July 27, 2007
When we began our day on Wednesday, we started with a walk through a myrtle wood forest near the sea. The path led us toward the ocean, and ended by huge dunes covered with sea grass. We saw a pair of golden eagles leading their single offspring in flying lessons; it always looks like a splendid thing to do, floating out above the land and sea so effortlessly. Going southward on #101, half of the drive took us under tunnels of grand trees, and the rest of the time, we hung on cliffs that had the entire breadth of the ocean to our right. The beaches are sweeping and mostly uninhabited with rock formations standing out in the water; there is an overwhelming beauty in the visual vastness. When the sounds of the wind and crashing waves are added, the experience is one that I wish to remember exactly so that I can recall it on hot and dusty days. Along the roadside, the little roads that went into the mountains were named, and at one point, “Shingle House Lane” was followed by “Slaughter House Lane” and then “Promise Lane”. I thought how differently the implications of residence might be as revealed by those titles. Mostly the roads were named in a more prosaic fashion, eg., “Paul’s Lane” or “McKinley Lane”, etc.
[SOUNDS OF SEAGULLS
] We spent the night in Brookings, OR. in a motel that named itself the closest to the ocean of any along the entire coast. It was indeed that, and we had a third floor room with a little balcony. There was a boy standing on the second level of the adjacent motel building throwing out food for the sea gulls. We could see the gulls lined up on the roof peering over and when the boy came out, they immediately flew down below to position themselves for the handouts. There was much screaming and crying by the birds, and several of them flew up to catch the tidbit in the air immediately after it had been flung out. The next morning we walked the beach on the packed sand near the water’s edge, again to the sound of wind and waves and seeing where sky and ocean met.
Driving south, we soon crossed into California where the border was filled with billboards and small and dreary looking tourist businesses. One sign called out, “First Chance Liquors! 70% Discount for Seniors or By the Case!” In spite of the attraction of that, we didn’t come across any golden agers tippling and stumbling about – of course, it was early in the morning.
This day was dedicated to seeing the Redwood Forests. We were directed up a narrow and winding road prohibited to campers and trucks, and here, on the mountainside, we saw a parade of gigantic old growth trees with their huge trunks going straight up 200 feet and more. Large ferns were on the forest floor, and when we stopped the car to walk a path, the silence was complete. Not even song birds or rustling leaves made sounds, and our own breathing became loud. Later, we went to the Lady Bird Johnson Redwood Grove (dedicated in 1968) just 2 1/2 miles off Highway 101. We followed a very steep and narrow road leading to a mountain top. This place was heavy with fog and moving white mists that shrouded the tree tops. The silence and the other worldness containing the presence of life that began over 1000 years ago to stand so large and still made us walk and breathe as quietly as possible. It is an experience that one would wish for everyone because it is so grand.