Category Archives: ocean

From seals to snapdragons.

my garden, ocean, , , , , , , , , , ,

On Saturday I drove my out-of-town friend to the coast. We have several times made this trip when she is visiting her family for Thanksgiving. The weather was forecast to be sunny all day, which we received as a wonderful gift, though we are used to fog out there at any time of the year.

When we arrived it was truly a gorgeous day. No wind, and plenty of sunshine and blue skies. The long road to the parking lot next to the beach was closed to cars, with no explanatory signage. Maybe it was because of the king tides still happening, which make these already dangerous beaches even more so. But we were allowed to walk down, which just gave us more good exercise coming back, so that was okay.

Only about two dozen harbor seals were lying by the mouth of the Russian River. But throngs of gulls were coming and going above us, and then making a racket as they swam in huge flotillas of white specks on the river, the whole scene sparkling.

Suddenly, the fog arrived! Unexpected, but not surprising.
That’s how it goes on the North Coast.

After watching the seals and gulls for a while longer, Mother S. and I began our long, slower this time, walk back up to the car, and our long drive home again. We were well satisfied.

Moving on to this morning… When I was adding water to the fountain I heard a woodpecker up in the redwood tree in the neighbor’s yard behind mine. I rarely do hear those birds around here so it was a pleasant encounter, though I couldn’t get my eyes on him.

I did see a hummingbird checking out my new abutilon that is in a pot; I wonder if that is a flower that actually offers any drink to the hummers? Seems like they would have to fly upside down while drinking…

Today I cooked up the first batch of greens from the planting by the driveway. It’s convenient having them growing there, because I notice them at least several days a week when I get in and out of the car. These I picked Saturday morning, and stuck them in the fridge to wait a couple of days. Yum! The flowers are on either the Chinese broccoli or the kalettes; I got them mixed up. But they taste good so they went into the pot, too.

When Pathfinder was here he was looking at my olive trees that are growing in pots. One of them he gave me fifteen years ago, and the other I bought in a little pot at the grocery store a couple of years later. I also got them mixed up, because after years of careful pruning, they have the same shape, which they didn’t at first.

Pathfinder asked me what type of olive I had bought for myself, and I said it started with an “A.” That would be an Arbequina, he told me. And he knew that he had given me a Manzanillo; then he pointed out the different shapes of the olives that are right now on the trees. He knows the Manzanillo, which is this one with pointier fruits:

Which means that the Arbequina is this one:

I never noticed the difference before! They are on opposite sides of the path from each other, so I don’t see them closely at the same time. That’s my only excuse for my inattention, but it saddens me that I don’t know my beloved trees very well. Pathfinder cures olives, so he has an eye for them. And now I know them better.

The last unripe fruits to show you are my pineapple guavas. Last week I harvested six ripe ones from the ground under the bush. Today I searched, but no more had fallen, and even the largest of the hundreds still hanging on were hard. Probably few if any more will come of age; their mini climate is just not ideal for them.

At least the snapdragons are being beautiful along the front walk.

This week I’m joining quite a few people in the parish for a Thanksgiving dinner in our church hall. I’m bringing a large quantity of the famous Orange Yams, adapted from my mother-in-law’s recipe. I see that I’ve never shared that recipe here before, so I’ll try to remember to take a couple of pictures to go with a recipe to be posted later.

December is almost here… And then 2025 will be history!
We must breathe deeply and make the most of every day ❤

The beach, and pretty things shared.

family, ocean, , , ,

The day after Christmas I went to the beach with both of my sons and Soldier’s whole family. It was not picnic weather, but neither was it windy or raining, so we spread a cloth on the sand and ate the picnic we’d brought. That was after football games, and shell collecting, and losing a wiffle ball in the extreme piles of driftwood (I found it!)

Soon after we ate, the temperature did begin to drop, so we headed home.

Later in the week I gathered from all over the house and garage my entire shell and rock (not including garden stones) and sea glass collection and laid it out on a big bed, for the Colorado grandchildren to glean from and take back for their own boxes of treasures. I didn’t realize how many of these smaller groupings in plates and bowls there were until I got the idea of passing on some of my Special Things.

We talked about the distinctive features of this or that tiny stone or bit of sea glass, and Brodie tried hard to hear the ocean in a mini version of a conch shell; a little sand dollar was wrapped in tissue so that it wouldn’t get damaged by rocks. Each of the children filled a ziplock snack bag with their chosen favorites, and when they were done I was able to pack all of my remaining things into a small box.

This kind of downsizing is extremely satisfying, and great fun for everyone!

The sound of her deathless deep.

home, ocean, poetry, , , ,

SOFT SOUND

When in some coastal townlet, on a night
of low clouds and ennui, you open
the window – from afar
whispering sounds spill over.

Now listen closely and discern
the sound of seawaves breathing upon land,
protecting in the night
the soul that harkens unto them.

Daylong the murmur of the sea is muted,
but the unbidden day now passes
(tinkling as does an empty
tumbler on a glass shelf);

and once again amidst the sleepless hush
open your window, wider, wider,
and with the sea you are alone
in the enormous and calm world.

Not the sea’s sound… In the still night
I hear a different reverberation:
the soft sound of my native land,
her respiration and pulsation.

Therein blend all the shades of voices
so dear, so quickly interrupted
and melodies of Pushkin’s verse
and sighs of a remembered pine wood.

Repose and happiness are there,
a blessing upon exile;
yet the soft sound cannot be heard by day
drowned by the scurrying and rattling.

But in the compensating night,
in sleepless silence, one keeps listening
to one’s own country, to her murmuring,
her deathless deep.

-Vladimir Nabokov

White Night. Night Dawn – Arkady Rylov, 1915

 

Maggie and other marvels.

grandchildren, my garden, ocean, , , , , , , , ,

Granddaughter Maggie was here for a few days with her mother Pearl. Maggie continued her road trip back to college but Pearl is with me still. They fill my heart and my days by being their sweet selves. Since I typically do all my own work, I am constantly startled when I notice that someone is loading the dishwasher or shredding the lettuce for tacos or whatever task, before I even get to the point of realizing it needs doing.

We went wine tasting for a short while one day; at one vineyard we took a one-mile walk through the rows of vines, and it smelled really good in there: chardonnay, cabernet, syrah, viognier, dried grass, all lending their scents to the air, but mildly, because it was a coolish day.

Ice plant at the beach.

The next day, to the beach! Pearl and I walked down the shore quite a way, and when we came back we all just lay there in the sun. I lost consciousness for at least a few minutes, lying on my back with the sun heating my face through my hat. As we stared out past the edge of land to the vast Pacific, Maggie said that the ocean seems to our eyes as big as outer space. I thought how nice it would be if I could restart the regular beach outings that I made so often in 2020 and 2021.

My granddaughter spent quite a while collecting tiny pieces of sand. She was conceiving a plan to use them in the Instagram-alternative scrapbook she is starting; she will glue them on to the page and then paint over them with clear nail polish so they might continue to look wet.

That evening we were able to sit on the patio for a dinner that I made, which included chard from my garden. I had washed it up a few days before, during which process I realized that I had four varieties of Swiss chard growing out there.

I pulled out some of that chard, to make room for new plants that I grew from seed in the greenhouse over the last month, and most of which I have set out in the planter boxes. Portuguese Kale, two varieties of collards, Italian Silver Rib Chard — and a new one from the mustard family: Tatsoi. Here it is when its true leaves were barely emerging.

Also Detroit Red Beets. If half of the seedlings I set out thrive, I should have plenty of greens to get me through the winter and into next spring.

Lastly, I show you the barrel planter, where the the snapdragons and Tropical Sage seem to take care of themselves and keep reseeding and blooming. The salvia that was pink for two or three years just last week sprouted stems of red-orange flowers. I saw them from the kitchen window, and had to run out right away to see what they could possibly be. When I give my attention to the garden, even just a little bit, it rewards me abundantly.