterns in a palette of stratocumulus clouds painted across the sky. Nikki and I can barely hear each other as we shout into the wind traipsing across dunes that sandblast our skin. Often we turn and walk backwards into the wind for protection, angling toward the sea. Lagoon flow roils to the sea as waves crash just beyond the shore in rows of turmoil. The roar is spectacular, the churning serves up rows of seafoam that blows into bits scudding across the sand. The squalls are literally breathtaking. I scan from cliff to cliff framing open ocean to the north and south, reminded of the dichotomy of shores that have been traversed in our family this week. My stepfather, Theodore Wiegand Hummel, after 88 years died in his sleep this past Tuesday. Nearly 12 hours later, Finnegan James Barry, came into the world,… great grandfather and great grandson flowing upon the cosmic tides, traveling in opposite directions. I stand on this shore, arms wide to the energy of life flowing in both directions at once, awash in appreciation for the cycles of life and death, alive with emotions of grief and joy swirling on the tides of every life.

January Sky @ Alameda Harbor

I step off the boat at 5am onto concrete dock under a sequined set of stars strung together across the black abyss of sea and sky, draped like a necklace across a sliver moon setting. Buildings in reflection upon glassy surface, calm and quiet at high tide, are upside-down and backwards – a perfection of illusion. The lesson for our mind practice this morning is “above all else I want to see.” I look at the reflection and laugh. Is this the way I actually perceive the world? Upside-down and backwards? I laugh harder when my mind replies,…possibly, but such a lovely illusion. There is a part of me that does not want to give it up. Narcissus affected by the sight of beauty was lost to the world. I am transfixed, transformed by this beauty. Can we be forgiven if our affection is for the beauty of Nature? The sliver of moon setting into darkness before dawn. This view stays with me through my workday. When I get home I park my car in front of the Harbormaster and dash to  waterfront to catch the last blush of sunset. Clouds just pinking up for my perfect timing,…three pano-scans later and the clouds are fading to gray. That sliver of moon rising into evening as I stand at the stern, staring, once again transfixed by beauty. Dawn and dusk, reverse dances, reflections in rotation. We have these narrow windows of beauty every day, but in their abundance, they are wondrously accessible,… if we only notice. This opportunity to look at our reflection and see the beauty beyond the surface – upside-down and backwards. Is it possible that, in fact, the world above the shimmering water is the one that is upside-down and backwards?

My Beautiful Oakland

I moved to Oakland in 1998 after five years of grad school in Washington state, and a lifetime in Rochester, New York. When I was 12, I remember walking down the street in a clear sunny day in September, a bit chilly, stunning cumulus clouds in brilliant billows of white across a cerulean sky, thinking, “I wish I could live somewhere that the temps are in the 60’s most days of the year with blue skies and breathtaking clouds.” Northern California was the place that I’d envisioned almost five decades ago. Evidence to the powers of envisioning what you want. My first apartment was on Harrison Street in Oakland and I biked or jogged over weekly to make the 3-mile circuit of Lake Merritt, sit and watch birds at the first American National Wildlife Sanctuary at the eastern tip of the estuary, and find my way in adult life, West Coast style. One of my favorite spots is the Lake Chalet restaurant at the renovated Boathouse. The public dock is part of the restaurant and the unique Gondola Servizio, a transplant from Venice, with authentic gondolas, gondola captains and gift store. After meeting Greg, we solidified our romance with many a gondola ride on Lake Merritt.This place holds fond memories in many directions. My daughter was married along the adjacent stretch of park at the Cameron Stanford House.  One of my favorite past-times is coming to this dock and simply appreciating its immense beauty, in full splendor as the sun sets and pinks up the clouds, reflected in calm waters. This is my visual metaphor for past and present beauty swirling in the present moment,… savored.

Santa Barbara Sunset

Often I get overwhelmed by details and scheduling for holiday vacations; balancing school finals, sending out holiday cards, coordinating travel dates, booking lodging, coordinating family schedules. This year I asked Greg to coordinate all of the cards and newsletter mailings for his family, coordinate travel dates with family in two cities, and to book our stay in Santa Barbara over New Years weekend. I get anxious when I start micro-managing him when he doesn’t do things in my the timetable. This year I just let go and was willing to be lead by his process. The results were radiant. We scheduled two days in Coalinga and met his mom and sister at Harris Ranch for an elegant dinner the first evening. His mom invited us to binge-watch the series This Is Us and we enjoyed it immensely (caution: do nothing but watch, as this series jumps around in time through 3 generations of plot). The finale was New Years in Santa Barbara at an AirBnB with a spectacular view of the Pacific just 10 minutes from the grandchildren. Letting go put the holiday enjoyment back in my life,… with benefits.

Framing The Sacred Along Drakes Estero Trail

We sleep in late the day after Christmas, lounging in bed until afternoon, reading and talking about our shared beliefs. I read aloud Lesson 49 from the ACIM work and we share our experiences of feeling in the presence of the sacred. We have long ago fallen away from original paths in Catholic and Lutheran catechism. For both of us religion and church buildings pale in comparison with our deep emotional connections to Nature and experiences of being on the land or at sea. We lie in bed and do a breathing meditation on when and where we hear the voice of god. Both of us are easily distracted by demands of work and compulsions to clean up and do chores around the house. Both find inner peace in memories of being outdoors: the crunch of winter snow beneath childhood boots in upstate New York, bird paradise with playmates in Texas woodlots. We decide to shift our priority to doing the fun stuff first each day – to go hiking to listen for that sacred voice. We hear it clearly and often on Drakes Estero trailhead. Whisper of wind in winter trees. Slosh and suck of water and mud beneath our boots. Crisp seasonal chill on our cheeks. Echo of bird calls far off in the woods. The fragrant smell of pine, redwoods, and rain in the air. I love winter in California – it’s so green! I stop and take a panorama along the trail. I ask Greg to stop and look back. The arc of clouds curve above our heads against a sky in brilliant shades of blue. As I glance at my viewfinder, squinting in the sharp glint of sunset, I catch my breath at the beauty of this image and think truly, we stand at the left and right hand of god , in this paradise of our home at the National Seashore. My long shadow at left, and Greg standing on the path to the right, the living god of creation between us,…this path is our daily prayer.