Walk to the Beach

Across the street east of the RV park where we are staying is a strawberry field.  The seagulls actually believe this is their personal smorgasbord in spite of the "No Trespassing" signs posted along the fence.  The field looks like it is close to harvest time with red splotches of ripening berries abundant among the green leaves of plants set down in perfect rows.  The field is devoid of humans on this Sunday morning and the gulls are appreciative of that fact.  It seems as if it would hurt the overall production of the field, but someone has apparently calculated the loss and deems it acceptable.

We are on an adventure.  The park brochure claims it is a mere twenty minute walk to the beach and we are determined to give it our best effort.  After riding in the coach for a over a week to get here, the prospect of exercise is appealing.  We are armed with cameras, slathered with sunscreen and sporting hats as we set out on this journey.  Others have similar ambitions and we are passed by bikers, walkers, dogs and baby carriages.  Walking is easy because the trail is the width of a car lane and we are not sharing space with any of the passing cars on the adjacent highway along the first part of this trail.

The city has created a paved trail that turns to the west and leads past an estuary to where its waters ultimately flow into the ocean.  The city provides parking and those taking advantage of this spill out of cars and onto the trail to join the rest of us going in both directions.  Down in the basin of the estuary it is easy to see where water has flowed through recently gathering up leaves, roots and branches wrapping them around standing trees like scarves around their trunks.  I would not want to be down in this gully in the aftermath of a big rain storm and posted signs warn that this is indeed a wise impression on my part.  But birds and Monarch butterflies are oblivious to the same signs and both enjoy the haven the estuary provides.

We cross over a railroad track amazed to see people walking or riding bikes along the railroad bridge that crosses the estuary especially when a few minutes later an Amtrak train blows its whistle and crosses over the same bridge.  Ducks and dogs share the beach and reeds surrounding a small pond created by the estuary before it turns into a stream that flows across rounded rocks of the beach.

The surf is calm except for an occasional set of waves that patient surfers wait for like black seals floating in the water on their surf boards in wet suits.  Then rushing to catch a wave, the surfers ride it as long as they can toward the beach.

The beach here is unlike Bradenton, FL.  Round rocks in a multitude of sizes replace the sugar white sand at the edge of the waves.  In the distance we can see the Channel Islands.

Ice plants hold guard over the white sands of this beach and give us an opportunity to photograph their blooms in shades of yellow and violet much closer than we have been able to from the car.  They have almost a daisy appearance.

On the way back we find something that looks like an acorn with a star-like pattern in its cap.  We are not sure what it is, but the pattern is beautiful and reminds me of a silver dollar's pattern.  I never cease to be amazed with nature's creations.

Thus, we start our week of meetings enchanted by what California has offered up as its first act in the play of our lives this season.