Today we searched for reliable wi-fi, ending up in fron of the Point Arena library, so I could upload the following blog post: 

On Tuesday, we decided to “do the beach” as it was warm and there wasn’t a soul on the Manchester Park beach when we arrived.  Lizzie first walked north along the beach, then came back and walked about 20 minutes to the south toward the lighthouse in the distance.  She reported finding no sea shells but did find a bit of polished green glass. 

My beachcombing was a little more limited because my replaced knee does not like shifting sand, plus the tide was coming in and few exposed shells or large pebbles could be seen.  But I basked on the warm sand, and listened to the wildly crashing waves. 

We picnicked at the trailhead, then Lizzie returned to the beach while I had a 90 minute Healthcare Foundation conference call  three does walked past my car where I say quietly, a jack rabbit scampered by, then for about an hour, two weasels played in the nearby field:

Manchester, Mendocino County: Day 1

 

Rattlesnake Grass (Briza maxima L.) is sometimes known as Big quaking grass, and is now a common non-native grass species that can be found across many California grassland habitats.  It was introduced from Europe long ago, and was planted as an ornamental grass, but has long escaped into the wild where it is mostly found in coastal grasslands and coastal woodlands,  but also inland in many counties including Mendocino. It can form dense grass stands that displace other species, but typically is mixed with other grasses and forbs.   The common name is from its resemblance to rattlesnake rattles and it makes a "quaking" sound  when blown by the wind.  It is frequently used dry bouquets.  Today, we found it in our campground, the adjacent state park, and at the Elk beach park, where I photographed it with the hints of purple.  

We started out our first day in Manchester, heading east on Mountain View Road into Boonville,  traversing this windy narrow road through lovely forested areas.  In Boonville, where we stopped at the Mosswood Market (cafe and bakery) and bought a delicious, still warm loaf of sourdough bread.

We left Anderson Valley via Greenwood Road past Hendy Woods State Park, and on to Elk where we had planned to lunch at Queenies, but it was closed even though it usually open on Mondays in the pandemic.  There, we walked out toward the beach overlook.  The cliff side of the trail had some interesting insect holes:

The overlook has spectacular views of the rocks off the Elk coastline.

We returned to the trailer and made a lovely sandwich lunch with the fresh loaf of bread.  After a lazy afternoon, we walked along the beach trail from the campground and saw many beautiful wildflowers, as well as three buzzards interested in something in the distance.

Liz had walked the trail the day before, never seeing a soul.  Today, it was the same--we had the trail to ourselves.

Tonight as I write this, we have a grey squirrel in the pine tree overhanging our camper.  He is dropping cones on the top of the trailer, and now we hear his footsteps on the trailer roof as he comes to carry them away...

Pandemic Travel: Not!

 

Sixteen years ago, I took this aerial photograph in a flight from Little River airport, south to Point Arena then back north to Mendocino.  Since that time, much has happened.  And now there is a pandemic affecting our world, and confining many of us to our homes with limited ability to travel, except in our memories.  Usually, I travel with Liz throughout the year--to Hawaii, Costa Rica, Cruises through the Panama Canal or down the Eastern Canada/New England area during fall colors, as well as camping in Oregon, Washington, Idaho, Nevada, Utah, Colorado, and more. In 2020, the year started of well with a trip to New Zealand and Australia. 

Then the pandemic hit, just a few days after our return from the New Zealand trip, and by mid-March, Shelter-At-Home orders were enacted, then extended, then modified but still there, and now we await vaccinations.  Gone were spring camping in the desert and summer camping in National Parks, and fall trips up the coast.  Gone too were our brief trips to San Francisco or Disneyland or other nearby areas of California.  Like all Americans, my family just struggles to stay well or recover from Covid, and hope for few family and friend losses, and wishing the vaccines could be deployed faster for all.

Many of us have baked more bread than ever before in our lives (count me in that group as I have ordered my third 50-lb sack of bread flour), and resumed gardening with a vengeance (while fighting raiding bunnies and racoons in my case).  

The above Google Earth picture shows the place much as it is today.  A few more trees have been taken out and brush pushed back along the edges of the clearing than in this 2018 image as we address the new fire reality.  The greenhouse now has three new raised beds at waist height (yay!), and will soon be home to lettuces and other later winter vegetables.  All in all, life in a pandemic up here is much the same as before, just with interesting masks, and more careful behaviors with outside, socially distant small meals and catch-up conversations.  New tools are patio heaters, exterior hand wash stations, etc.  And of course, Zoom.  Zoom Family sessions, Zoom meetings, Zoom collaboration, Zooming, Zooming, Zooming...

I need new glasses.