Behind the Douglas fir curtain

Return to the Beach (April 11, 2015) Part 8

4/12/2015

By Stephen Jay Morris

I have dreamt of this moment a hundred times at night, just before twilight sleep kicks in. It's been merely a simple vision, but very meaningful and personal to me. I am standing in the white sand, staring at the crashing waves and beyond, to the endless sea. The offshore breeze gently blows on my rapacious face while the muffled voices of children are laughing and distant dogs are barking. This had been the only evidence I owned of my return to California. I'd wasted 3 years, up in Oregon, chasing a bucolic ghost that didn't exist. Then, I was struck in a desert valley, called San Jacinto, for 2 more years. By then, all I wanted was to visit a real California beach. Sometimes to realize what you are and always will be, you must leave your identity or location to find yourself. What does that mean? If you are ever homesick after "rehoming" to a new location, you do not belong there. I did not belong in Oregon; the Oregonians kept reminding me of the fact.

After my first month in Oregon, I came to realize that I would never see a real beach again. Approximately 27 miles from our new forest home was a town called, Seaside. This small beach town reminded me, in an odd way, of Hermosa Beach, California. It had retail stores that sold beach related stuff, like fishing equipment and even surfing gear, but I couldn't understand why they'd offer surfboards when the waves were almost flat. Seaside was in a designated Tsunami zone. Signs were randomly posted, telling that fact. The only time you'd see large waves was during an offshore storm. The sand was a brownish or yellowish color; not like that on the beaches of Southern California. Most of Oregon's coastline was made up of rugged bays of rocks and boulders. Yes, there were beaches up in Oregon, but not as magnificent and energetic as the beaches of SoCal.

Over the past two years in San Jacinto, I had been homebound, suffering from one ailment to another. Our long-time friend in Gardena had invited us to attend her son's birthday party. So, Pamela and I decided to take a risk to drive our old Honda Civic the 200+ miles round trip to attend. I was very happy to get out of the house, and away from the mundane, desert valley. We left at 9:30 on a Sunday morning and went on our way. Our car still has a cassette tape player, so I brought along some favorite tapes. I was excited at the prospect of seeing my old stomping grounds again!

While in Oregon, I'd heard a little news about the California drought. Traditionally, California has recurring periods of drought. After all, the state is basically a desert by the sea. With the advent of oil company-created Climate Change, however, the traditional droughts have intensified. I noticed that, along the freeways, landscaping had yellowed and some plants were drooping and dying. This is so, apparently, because California municipalities, counties, and state agencies have cut back on irrigation. The government is trying to get private companies and homeowners to reduce their water consumption. I saw some homes with yellowed lawns, and yet others whose homeowners were showing defiance to the government by over-watering their lawns! It was as if to shout out that old conservative refrain, "It's my property and I do what I want! If I have slaves picking my cotton, it's nobody's business; it's my property!" Seeing vegetation shriveling up and dying is not at all picturesque. However, most landscaping is human-made, while California's natural beauty remains in tact.

After we got past the Santa Ana Mountains and into Orange County, I saw the familiar, brown sky of pollution. I didn't mind it, though, because all I saw in Oregon was rain clouds. There is an area below Los Angeles known as the South Bay, which includes several small municipalities such as El Segundo, Carson, Lawndale, Inglewood, Torrance, and Gardena, among others. These small cities are not next to the beaches, but within 15 miles or less. When we arrived in Gardena, I could smell that familiar, pleasant aroma of the salty sea breeze. It was like inhaling a long forgotten perfume. In northwest Oregon, the air was heavily humid, but here, it was clean and fresh. Yeah, I was home again.

A lot of people I have come across over the years expressed an abhorrence for this part of the world. Why? The explanations are numerous. The complaint varies from economics to the denizen's attitudes. Whatever reasons they give, I thank God that there are not throngs of people trying to move here. This is my home and it always will be.

We arrived at our destination in the early afternoon. The house was located on a quiet street, in an old, 1950's housing tract. It was like being transported back to that innocent decade. Every home had its own individualistic, architectural façade, unlike the housing tracks in the desert, where the newer tract houses all look the same. Most of the front lawns were turning yellow or already dead. Some residents had installed Xeriscape (drought tolerant landscaping). What a shame; I always loved a lush green lawn. This anticipated mass removal of lawns will yield a new crop of landscape business.

Shawn is an old friend of the family and we were happy to see her again. The party was to celebrate her son's 8th birthday. One of the best things to do in California is to have a backyard party with lots of food. How I'd missed going to backyard barbeques! This backyard had a patio and lots of California plants. It was all so nice to experience again!

After the party, as planned, we drove out to a stretch of beach set aside specifically for dogs and their people. It was called, Rosie's Doge Beach, just south of Long Beach. We traveled over the historic Vincent Thomas Bridge, which had been a favorite sight from our San Pedro home for over 16 years. It had been 4 years since we'd driven it. We used to gaze at it from our living room window and, at night, it was outlined in soft blue lights. It was a beautiful sight!

I reminisced about all of the work areas I was assigned to by the City of Los Angeles, when I worked as a gardener there in 2006. Terminal Island was now being developed with new construction sites. That location holds countless memories for me.

We exited the bridge onto Ocean Avenue, past the shipyards and into Long Beach. That stretch of downtown Long Beach reminds me of Miami, Florida, with the high-rise, luxury apartments and hotels, the abundance of graceful palm trees, and the locals strolling the well-kept sidewalks in shorts and sun hats. The air was clean and crisp, and the streets as clean as a whistle. We used to wine & dine and see movies here. The best outdoor cafes were on Pine Street. In the 1990's, I used to read poetry at the coffee houses here.

We drove past Bixby Park. The park was crowded with families barbequing and throwing Frisbees. Sadly, the once-green grass was now yellow. There is a strip along the boulevard bordered by a long ocean view. There were cargo ships parked out on the sea and people in their motorboats whizzing past them. I saw wind surfers and old school surfers enjoying the low-70s temperature. It was a perfect day.

When we arrived at Rosie's Dog Beach, our Golden Retriever, Benny was so excited he could hardly contain his joy! As we parked, we saw him inhale the cool sea breeze and ocean fragrances so familiar to him! When we all stepped onto the sand, Pamela and I were instantly charmed by his big smile, wagging tail, and enthusiastic barks for us to hurry onward, toward the water! Oh, and once we reached the shoreline, he was one happy dog, running into the water, swimming, chasing errant tennis balls, coming out of the water, only to repeat it over and over, to his heart's content!

Come to think of it...I was happy, too! It was good to be home again. Sometimes...you can go back.