might be baloney

After a good night of sleep and an oatmeal breakfast, we gradually pushed ourselves out of the condo. We had some exploring to do, plus we needed to continue our altitude acclimation.

It is a short drive from the condo up into Mammoth Mountain. In winter, this area is known for skiing, snowboarding, and cross-country skiing. Over the years, the Mammoth Mountain folks have done a nice job shifting the summer use of this terrain for assorted skill levels related to mountain biking.

On this Tuesday morning, the parking lots for Mammoth Mountain were packed. It took a while to find a parking spot.

 As we walked toward the visitor’s center to purchase our lift tickets, I was amazed at the license plates. Not everyone was from California. A lot of those vehicles were outfitted with bike racks and mountings for other recreational gear.

The grounds were a flurry of activity. All sorts of play stops designed  for children to burn energy.

We purchased our Senior Scenic Ride tickets, and worked our way through a short maze to the entry point for the gondola ride. The friendly and helpful staff were able to even get me loaded properly on the gondola.

Mammoth Mountain tops out a 11,053 feet. Without question, the gradual ride up the mountain provides many scenic views. 

As we are pulled up, we can see the construction site for a new zip line attraction. That zip line promises to barrel brave souls down the mountain side at speeds upward of 60 mph. I will not be one of those brave souls who tries out that zip line someday.

At the top, we find our way off the gondola, and start exploring a bit. The terrain up here is very sparse. Our footsteps plant down on rock, crushed stone. No matter where I look, I have the desire to take a million pictures. I note the well worn trail where mountain bikers have passed by us during our exploration.

A nice visitor’s center, complete with a restaurant is a part of this mountain top experience. The visitor’s center provides information about a number of topics related to this mountain. 

It is interesting on this mid-morning excursion that puffy cumulus clouds are present and building. In fact, when we reach the base of the mountain, we overhear an employee talking about a reported  lightning strike not far from us.

With Mammoth Mountain behind us, we start the walk back to the car. Horseshoe Lake is our next stop. No matter where I scan my vision the landscape continues to capture my approval. This terrain is such a contrast to our Blue Ridge Mountains back in Virginia. 

The ride over to Horseshoe Lake is short.  I guess in some ways, Horseshoe Lake has become one of the poster children for what  unseen carbon dioxide gas (CO2) can do to a lake basin and the forest of trees surrounding it. 

In the 1980s, scientist began to research why this landscape was drastically changing. Eventually, they concluded that CO2 was seeping through the complicated layers of substructure. 

A key piece of this research came from sampling tree roots and soil from dying trees—they contained significant levels of CO2.  The researchers at the United States Geological Survey have an excellent Fact Sheet (#172-96) about this discovery.

A little dubious about whether to start our hike because of the cloud cover. The hues of the gray sky had become darker, but we decided to head out.

We were not very far out on the trail when the first drops of rain started to fall. In our minds, we thought this was a light, short lived shower—we were wrong.

The rain started to come down harder. Luckily, a few yards ahead of us was an abandoned restroom building. We scampered for the front side that had a roof line. That pitched out roof gave us a bit of cover.

This was not a torrential rain, but its flow was enough to soak and chill a person. About the time Abby thought out loud, “I hope it doesn’t start to hail,” it started to hail. White frozen pellets started pinging down. We noted that the air temperature had also dropped.

As we continued to wait out this stubborn rain shower, we saw a couple of soaked lady hikers trying to make their way back to the parking lot. We called to them to join us under the roof line, and they did.

These two friends one from California and the other from Louisiana didn’t linger with us long. The chill of the rain and the drop in temperature had taken them by surprise. They waited for a perceived let up in the rain and started out for their car again.

We continued to hang around. Occasionally, pellets of hail would mix in with the rain. And at one point, thunder rumbled behind one of the distant ridges. That rumble broke the quietness from the falling rain.

Somehow, we determined that the rain had let up, so we decided to hustle out toward the parking lot. About the time we left our cover, some more hail pellets christened our departure.

Although we were wet, we made it to the car, and Abby started the drive back into town. I’m sure all things dry at Horseshoe Lake appreciate that steady shower of rain. Even a drop of rain would be embraced in this thirsty wilderness.

We were heading to the Mammoth Brewing Company for a midday beer. It was interesting to note that the further we inched toward town the gray, coolness of the rain was quickly replaced with sunshine and warmer air.

At a prime corner location on Lake Mary Road, Mammoth Brewing Company has carved out a nice niche with their quality beers, food, and hospitality. They are a local and region favorite. Unique among craft brewers, they also serve wine.

After quenching our thirst, we head back to the condo. 

Later in the afternoon, our plan is to take part of the town loop out to Sherwin’s Vista.

To take the hike out to Sherwin’s Vista, we don’t have to drive. We can pickup the planned asphalt trail just a few steps away from the condo.

It’s not long before we have entered the main part of the trail that includes a tunnel under Old Mammoth Road. At times parallel to the trail, a crystal clear brook babbles from time to time. There are plenty of cutouts where access is easy for fishing. 

This afternoon, we encounter some cross country runners who travel to Mammoth Lakes to train because of the altitude. Clearly, doughnuts and twinkies are not a part of the training menu for these lean runners.

The sky in places has some clouds building, but I don’t think we’re in for a second rain shower. Since our arrival, we have noticed a fairly steady trek of helicopters hugging the side of the mountains. We learn these choppers are ferrying supplies into firefighters in remote locations.

For me, the beauty of the Sherwin’s Vista trail is its openness. I can see for miles in any direction. Plus, even in the dryness of this parched landscape, some plants display very pretty blooms. 

Gradually, we make it to the end, and we circle around and start the walk back again. As we get closer to town, we make a quick stop at the recently renovated Mammoth Creek Park to checkout the children’s playground. This playground is a National Demonstration Site “for meeting best practices in design and program offerings.”

We’ve had a good day from Mammoth Mountain to Sherwin’s Vista. At some point tomorrow, Art arrives, and fishing for trout will become a focus.

Every November as the world turns us closer to Thanksgiving Day, my bones feel a pull. That is a pull south to the northern sections of North Carolina’s Outer Banks.

For years, our family spent Thanksgiving around the small town of Duck.  With the passing of my father-in-law in the spring of 2013, that annual excursion came to an end. But, the memories of those stays in Duck still pull at me.

Driving down US 460, the small farming communities fade into fall sunlight. But, large fields of bright cotton standout in that landscape. Peanut farmers and their wares  are abundant on either side of the highway, and cars still fill the parking lot at the always popular Virginia Dinner.

Once across the North Carolina state line, the land continues to flatten out. In many instances yards and some shrubs have faded to hues of khaki after being frost bitten. But, the sturdy green of collards growing in some small gardens are brushed in along the way.

That quiet pull to the Outer Banks is also tied to surf fishing. I always fished, from early in the morning to late in the afternoon. I fished a lot, didn’t catch much, but helped to keep the local bait shop in business for another year.

Even as I’m writing this, my mind is pulling me down to the beach to set up my fishing spot. I can smell the salt air, hear the smack of waves against the wet sand, and see the sun slowly rising up out of the Atlantic.

I cherished that quiet time. My daydreams might have been broken by the sound of shore birds scouring the ocean’s surface for a wayward fish. I marveled at the effortless glide of the pelicans. Secretly, I wondered what it would be like to drift away with them.

That Thanksgiving after 9/11, I wondered about those families who had lost a loved one in that senseless act of terrorism. I can only attempt to imagine the challenges they experienced.

This year, I wonder about those in our country who were impacted by two mean hurricanes, and now the tragedy of the massive wildfires in California. Recovery for some Americans in these extremely challenging circumstances might not even be possible.

Along with those natural disasters, I can’t forget the senseless acts of violence created with firearms. Again, more lives are altered throughout America.

I don’t know about you, but there are times that I want to scream out at God, “What are you doing up there? Aren’t you tired of all of this suffering? Help us!!”

Maybe God thinks we are beyond help. After all, God has a long history of helping people out. Then after a period of time these people become distracted. They lose their fear of God and move away from his teachings. Sadly, at times, I haven’t been immune from that path either.

In Gavin Edwards’ book The Tao of Bill Murray, he shares a story about Murray taking his sons out to Roosevelt Island. This tiny island is in New York City’s East River. Murray wants to get a sneak preview of a monument being constructed that focuses on Franklin Roosevelt’s Four Freedoms:  freedom of speech, freedom of worship, freedom from want, and freedom from fear.

It’s the last one—freedom of fear that consumes a lot of my thinking. I’m not free from freedom of fear. It too is in my bones. I worry that our country can’t or won’t figure things out, that our differences will consume us, and  then it will be too late.

On November 19, I heard a few minutes of an interview with author David Grann whose latest book is The White Darkness. This story is about Henry Worsley who in 2015 set out to walk across Antarctica alone. Worsley, a retired British Army officer served in the Special Air Service (SAS), an elite unit of commandos.

This unit of commandos had a quiet little motto from a James Elroy Flecker poem. The words were “always a little further.” For Worsley in his trek, those words were painted on his sled. David Grann states from his book that Worsley used those words like a mantra:  “Always a little further… a little further.”

Those words to Worsley meant keep pushing, pushing a bit further. Those words were in Worsley’s bones, and I think I need them in my bones too.

I can’t let my bones be discouraged by fear, and in truth nor can any of us.

Those people impacted by hurricanes, wildfires, and senseless shootings need some hope in their bones, not more fear.

The only way to make that happen is for all of us to remember:  

“Always a little further.”

This Thanksgiving, may I be thankful for all that I have been blessed with in my life. 

But may the good Lord give me the resolve to always push a “little further” for those whose bones are filled with fear and loss of hope

Week one was behind us.

This morning, Abby, Betsy, and I were getting ready for our drive to Mammoth Lakes. Art was heading out to work. He was planning to drive up on Wednesday afternoon.

As the day progressed, the house was scheduled for a break. Parker, Brandi, and Tyrell would be flying back to Hawaii. Ashley was returning to San Francisco where she would regroup, and then drive to Bend, Oregon for some vacation fun with friends.

A bit after 9, we were organized. We started packing up the car. We said our goodbyes, and started the drive out to California 14 north. A quick stop was made to fill up with gas, and then we were back out on the 14 looking to eventually make the connections to US 395.

In this dry, oven baked, arid land, we quickly left behind Palmdale and Lancaster. On both sides of the highway parched land was the view. Wind turbines, solar panels, a new vineyard, mothballed jet planes were familiar sights along this route.

The highway  was two lanes, then four lanes, then back to two as we continued to work north. This would be our third trip to Mammoth Lakes. Today, Abby had some new stops worked into the plan.

The width of the valley is catching my attention more this time. It is flat and wide, and the valley rolls to the foundation of the hills and mountains to the left and right. We drive for miles without passing through small outposts, and once in a while a singular, speck of a residence will be out in the distance. Talk about being lonely and desolate.

And yet, the terrain changes in subtle and not so subtle ways. Take for example our first stop for the day— Fossil Falls.

As we approach Fossil Falls, the rock formations and the color of these rocks change. Most writers note immediately two unexpected features about Fossil Falls—there are no fossils and no rushing water.

Fossils Falls was created by a lava flow, thus the black, charcoal color of the preserved rocks that set it off. Of course, this all happened a long, long time ago, and over that time water and wind sculpted the rocks and chasm where the falls once flowed.

The Owens River and a lake once fed the parcel of land. Also, on this same plot, unless your eyes are so taken by the lava formations, you can’t miss staring at Red Hill. This is a cinder cone volcano.

Fossil Falls is worth the stop. Everywhere I look, I’m amazed at this creation. 

Back in the car, we rumble over the washboard dirt road surface out to the main service road.

It didn’t take long before we were back on 395. Abby pushed us north heading toward Lone Pine. 

Coming into Lone Pine, the speed limit drops, and traffic crawls like a tortoise out in the desert. We park at the Museum of Western Film History. Take a short walk to the McDonalds ( Sadly, no In-N-Out in Lone Pine ) for a bit of nourishment, and then back to the museum for a tour.

Abby and Art are members of the museum, so their guests are free. Admission fee appears to be a minimum of a $5.00 donation. 

If you were like me, when I was growing up, I enjoyed watching cowboy movies and television shows with a western theme.  Many of those productions were filmed just outside of Lone Pine in the Alabama Hills. Those hills proved to be a good home for all things related to filming cowboys in their encounters with bad guys, cattle, pretty girls, and depending upon the cowboy star singing about those experiences.

The Museum of Western Film History is packed with everything related to these productions. If you had a favorite actor or actress who appeared in these movies and shows, chances are you will find a reference to these people.

A car especially rigged for filming on location in that rugged terrain is one of the first pieces to catch my eyes as we entered the museum.  Outfits, saddles, movie posters, guns, and assorted video clips really capture the people who molded and shaped the film and television production.

It is amazing to see all of the marketing and product endorsements for the cowboy star, Hopalong Cassidy. Someone was really sharp in developing his celebrity power.

The museum curator even has a small film clip of Herb Jeffries, an African American, who created a cowboy character named the Bronze Buckaroo for African American children. Jeffries was also an acclaimed singer in Duke Ellington’s band.

The rich history of Lone Pine and the Alabama Hills contributions to this business is nicely portrayed in a short film documentary. The piece skillfully captures the key players and their stories, and it is very impressive what transpired here over many, many years.

I had a tough time departing the museum as the displays really held my attention while taking me back to my childhood too.

Back in the car, we drove toward Bishop, and a stop that I had always wanted to make at the Erick Schat’s Bakery. Since 1938, the bakery has been famous for its Sheepherder Bread. We made a mid-Monday afternoon stop, and the place was packed. People were eating fresh made sandwiches, and everywhere I looked baked goods were prevalent and being purchased in abundance.

We helped the local economy with the items we bought. And once we arrived in Mammoth Lakes we enjoyed these baked treats throughout the week.

With our purchases properly loaded into the car, we kept pushing toward Mammoth Lakes. Pretty soon the familiar turn off appeared, and within a few minutes, Abby had us at the condo.

Once we were unloaded, we opted to shake off being in the car most of the day by taking a long walk through parts of Mammoth Lakes.

Moving these old bones around felt good, and like always the scenery was good too. When we made it back to the condo, Abby and Betsy started tossing out ideas for Tuesday. From what I heard, I sensed Tuesday was going to be busy.

Sunday was to be a transition day. A couple of departures were to take place.

Around mid-morning, Rachel and her family were being picked up by Garth’s sister to spend a few days in the San Diego area before flying back to Texas. Later in the afternoon, Elizabeth would be heading to LAX to catch her redeye back to Raleigh.

Early mornings in Agua Dulce are tranquil and cool even in August. Occasionally, I hear a rooster crow, a turkey gobbling, crows cawing, birds chirping, crickets, and a horse or cow greeting the day. But, the sounds of Los Angeles are miles away.

After breakfast, Betsy, Elizabeth, and I took a walk to the entrance of Vasquez Rocks. A Los Angeles County Park made famous by its spectacular rock formations. Those formations also caught the eyes of film and commercial production companies as the park has been a set and backdrop for countless films and commercials.

As we were walking down the partially shaded long service road from Abby and Art’s house, we kept hearing an unrecognizable sound. At one point, I stopped and looked up at the canopy of the eucalyptus trees we were under. As I scanned the foliage, I noted that the trees were in bloom, and that sound was coming from bees swarming the blooms.

By the time we made it back to the house, Garth’s sister had arrived, so it was time for goodbyes. We have always enjoyed Rachel and Garth and their children. They are a really special young family who have put down good community roots back home in McKinney, Texas. 

Somehow, it appeared they were able to get packed up and on their way without a bit of forgetfulness.  Goodbyes are tough on grandparents, especially grandmothers. Even though Abby shed a few of those traditional Cloud family tears—she handled the departure well. 

The morning pushed by pretty quick, and then we had a nice surprise. Ashley came around taking orders for lunch from the California famous In-N-Out Burger. 

Started in California in 1948, this chain has an established following in its home state, up and down the Pacific Coast, and parts of the Southwest. 

Packaging of their food has also been noted with Bible verses being printed on wrappers. On our wrappers today was printed the following from Revelation Chapter 3, verse 20:

 “Look! I’m standing at the door and knocking. If any hear my voice and open the door, I will come in to be with them, and will have dinner with them, and they will have dinner with me.”

Bible verse or not, one thing is very clear—the food is good, and the chain continues to be successful.

Later in the afternoon, time arrived for Elizabeth to head to LAX.  I rode along as Art drove her to the Flyaway in Van Nuys. The Flyaway is a bus service that transports passengers to the always busy airport. Clearly, the advantage for Flyaway customers is leaving the driving to LAX to someone else.

It was good to have Elizabeth with us for a few days. She and Ashley are close in age, and they have a good bond as cousins. I know they enjoyed catching up with each other.

After Elizabeth purchased the bus ticket, we said goodbye, and she settled in for a short wait.

On the drive back to Agua Dulce, I noted the tanned, brown landscape. The drought, relentless summer heat, and lack of rain fall just zaps the life out of anything green. I marvel at the plants that because of deep roots or location near almost dry stream beds somehow manage to hang on and survive. The chance of late fall and winter rains are months away. Hopefully, this rugged parched terrain can make it without the wrong incendiary spark.

Once back at the house, the shade and pleasant breeze was a good setting for playing bocce. Art, Abby, Tyrell, Betsy, and I played a few games of this simple yard game.

 A bit later, Art grilled salmon and some fresh summer corn, and we had a delicious meal sitting  around the pool.

As the sunlight faded away, we started looking for stars to appear. Slowly, the blue sky transitioned to darker shades, and in this high desert landscape with limited light pollution, the stars started to clearly pop out of the sky with a few planets leading the way.

Just happened that Sunday, August 12 was the night for the Perseids’ meteor shower. But none of us were willing to stay up for this viewing, although one  stray shooting star did streak through the sky.

Slowly, we cleaned up outside and headed in the house.

As I have found on each day of our California trip, I’m ready for bedtime when it arrives.

Let’s get the confessions out early. 

I have been a fan of the music Brian Wilson created with and without the Beach Boys for a long, long, long time.

My first record purchase was a Beach Boys’ single, a Christmas time song, “The Little Saint Nick.”

After all Brian has lived through, I still find it amazing that he outlived his younger brothers, Dennis and Carl.

And perhaps even more puzzling to me is why Brian, at 76, is still out on the concert trail.

I can’t imagine he needs the income. Maybe touring is an escape for him as there is a wife and five adopted children at home.

But the more I think about my questions, I’m driven back to one constant in his life. No matter how good or bad living was for Brian Wilson, there was always his best friend the music—it never deserted him.

On Friday, November 2, when he shuffles out on stage at the Dominion Arts Center, (maybe with assistance back problems), Brian will be surrounded by a band of musicians who love him and his music. He’ll also have in tow his long time friend, one of the original Beach Boys, Al Jardine, and another former Beach Boy from a couple of years in the 70s, Blondie Chaplin.

Brian and the band will run through a set list of well-known songs. Maybe if the audience is lucky, one or two less known nuggets will be performed.  There might be a break before they launch into the landmark album Pet Sounds, and somehow, the band will find the energy for a few more songs during the required encore.

Remarkably, Al Jardine’s voice still sounds as young as he did in 1965 singing “Help Me Rhonda”. Al’s son, Matt Jardine is in the band, and Matt hits all of the high notes in the background and on some leads that Brian’s voice can no longer handle. (Although on this tour, it appears that Rob Bonfiglio is pinch hitting for Matt. Rob is Brian’s son-in-law.)

Blondie Chaplin an accomplished guitarist, and sometime back up player for the Rolling Stones is part of Brian’s show for his playful energy. You can count on Blondie singing the lead vocal just like he did back in 1972 on “Sail On Sailor” one of Brian’s chestnuts from the Holland album. And when the focus of the show does shift to Blondie, he’ll charge up the hall with his stinging guitar licks.

By 1965, Brian had given up touring to stay at home to write and produce songs for the Beach Boys to record when they came off the road. Once Brian fully jumped the Beach Boys’s ship, he worked to establish himself as a solo artist.

 Ironically, in 2000, his release of Live at the Roxy Theatre was the pivot point for restarting his career. Some members of the Los Angeles based band The Wondermints became permanent members of Brian’s touring band. 

Fans who attended Brian’s concerts were in for a treat with these gifted musicians. They could perform live note for note even the most challenging of Brian’s arrangements. Here we are 18 years later, and the core of Brian’s band is still anchored by founding members of the Wondermints.

Over the last several years, I’ve had the privilege of seeing Brian in concert three times. And while I wasn’t disappointed by those performances,  I’m wondering how much longer can he continue to tour? Some of the dates on this current tour were rescheduled as Brian needed immediate back surgery late this past spring.

Toward the end of July and into August, Brian returned to the road, and performed a handful of shows in the states and overseas. At the Victorious Festival in Portsmouth, England on August 25, someone backstage shot video during the playing of “God Only Knows”. This performance captures the audience affectionately singing the entire song along with Brian and the band. 

The Chicago based horn player, Paul Von Mertens, who serves as the musical director for Brian’s band, reports that: “God Only Knows” always gets a big reaction. Once in Glasgow, the audience kept singing after the band finished the song. That was very moving.”

Maybe that video clip explains why Brian Wilson still tours. People continue to love him and the music he created.

Without question Brian has endured a lot of emotional turmoil. 

Perhaps in trying to figure it all out, his stability is linked to a line of lyric from the Beach Boys’ song “Add Some Music To Your Day”:

“Music when your alone is like a companion for your lonely soul.”

Clearly, music has been the companion that has sustained Brian Wilson’s soul for a long, long, long time.

If you never attended a Brian Wilson concert— go. 

I’d wager your soul needs it.

I was up early on Saturday morning. In a few hours, we would be packing up cars, rechecking the cottages for personal items, and driving back to Agua Dulce.

At the dining room table, I was checking e-mail on my computer, when another early riser, Ashley, joined me. She was firing up her computer to add the finishing touches to her project for the graduate class she was taking. With a piece of cold pizza from last night’s dinner, Ashley sat down and went right to work.

It was a while before the rest of the house guests started to stir. But when they did, starting the initial phases of packing was first on the list. Progress was made, and a small group of us started the walk to Jack’s Bistro and Famous Bagels for our second visit. The restaurant was busy, but the hostess found us a table near the entrance.  This allowed us to get a good luck at the large, black and white historical photos properly displayed along the walls.

We placed our orders, and it wasn’t long before the food arrived. Conversation subsided as our breakfast choices captured our attention.

After breakfast, the priority was clearing our belongings from the cottages and packing cars.

Abby took the lead in making sure we had our assignments, and it wasn’t long before the staggered departures were taking place.

Parker, Brandi, and Tyrell were heading to Ventura to visit with some of Parker’s friends. Rachel, Garth, and their children said goodbye to the beach and were soon on the road. Ashley and Elizabeth were thinking about making a couple of stops in Carpinteria before heading out.  And the old folks, Abby, Art, Betsy, and me would be the last to leave insuring that all was well with the cottages for their respective owners.

Pretty soon, Carpinteria was in the rear view mirror, and we were out on the highway winding our way past the Pacific coast landscape. 

Traffic was moving easily, and before we knew it, we were in Santa Clarita. 

We had an important stop at the kennel to pick up Lucy before arriving back into Agua Dulce.

Lucy was happy to be picked up as it sounded like all of the dogs in the kennel were barking their goodbyes to her.

It was good to arrive back at Abby and Art’s home. We unloaded, and prepped for a quiet afternoon by their backyard pool.

At the pool, Charlotte and Grayson were enjoying the pool time with their Dad supervising.

While watching all of this splashing and jumping, my old brain reflected back to a bumper sticker I had seen on the back of an SUV at an intersection in Santa Clarita, it said:  “Have A God Day.”

In world that seems to be in unrelentless turmoil every day, I wonder what that bumper sticker might mean to a person anymore? 

What is a “God Day”? 

Is it a day when all goes well for me?

 Is it a day when the world appears to be in less chaos with itself? 

Why is it that we are seemingly more uncivil with ourselves in our daily living?

Is it because we don’t have many “God Days” in our lives?

Our daughter, Elizabeth, has a keen eye. On Wednesday, I had talked with her about rising early on Thursday morning and walking around Carpinteria taking photographs.

When I checked on her around 6:20, she passed on my invitation. So, I organized myself and armed with my Canon Power Shot, a hand me down from our son-in-law, Doug, I left the house for the walk.

I was particularly interested in tracking down a weather beaten table and chairs outside of a local business that caught our eyes on Wednesday morning’s jog. As I passed by the merchants on Linden Avenue some were closed, but those offering coffee and food were getting ready to open.

At the top of Linden Avenue and Carpinteria Way, there is a narrow median that divides the street. At the beginning of this median is a flagpole that proudly displays the United States and California State flags. This morning there is no breeze so both flags are still catching some shut eye.

I make a left on Carpinteria Way. Seems like the table and chairs I want to see were further down the street, so I keep walking.

At some point, I note a gentleman walking toward me on the sidewalk.  He sees me coming and for whatever reason, this gentleman decides to remove himself from the sidewalk and walk along the street.

As we are just about to pass each other, I note he has homeless traits. He is overdressed in clothes and is carrying other items with him. And, as we pass each other, I can detect the need for a shower just like on days when I have depleted my deodorant from working in the yard on a hot, humid summer day.

Eventually, I cross over Carpinteria. I start to recall a number of the places we saw yesterday.  Just outside a custom framing shop, I see the table and chairs I’ve been looking to photograph.

The table and its six chairs are scrunched in among some plants and a tree. I have a sermon assignment to write for World Communion Sunday on October 7. Recently, tables have become of interest to me. I’m sure this one could tell some stories.

I snap a couple of photos and start walking again. I decide to walk back down Linden Avenue checking out the store fronts and some tall palm trees on a side street with a significant tilt at their tops.

In front of the parking lot for the grocery store, Smart and Final, is a common sitting area/bus stop. I note as I’m walking by, the gentleman I perceive as being homeless is sitting there by himself.

I stop at the corner to take a picture of the tilting palm trees. Then, I’m thinking to myself, I’m going to walk back up the street on the other side, and if the gentleman is still sitting there I’m going to buy him something to eat from the bakery I had passed earlier.

Sure enough, he is still sitting there.

So, I head to Reynaldo’s Bakery. It is loaded with all kinds of Mexican pastries. I’m overwhelmed by the selection, but opt to purchase a couple of Mexican sweet cakes.

I pay and walk across the street and approach the gentleman.

And I immediately make a mistake as begin my communication with him. I start with “good morning,” and then I ask him, “how is he doing?” He immediately responds, “I’m homeless.”

At that point, I think I said, “I know,” followed by “I brought you something to eat.”

He looks suspiciously at the Mexican sweet cake, and then I learn my second mistake. This homeless gentleman asks for coffee, and I explain I don’t have any.

At this point, I’m too disappointed in myself to think about getting some coffee, and I walk off— thinking to myself you just failed trying to be hospitable to a homeless person, you have a lot to learn about being a so called Christian.

Muttering to myself, I walked back toward the house, thinking about my mistakes in trying to be helpful.

At the house, I said nothing about my encounter, and I latched on to the group that was walking to the Lucky Llama for breakfast.

California Day 4 Carpinteria:  Train Ride by Bill Pike 

After breakfast, everyone was heading toward the beach. When I arrived, the junior lifeguard trainees were back for another grueling day, and the dead Sea Lion had been removed.

Abby and Art’s three year old grandson, Grayson, had been intrigued all week by the Amtrak and occasional freight trains that would rumble through Carpinteria. So at 11:20 this morning, his parents, Rachel and Garth, had purchased tickets for the family including Grayson’s older sister, Charlotte, to take the train up to Santa Barbara and back.

Even though the Amtrak California Surfliner was running a bit late, Grayson contained himself until the train arrived. When the train showed up, the family boarded, and I’m told Grayson enjoyed every click on the track up and back.

After they boarded the train, I walked back down to the beach. And, it wasn’t long before, our daughter, Elizabeth, and Abby and Art’s daughter, Ashley, had developed a plan for their fathers to take them to lunch at the Rincon Brewery.

Located on Carpinteria Way, this craft brewer was named after the famous Rincon Point a long time favorite spot for surfers to catch Pacific waves.  Our food and the beer were good.

From lunch, we regrouped, some returned to the beach, and Abby, Art, Betsy, and I worked our way to the local farmers market and the grocery store. Hamburgers were going to be grilled out, and we were picking up fruit and vegetables to support the meal.

A portion of Linden Avenue was blocked off. This shutdown allowed farmers and an assortment of vendors to set up on both sides of the street. Farmers markets have always interested me, no matter their size or location. I admire the diligence of our farmers.

This market was really special. Maybe the quality of the produce can be attributed to the strong farmer presence in the region, but table after table had top-notch displays of grapes, avocados, peaches, plums, strawberries, tomatoes, peppers, leafy vegetables, oranges, melons, and even full stalks of celery.

Once we finished at the farmers market, Abby made a quick stop in the Smart and Final grocery store for a few more cookout items. Then, we reorganized all of our purchases and made sure they made it to the cookout house.

At some point, I took a shower, and then you guessed it— before making the walk over for dinner, another gathering took place at Island Brewery.

California Day 4 Carpinteria No Fog=Sunset by Bill Pike

At the end of a perfect sun drenched California day, there is nothing like a grilled hamburger with all the trimmings. The dinner came together well, and even better, no gray fog had blocked the sun.

After dinner, we all walked down to the beach. Turns out others in Carpinteria had the same idea.

For the first time since we had arrived on Tuesday, I could clearly see the outlines of the Channel Islands offshore in the Pacific and the oil wells in front of them were also more pronounced.

The sun was starting its departure. That, “Lucky old sun” was not going to gracefully disappear into the ocean with its mysterious green flash. No, on this evening, the sun would slip down behind the Santa Ynez Mountains.

There was a flurry of activity with our families. Photos being snapped, and group shots were organized. And as all of this was taking place, the sun continued to slowly, and silently slink down.

Inch by inch, the sun started to hide behind the mountains. Then in the second of an eye blink— the sun was spun away by the earth, gone until tomorrow morning’s sunrise.

Somehow, I persuaded our youngest daughter, Elizabeth, to go for a morning run today. Might have been just before 7 that we started out for a slow jog. Carpinteria was waking up. The sun had already crept over the mountain tops, and some commuters were heading out just like us.

We went straight up Walnut, made a left on Carpinteria Way, and followed this down to the Best Western. There we turned around, came back up Carpinteria, and made a right on Linden Avenue into the main part of town.

Housing, store fronts, murals on the sides of buildings, and a variety of landscape plantings greeted us on our route.

Once back at the house, we regrouped for breakfast.

We decided to alter our trek through the neighborhood as we headed for the Lucky Llama Coffee House. Espresso, tea, and a variety of breakfast bowls were their specialties. A friendly staff who knew how to handle first time tourists helped us with our choices. A compact building, every inch of space had been thoughtfully put to use including an outside deck. When our orders arrived, we enjoyed every sip and bite.

In the vacant lot beside the Lucky Llama is the Wardholme Torrey Pine. This Torrey pine is thought to be the largest in the world. Stopping to take in the tree and snapping a photograph is worth the effort. The tree dates back to 1888, and it clearly is a tribute to the tree’s toughness— surviving in a California environment that is notorious for making life challenging at times.

After breakfast, we transitioned for the walk to the beach. A week-long camp for junior lifeguards was taking place, and we took note of the flurry of activity around these school aged boys and girls.

But, we had a much larger surprise awaiting us this morning near the entrance of the beachfront. It was hard to miss the deceased California sea lion that the Pacific had washed ashore during the night.

Lifeguards had used bright orange traffic cones to four corner the massive sea lion from all us gawkers. The animal’s girth was enormous, and just like my deodorant sometimes fails me, our once active friend’s decomposing aroma wasn’t too pleasant.

It appeared that a shark had taken a huge bite out from the back side of the sea lion’s neck.

Other than that, our group enjoyed a long day at the beach. It was broken up with walks to the inlet, dips in the ocean, breaks back at the houses, and a walk back to The Spot for another lunch sampling.

As the afternoon progressed, we slowly made our ways back to the houses for cleaning ourselves up for dinner. Sometimes that clean up meant removing tar from our feet. Four oil rigs sit offshore perched in front of the Channel Islands. I’m assuming those rigs have something to do with our feet unknowingly attracting the tar as we walked through the surf.

Anyway, the locals have a remedy for removal— baby oil and a paper towel. This combination immediately removes the tar.

After cleaning up, some of us found our way back to the Island Brewery Company. An easy walk between our two rental houses, we once again enjoy their beer and the hospitality of their open air tasting room.

Abby has ordered Chinese take out for dinner tonight, and this spread did not disappoint.

A planned walk down to the beach for sunset didn’t happen. Late in the afternoon, a gray fog had pushed in from the Pacific. Saying goodbye to the sun for another fine day of work wasn’t going to happen.

With my body still linked to an internal East Coast time zone, I was ready for sleep. So, I started my walk back to our other house on Walnut.

Daylight came early on Tuesday morning. I know I slept, but I knew we needed to be organized and ready for our next departure. So, I started getting out of bed.

Abby and Art’s daughter, Rachel, her husband, Garth, and their two children, Charlotte and Grayson, were already up. They had flown in a week ago from McKinney, Texas. Abby and Art’s son, Parker, his friend, Brandy, and her son, Tyrell, had flown in from Hawaii, and they were stirring too.

After some chitchat and a great bowl of oatmeal, Abby started getting us ready for the ride up to Carpinteria. Just shy of a two-hour ride, Carpinteria is a beach town 12 miles south of Santa Barbara.  Abby had worked her connections and found two houses within easy walking distance to the beach that could accommodate all 13 of us.

Gradually, we were organized. Vehicles were stuffed with the necessary junk for our four nights in Carpinteria. The youngsters were heading out first. Betsy and I were riding with Abby and Art, and we had one important job to do—drop Lucy, the irresistible family dog off at the kennel.

With Lucy dropped off, Art drove to California State Highway 126 and the trek north started. Near Ventura, the 126 funnels into the famous U.S. Highway the 101 along the Pacific coast.

Farming towns like Piru and Fillmore fill both sides of the highway with active and inactive fruit tree farms and an assortment of other crop plantings. Weather worn fruit stands pop up every few miles with most featuring oranges and some strawberries.

As we close in on Ventura the Pacific Ocean comes into view on the left side of the car, and the hills and mountains cast a back drop on the right. Art, a native Californian, points out to us in those time and weather scarred hills where last winter’s wildfires changed the landscape and sometimes lives.

California has always intrigued me, but I never have thought I was carved out to live here. For me, I narrow the worrisome part of California down to the three S’s: shake, smoke, and slide.

On this morning, the Pacific is sparkling shades of gray, blue, and green with the white foam of cresting waves adding to that palette. The Ventura County Fair is taking place, and at one exit our movement along the 101 is slowed.

While in the back of my mind, I’m worried about being away from my work for two weeks, I have been quietly excited about visiting Carpinteria all summer.

Pretty soon, Abby is telling Art the exit to take, and Carpinteria is right in front of us.  We drive into the downtown section and work our way to the two houses. Slowly, we unload items into their proper locations, and then it was  time to think about some lunch.

From one of the houses, we took an easy walk to The Spot. This tiny location reminded of a food truck that had been permanently locked into a prime corner location for locals and beachcombers. We placed our order, paid in cash the only transaction accepted, and waited for our number to be called. No pun intended, but our food “hit the spot”.

After lunch, our youngest daughter, Elizabeth had arrived. She had taken a bus from LAX. We picked her up at a local shopping center.

At some point during the afternoon, we gradually found our way to the beach. Carpinteria bills its self as the safest beach in the world. I have no way of confirming that for you, but carved out like a half-moon between two inlets, it seems to be in a perfect location. Loaded with plenty of sand and a level walk to the ocean lots of people were enjoying its charms this afternoon.

Boogie boarders, paddle boarders, kayakers, surfers, body surfers, and swimmers were in the water, water that for the Pacific was warmer than usual.

After the beach, a few of us made the quick walk to the Island Brewing Company. Nestled in a parcel of connected commercial buildings, this local favorite has a sun drenched, open air tasting room, and twelve beers on tap.

We enjoyed the hospitality, the beer sampling, and the conversation.

Soon, we were heading back to the house near the community garden and the train stop for the Amtrak Pacific Surfliner. Abby had warned us that the track ran right through Carpinteria. The blasts from the train’s horn and the rumbling of its steel wheels had already greeted us earlier in the afternoon.

Abby had organized a dinner of pork carnitas with all of the trimmings. Those packed tortillas were delicious.

It had been a long day for all of us, but a good first day.

My east coast clock sleep time was calling me. I was ready to call it a day, and walk back to the other house.