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| the west coast |
The day after Thanksgiving was the lowest tide of the year. We headed down to this beach just passed Davenport, Scotts Creek. Funny it's called Scotts Creek. I think it could be compared to the cliffs of Dover, but that's not Scottish. Scotts Creek probably got its name from the founder of Bonny Doon, a Scotsman by the name of John Burns. You can just imagine him coming down the hill after a long day of logging to sit on the beach, smoke a joint, and bathe in the frigid water. We just went down to check out some tide pools, breathe in the ocean breeze (wind), and drink in the scenery.
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| my beautiful niece mixes animal motifs |
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| hand knit and snug as a bug |
Lil and I did not ford the creek to the tide pools. The water was a little fast, and Mama was wearing her new boots from
Snipe, which the salesman said were waterproof (twice... but they're not). Regardless, I wasn't willing to risk it. They're made with naturally dyed leather, and who knows what would happen to that juicy ruby red. Instead we just twirled around on the beach, ran up to the water, then away from the surf, watched Grandpa Gary fly his kite, and waved at strangers.
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| twirling girls |
From time to time, I looked out at the horizon, and admired the sea cliffs in a haze of ocean spray, or just watched my family enjoy the chilly beach afternoon. I couldn't help but think that GranMary must've visited this same beach with Josie as a baby, maybe Lil's age, maybe a bit older. And I felt grateful knowing the same piece of paradise, the same slice of heaven, there with Lil.
And to be sure, GranMary knew we were there, too.
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