Back on the Bike

My bike was in the shop for my first few days here. It felt so good to finally pick it up and whizz down the hill in to Arcata, its streets lined with colourful indie shops and the bay stretched out beyond.

Mum and I sat on the plaza and watched the world go by. Nowhere else but Humboldt could I imagine this mix of characters, who fit so naturally amongst the redwood trees, with the smell of grass and good coffee.

I ride home on the long flat stretch past the lumber yards and pine dust. The back road to Blue Lake passes through a small valley surrounded by redwoods.

Deer amble across the road, blue jays and swallows swoop amongst the old barns and telegraph wires. The farm gardens grow tall with hollyhocks, sunflowers and tomatoes.

It is ridiculously picturesque. And it’s the route to the nearest town. Not such a bad holiday commute.

American Homecoming

It’s been seven years since I was back in the place of my birth. As I consider myself pretty soundly British, it’s funny how quickly I slip in to little Americanisms once I’m here: the pavement is quickly replaced by the sidewalk, and I learn that no one will understand my request for water unless I pronounce it with a twang.

I’m reminded that crossing the road outside of a designated pedestrian strip alarms people greatly, and that it’s easier to get your hands on a margarita than a cup of tea. I’m bowled over by people’s friendliness, be it a chat in the brunch queue, a glass of wine with a table of strangers, or the bartender serving those margaritas.

I’ve driven automatic and had some rather dramatic reminders that the left side is definitely the wrong side of the road round here. I’ve eaten my body weight in french toast and Triscuits, and heard my first live Mariachi band.

The days have been full, and I still have another fortnight of American snapshots to fill up on; hopefully more of the friendly-chats than the bad-driving variety..

Grama by the Sea

This morning Mum and I are jetting off to San Francisco, to start our journey up to visit Grama in Northern California. So, today I thought I’d share some of my Grama’s thoughts on the sea, as I’ll be visiting this piece of coast in just a couple days.

“I so enjoyed your post this morning with my first cuppa, feeling the fresh sea air blowing (from my decades by the ocean in beloved Trinidad). The sounds rate high for me: the cries of the irrepressible gulls as they dive and salute the day; the coughs and grunts of the languid sea lions as they push and shove on their bits of rock repose; the constant and soothing come-and-go of the waves and tides which become ‘second nature’ to those of us fortunate to have integrated sea life into our bones.

The sudden storms that rise and give much-needed rains, the sun seen through rainbows across wide horizons, little local boats bobbing in close as well as the large ships passing out at sea. The seafood so fresh and special, the PEOPLE so lovely and graceful. Time has a way of familiarising all this to those fortunate to have sea access as I have for more than half of my life. Born a block from the ocean, raised in the soil of farming with animals and creatures above and below, it all has its magnificent place within. Quite amazing.

And you girls will be here very soon. Can’t wait.

I can’t either Grama!!

An August Read: Fire Season

I love those books that present themselves to you quite by accident. I found this one when killing time before a meeting, and leafing through the sales shelf. Connors writes of his time as a fire lookout in the wilds of New Mexico.

Tom and I visited one of these fire lookout towers several years ago in California. The long journey out to the tower, and the intimidating scale up the ladder to get to the top, all made it feel so distanced from the everyday.

The guy was super friendly and his tower was kitted out with a few quirky creature comforts, including on old Nintendo system. He spoke of what a desirable job this was, but one that only appealed to a certain character. Days hanging out in the wild, staring at the huge vista all around you sounds pretty appealing to me.

Connors’ writing drew me straight in. He has a natural way of writing about the big country and his tiny part in it, weaving history, conservation and politics in to the individual anecdotes of his months looking out for wildfires in the Gila National Forest.

It’s clear that Connors never felt bored during his time alone, and his book never drags. I relished the descriptions of wild country, and his perspective on our place in it. The very best kind of nature writing.

Pieces of Summer

Already these August days are filled with delicious snippets, be it either a couple hours stolen after work, or a long weekend pootling about with friends.

Thanks to the weeks of sunshine, I’ve been flying kites, swimming in the sea, climbing trees, riding high on a ferris wheel and eating the very best fish and chips on the beach. There’s a lot to be said for putting a stretch of water between you and your work. I’ve enjoyed the escape and wallowed in a lazy summer weekend pace.

Even the bike ride to work feels lush: riding through the park, on to quiet green boulevards free of the usual school run traffic.

The recent seaside bloggers, from West Scotland to Trieste, have me wishing to visit new coastal spots. I’ll be headed to my home coast, Trinidad CA, in just a couple weeks and I can’t wait to wander round the foggy headland and watch the seals in the bay. But for now, I’m enjoying all these little sunny delights between the 9-5.