California

We went to California for a long weekend, visiting my cousin Beverly. She lives in Encinitas, which is about twenty-five miles north of San Diego.

I’ve been to California many times. Each time I come, I like what I see and experience. Despite what you may think about California—and we hear many things, a lot of them negative—I love it there. If you’re drawn to nature and to the natural world, this state is remarkable. It offers much. I can’t even scratch the surface.

The flowers and plants I see there are so unlikely that sometimes they seem dreamed up. Branches hang downward, like tresses. Bundles of buds leap out in a kind of wild ecstasy. The colors of the flowers are deep reds—a legion of reds—and purples and sun-like yellows, as if Matisse had mixed them. And so many grow on the sides of roads, lush and strong, overcoming the idea of sterility because of cars and traffic. You see unexpected hues in unlikely places. You get that in California.

Below are just a few of the flowers in my cousin’s yard. (Note: I used the iNaturalist app to identify them, because I couldn’t. So I can’t vouch for absolute accuracy.) All photos mine.

Ivy Geranium (Pelargonium pelatum)

Tree Aeonium (Aeonium arboreum)

Fan Flowers (Scaevola aemula)

Beautiful Bougainvillea (Bougainvillea spectablis)

The trees are dramatic. (I wasn’t even in Northern California where the titanic redwoods and sequoias grow.) I saw the rare Torrey pine (Pinus torreyana), which grows only in San Diego County and on Santa Rosa Island. I saw a Dragon Tree (Dracaena draco), with its giant, starfish-shaped seed cluster. These are imposing.

Dragon Tree.

Not to mention birds. Being on the west coast (I live in southwest Louisiana), I saw birds I wouldn’t otherwise see. I saw the Scaly-breasted Munia, a bird I’d never heard of before this trip. There it was at my cousin’s birdbath, flapping its wings, water flying everywhere. I also hadn’t seen, but did, a Black-necked Stilt, a Northern Rough-winged Swallow, a Spotted Towhee and a Long-billed Curlew.

Encinitas is near the ocean, so we went one day and walked the beach, which was restorative, as it always is. I grew up on the Atlantic Ocean, and though this is the Pacific, different in many ways, in basic presence and behavior there are so many similarities: vastness, the froth of waves, changing motions and complexions, ocean-y sounds, soft and hard sand, briny air, shorebirds and seagulls, people walking on the sand. I realize how much I miss it.

Long-billed Curlew (Numenius americanus) with surfers in background.

The ocean is the great mother of us all. I feel a sense of belonging at the ocean. I am well aware that I’m not a fish, but I do feel an ancient pull, a sense of returning. When I watch turtles or seals being released at a beach and head, with urgency, to the water, part of me wants to join them. When I do go swimming in the ocean, those first steps in the water are familiar to me in some long ago way. The most atavistic part of me responds.

California is in peril. We watched the terrible fires in January. People seem to want you to acknowledge the negative aspects of a place or a situation. If you don’t, you’re considered untrustworthy. How many times do you need to be told about California’s earthquakes, fires and droughts, not to mention its traffic and smog? Being thrilled by beauty doesn’t make me—or anyone—naive. It makes you thrilled by beauty. Anywhere we can find beauty needs to be championed.

My five senses jolt awake here. I hear, smell, touch, taste and see startlingly pretty things here. I feel alive. I’m awakened. I’m alert. I’m engaged. My eyes are freshened. I feel more involved with the world. I learn. I grow.

Don’t think of it as a state. Think of it as a place where nature flourishes.