Tag Archives: beach

Kites fly high at Limantour.

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Even though his older brother is the one I call Pathfinder, my son Soldier took the lead in planning our family outing yesterday. Both of them wanted to include not only a hike but some  beach time, coming as they did from places where one can’t make a day trip to the ocean.

All eight of us were able to go in one car, which added to the fun. The children who had recently endured 12-hour days on the road were cheerful, even though it took us a while to get to our destination, a beach farther south than we usually venture: Limantour. The main thing I always retain in my memory of this beach is that it faces south, so it is a little warmer than many North Coast beaches. It is on a long spit of land on Drakes Bay, named for Sir Francis Drake. In the article, “Drake in California”, you can read the many keys to the identification of this bay as the place where the explorer thanked God for a safe haven.

This map shows you where we were in relation to San Francisco:

And this next one reveals Limantour Beach in the Point Reyes National Seashore:

We piled out of the car at the trailhead and hiked about two miles out to the beach, through dense woods opening up from time to time to views of the estuary and wide blue skies; irises in three shades of violet and purple dotted the sunnier banks. Under the trees stands of giant nettles extended back into the dappled shade, with swaths of forget-me-nots or candy flowers at their feet by the path.

Candy Flower – Claytonia sibirica

It was the sort of hike where Grandma, with one or two companions, falls behind the main group to examine and hopefully identify wildflowers, and then eventually catches up when the group stops to wait. Liam spied the Indian Paintbrush first.

The trail was bordered by a lush jungle of trailing blackberry and manroot, strawberries, buttercups and ocean spray. I couldn’t stop for everything that was interesting, and I can only mention a few of the hundreds of plants. But at the time, I pointed out to anyone who would listen, how conveniently the plantain herb was growing near the nettles: if you were to get a nettle sting, you might chew up a few plantain leaves into a poultice to put on the burning flesh to soothe it. Or so I’ve been told many times.

In spite of my lagging, we arrived on the beach and oh, what a lovely, clean and white expanse it was to behold; we didn’t pause, but walked right on out to the shore.

We had brought along three kites, so all the children had plenty of time
holding the fliers against the wind. It was a perfect day for that.

This one above, once it got up, flew by itself all afternoon at the end of its tether,
while we ate a picnic on the sand, and the men dug holes for the waves to flow into.

Then it was time to reel it in, and head back out the way we had come.


It was only on our way out that I had time to really notice these grand bushes of purple lupine, a relation no doubt of the big yellow version I’ve seen so much of farther north, and have even grown in my garden.

Almost the last thing I took a picture of was a baby rattlesnake lying still as could be on the path. It was too young to have rattles, but as we stood around looking at it, the other adults told us about how the shape of its head and neck helped them identify it as a rattlesnake, and how the venom of juveniles is very potent.

I couldn’t see his eye until I saw the picture I had taken enlarged; he was definitely alive and awake. We were told that rattlers aren’t able to strike effectively if they are not coiled up. But we moved on very soon, stepping around the rattleless tail.

My family all departed this morning very early, before the sun was up, and while fog was still lying low in the neighborhood. All day I’ve been reeling myself in! I had hoped to go to bed early tonight, but instead, before I move on into May — coming right up! — I wanted to finish my story of kites and wildflowers, and my dear people.

The Zephyr brought joys.

family, food and cooking, my garden, , , , , , ,
Liam’s papercrafting

While my son “Soldier” was away for a few weeks, his wife whom I call Joy brought all four children to California to see the grandparents. They came by train, the California Zephyr line, which gave me an excuse to tell them stories about my yearly summer train trips as a child to see my grandmother. The images that my mind retains through the decades related to those journeys are vivid. Many railway experiences of the current Amtrak era are worlds apart from what I knew, but I’m happy that the children had a new adventure, and even slept overnight on the train, which I never did.

Their lively group stayed with me five nights, and visited Joy’s family nearby as well. We were so busy all those days, I barely remembered to take any pictures, much less write about our fun.

braiding seagrass

Liam’s side of our Bananagrams game, using all his tiles.

We went to church, to the beach, to the cemetery — bringing along yarrow, zinnias, snapdragons and sunflowers for the children to lay on their grandpa’s grave. They are too young to remember him, so when we got home I showed them a photo slide show on the computer.

We took walks along the creek and to the neighborhood school’s playground. I read from Eleanor Farjeon’s The Little Bookroom as I had read to their cousins last month, and laughed hilariously over “The King’s Daughter Who Cried for the Moon.”

The children combed my garden to find everything I would confirm as edible. They gathered hundreds of manzanita berries from under that little tree and chewed on them, spitting out the several rock-hard seeds in each. The strawberry tree fruits are ripening now, but the tree has grown so tall that they needed a ladder and a broom to knock them down.

These children are, as we say, “good eaters.” No matter what strange concoction Grandma has made, they want to try it — even my ultra-spicy pudding that I make with the pulp left over from making ginger broth. When oatmeal or buckwheat porridge was on the breakfast menu, they loved having a smorgasbord of toppings, everything from peanut butter and milk to chopped dried apricots and this seed mix.

I was given a dozen homegrown peaches recently and I used a recipe from Smitten Kitchen to make a cobbler, half of which we ate for dessert one night, and the remainder next morning for the third course of our breakfast, after grapefruit and scrambled eggs.

It was delectable. Where the recipe called for vanilla or almond extract I used almond. I think if I make it again I will increase the amount of fruit, and use a little less cream or butter in the scone topping, with confidence of still being able to call it Plenty Rich. And I would like to try it with plums — or any fruit!

My dear people are headed back home to Colorado now, and the cobbler is gone…. The taste of scones and peaches is already fading, but Joy and her young joys made a big deposit of sweetness in my heart, to flavor many days to come.

Savoring the togetherness.

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Deer on a coastal rock.

I hope you have people to love, and those who love you. Every conversation with a neighbor or hug from a grandchild feels more precious to me as the days go by; before November winds all the way down I want to share a few scenes and moments that have been to me infusions of grace and joy in the midst of “interesting times” in the world.

It was almost a month ago that my neighbor Kim had a dinner party for several couples and one widow (yours truly) on our block. It was a very restorative and healing time, I think for all of us. Several of these people I had hardly seen for two years, though they live just a few doors down. Half of them had known my late husband.

After we were seated around a long dining table, our host gave a surprising toast to “The first of many more post-covid neighborhood parties!” All cups were raised, and the general tone of the ensuing comments, and the whole evening, was of holding on to our humanity and neighborliness as much as possible, no matter what comes. No one went home early that night; we sat around the gas firepit, or stood in the kitchen, chatting and sipping and savoring the togetherness, acting out the toast for a few blessed hours.

Closer to Thanksgiving, I returned to the beach with a former housemate who accompanied me three years ago just before she moved to New York. Our time there was refreshing and sweet; instead of the scores of seals we’d seen that time, gulls by the hundreds were swooping and gliding back and forth where a river empties into the sea.

We watched them, and the waves, while sitting on a log. When it was time to go, we climbed up a sand dune and tromped back to the parking lot, weaving through clumps of grass in our bare feet.

A few days later, who should arrive but my dear daughter Pippin and her family. They came in stages; when only three of them had got here, we went for a walk in the hills. It was the first time I’d been with Pippin in that particular park since the day Jamie was born, lo these many years ago, the  day after my husband’s funeral. So Jamie had been along, too, and maybe the jostling of that walk in springtime had prompted him to start his journey into the outer world.

This day, he was climbing trees with Ivy. First they climbed a Valley Oak, then a Buckeye (horse chestnut), and finally a Bay (Laurel) tree. Pippin joined them up in the bay.

We noticed many little trees and shrubs that were fenced in by wire cylinders, presumably against nibbling by deer. From a sign, here is a list of species that have been planted in the last ten years:

Later we worked on pies for our feast, and the children had the idea of making gluten-free pie-crust cookies for Uncle Steve, for whose sake Pippin was making such a dough for a pumpkin pie. I assembled the fourth version of my famous Grapefruit Gelatin Salad, which after ten years I am still refining to accommodate the changing ingredients available in the stores, and the loss of my favorite, odd-sized dish I always used for it. I’ll pass the recipe along when I fix it so that it fits in one 9×12 pan.

Our long weekend was very full, starting with Divine Liturgy on Thanksgiving morning, and including two (food) feasts, the little hike; and a busy afternoon, when Pippin and the Professor helped me to sort through old camping equipment, put hardware cloth over my planter boxes where the birds have been pecking, and hang fairy lights in the living room.

This little report covers only a small fraction of the loving friends and family who have made me feel the solace of God and the blessedness of the world. I reconnected with old friends and drank tea with many others. It has been a good month in important ways. May God keep our hearts during the next one and bring us with joy to the Feast of the Nativity of Christ.

“Beloved, let us love one another: for love is of God; and every one that loveth is born of God, and knoweth God. He that loveth not knoweth not God; for God is love. In this was manifested the love of God toward us, because that God sent his only begotten Son into the world, that we might live through him.” I John 4

August is foggy a lot.

food and cooking, my garden, ocean, , , , , ,

So many mornings the sun does not come out until late. But I picked the last of my Elephant Heart plums this week, and the first two figs of the season the week before. Just now I wandered around the garden (noon and sunny) and cut three zucchini.

I’m trying to get back to my habit of going to the beach once a week. It’s been foggy on the coast, too, but pleasant enough that I can wear just a thin linen shirt. Last time I saw an unfamiliar bird, a little smaller than the usual sea gulls. There were many parties of a dozen or so, mostly sitting together and looking out to sea. When I got home and researched, I discovered that they are Heermann’s Gulls.

There were also lots of the charming Godwits out there fishing.

Sea Palm

Every person in a large family at church was sick recently, which gave me the opportunity to have fun in the kitchen, making dinner for them one day. Most of the time I am trying, usually in vain, to cook for one, and eat for one. It seems impossible to learn, and not that enjoyable. So I made the most of this occasion to cook big batches of lots of dishes, enough for leftovers. It was the perfect day to make lemon curd, and I roasted both onions and Brussels sprouts, keeping back half for myself.

The giant sunflower plants in front are dangerously close to breaking their branches and/or falling over, so I pruned them and cut some of the blooms to add to the dinner box.

This is the first year I’ve ever grown a tomatillo. My neighbor gave me a seedling that he had started. It is branching out everywhere with yard-long stems, and the husks that will house the fruit, as yet unformed, are tender lime-green lanterns. In this next picture it’s climbing over a tomato vine so there is a confusion of types of leaves.

Wikipedia says, “The wild tomatillo and related plants are found everywhere in the Americas except in the far north, with the highest diversity in Mexico. In 2017, scientists reported on their discovery and analysis of a fossil tomatillo found in the Patagonian region of Argentina, dated to 52 million years BP. The finding has pushed back the earliest appearance of the Solanaceae plant family of which the tomatillo is one genus.”

I asked a man from Oaxaca, Mexico what his family does with tomatillos, and he didn’t know of any use but salsa, which is also the only thing I had ever heard. Does any of you have a good recipe for tomatillos, or another use? They don’t look like they’ll be ripe anytime soon, but I should be ready with a plan!