Many places in world are spectacular, and the Central California coastline is one. When you live where you can walk along a beautiful path every day, you are a lucky sort. Like me, today.
I leave my shoes by the dunes, and fight with the dry sand to get to the water’s edge. Trudging along, barefoot walking, in and out of the tide, I step into a rhythm. The salt water soothes my feet. The sea birds let me pass, but don’t give up their feeding grounds unless I get very close. It’s a tricky business, trying to guess the correct distance from each bird.
The tall blue herons are in a large group today and may feel bolder than usual because of their number. The tiny snowy plovers have moved away from the surf. The curlews are so ever-present they hardly glance at my passing. I thread my steps back and forth, closer to the waves and then farther away, depending on what I guess is a polite distance from the wildlife. I guess wrong. The great blue herons are nervous – or maybe I made some unintentional noise. Away they fly.
But the great blues are here in force today, circling back before I walk out of their neighborhood. They advance along the tide, then retreat, their footprints sucking out air from the sand as they dance at water’s edge hunting for something I cannot see. It’s springtime, and the bird families are teaching their young to fish. A curlew catches something very small, swallows, stretches, then catches again. A lump appears in its neck as I walk by and I wonder about the younger curlew that follows along after the parents. What lesson is it learning? I wish I could simply sit and watch the sea bird school, but I am here for a walk, and the tide pulls me along.
The night herons are back after a winter’s absence. For the first time, I notice how long their necks are extended out full-length. More often I see them in a group, hunched down, facing the cold wind together. I see their antics as I walk by, and wonder if these are a different kind of heron than I think they are. Newcomers?
Along my neighborhood walk, there is a majestic icon. Morro Rock, the stunning volcanic plug that anchors the 3-mile-long beach, sits ready for a photograph every day. Sometimes the sun shines on the irregular surfaces, sometimes mist plays around the rock. Either way, it’s a fitting touchstone, and I use this as my turn-around point.
I work my way back to my shoes, feel my thighs worry with the effort of walking through the dunes to the beach entrance. I think I’ll stop for a bit at the bench near the dunes, if the black bird will share the space.
Flowers have their blossoms, the dunes-side bushes bloomed. But if you remember the colors of a month ago, you can see the fade already beginning. The surrounding hillsides have already changed from a full-mountain satin-ny green to a soft yellow. Wherever you are, I wish you peaceful neighborhood walks.
Susan Vasquez 