Driving
through here was an almost religious experience--like being in a gigantic,
outdoor cathedral; even the kids instinctively quieted down.
I realize that I'm treading on dangerous ground here, but somehow the idea
of cutting down something that takes five hundred years to grow back (there
are some over 2,000 years old) just doesn't seem right. It's like we're
taking something away in our one measly generation which doesn't really belong
to us.
I still believe in the use of trees (don't worry, I
haven't become a druid)--for lumber, paper, and as a legitimate source of
jobs and economic development--but maybe there should be a distinction between
those which can come back in a single generation (like the spruce-fir forest
of the northeast) and these giants which take hundreds of years to mature.
Mom and Molly at the edge of a rain-swollen stream in
a beautiful state park amidst the redwoods.
The
days we were in this area were rainy--they'd had 10 inches in a week--and
mudslides had closed roads in all directions. Here's one which had just
been cleaned up; apparently CalTrans (the California DOT) was used to this--they
were on the spot with bulldozers and dump trucks about the time the dirt
stopped moving.
From Willits, we drove through the redwoods west to
the coast (in the car) and found a beautiful beach in a little town called
Ft. Bragg--
--where
Molly and Ben explored and built sand castles and Mom couldn't resist a nap
in the sun.
The only thing is, the ocean is on the wrong side; isn't it just like
Californians to arrange for sunsets over the ocean instead of having to
wake up 5:00 am like we do to get the same view?
And then we came around a corner and would have sworn
we were back in Maine (except for that ocean on the wrong side thing)--we
were in Mendocino, a town that looks so much like New England that they filmed
"Murder She Wrote" here instead of in Maine where it was supposed to be.
(Boy did Maine people get a hoot out of the pitiful attempts at downeast accents
in that show).
This unique sculpture--called Time and The Maiden--is
on top of the Masonic Hall (now a bank) on Mendocino's main street and was
supposedly carved from a single piece of redwood back in the 1880's. I'm
not sure what Time is about to say to her (he seems to be tapping her on the
shoulder), but I don't think it's good news.
The day we were in town, there was some kind of antique sports car rally
going on and the place was full of amazing cars--Ferraris, vintage Porsches,
Jags, and this beauty which I couldn't identify except that it was Italian
and gorgeous.
Big Moment--the first trimming of The Beard. I was starting to feel more
like Gabby Hayes than Sean Connery, so dropped into Mitch's barber shop on
the main corner of Mendocino. You've got to love a town that has a barber
shop on it's equivalent of Times Square. Notice the pictures on the walls--I
think Mitch has a a snapshot of every head he ever cut.
He was a big Raiders fan (not all that many people
have a picture of Al Davis on their wall) and had moved to Mendocino from
Oakland twenty-five years before. Made sense to me.
Rainbow
on the way back to Willits from Mendocino; spectacular country. Mary and I are non-stopped
overwhelmed by the constantly changing landscape we have experienced over
the last four months. If pressed, I really wouldn't be able to pick a favorite,
but I sure am glad we have had a chance to try.
The kids are less impressed and have started to "Ooh-Ahh"
derisively whenever we get carried away by the views. Little darlin's.
We then headed north towards Eureka to see Mary's cousin
Tony (whom I've known for years, as well). Along the way, we got a taste
of the northern California-Oregon coast which is right up there with Maine's
(and for me, that's saying a lot).
The difference is that
whereas we have the wooded and rocky islands, they have just plain rocks.
It's an entirely different feel--wild, somewhat threatening, and really beautiful.
Driving along here is a little exciting; the secret is to just take your time
and remember to pull over every now and then and let the people behind you
pass.
It seemed that everyone we talked to before the trip
had a "stuck behind an RV" story, so I have been ultra conscious of not being
an obstruction. Fortunately, the road builders out here put in lots of pull-over
spaces for just such occasions.
Of course, no trip in
and among the redwoods would be complete without a drive-through tree. This
one at a private park in Leggett, California is over 300 feet tall and about
2000 years old. You should have seen the road down into the park; "Sure you
can make it," the lady at the gate said, "we have tour busses in here all
the time." Tour busses of leprechauns, maybe. It's amazing we're not
still there.
And finally, we got to Eureka, had a great visit with Tony and his puppy
dog Mitch, and visited Ferndale, a wonderfully preserved Victorian town where
Molly found this life-size doll house.
From here, it's further up the coast to Oregon, which in many ways--certainly
including geography and economics--most closely resembles Maine. We'll see
some spactacular country, but perhaps more importantly, visit with some of
our oldest friends.
