Dirty days of summer

We bought a brand spanking new house. Everything all shiny and clean. A blank slate for us to create a new home.

Also, an empty backyard. No plants, no grass. Just dirt and a few bent nails left by the builder.

We go out and stare at the dirt a lot.

It’s hard starting over.

Maybe I’m just a moody type of person but I find this a metaphor for where I am right now. Starting over in a few ways and trying to make it all work.

While we lived in this part of California before – a couple of times, actually – our house is in a city that’s unfamiliar. The kids have just graduated from university so we have moved onto unfamiliar territory – empty nesting. I’m retired, much earlier than expected, and trying to figure out what’s next.

Some days, I look out and it’s all bare dirt. Other days, I can appreciate the opportunity to create something new. Just feeling a little impatient for the future to happen.

Half Moon Love

Another blistering day. Another road trip west.

Davis, Fairfield, the Bay Bridge glide by easily. Traffic cooperates and we are in Half Moon Bay in the targeted 2 hours. My husband rolls down the window a bit and puts out a tentative hand before sliding the window down the rest of the way. Cool air fills the car.

The day’s goals are simple. Toes in the Pacific. Fish and chips for lunch. Walk around aimlessly. We are outrageously successful.

The first stop is downtown where little shops offer fresh bakery items, stone buddhas for the garden and expensive cookware. We ooh and ahh our way through one very artsy furniture store where the handcrafted wood pieces are unique and exquisitely made. It’s late morning and the town is starting to wake up. It is pleasantly busy but not overrun.

It would be easy to spend another hour here but the ocean is calling. Suddenly, we can’t get down to the marina fast enough. It’s a short car ride away, across Highway 1. Fishing boats are in with the morning’s haul but first I spy a sign: “Barbara’s Fish Trap.” My stomach growls.

Both TripAdvisor and Yelp have great things to say about Barbara’s. I mention this to my husband and, lo and behold, he’s suddenly hungry too. We swoop in.

It’s 11:30 but the place is already packed with fish and chip lovers. The wait is about 20 minutes and then we are escorted into a small and crowded dining area that overlooks the Pacific. As we wait, I watch a young teen tuck into clam chowder, then a huge platter of fish and chips, then a heaping side of cheesy garlic bread. His grandmother labors to keep up but it’s too late. He reaches over and starts in on her meal too.

Then our meals arrive and it’s all quiet at our table for the next 10 minutes. My husband comes up for air and announces, “This is the best fish I’ve ever had.” I have to agree. By this, we mean the best fish as part of a fish and chips meal. Nice plump pieces of cod, fried crisp but not greasy. The fries are passable but forgiven for being mediocre since they accompany the perfect fish.

Stuffed and happy, we stroll out to the marina and watch bags of freshly caught salmon get marched off the dock by tourists and locals alike. The fishermen won’t clean and fillet the catch here because of some rule or another, but a little place at the end of the pier does it for a fee. A line there snakes out the door. We would be there too if I had thought to put a cooler in the car.

One more goal to hit. We drive down crowded Highway 1 a few miles and then snag a parking spot along the road. A decent beach is directly below. Sandcastles, dogs and Frisbees, couples hand in hand and the beautiful music of crashing waves. The water is freezing but no matter. Shoes are off and we’re in. I lose track of time for awhile.

My husband dozes as I navigate back -- Highway 1, Highway 92, I-280, I-380, Highway 101, then finally the simple straightaway that is I-80 to take us home. There's a reason we only visit the greater Bay Area.

"You know what?" my husband asks, his eyes opening for a moment. "This is the best day I've had in a long time."

That makes my day better too.

Have a rotten day

Sacramento was recently named as the 10^th rudest city in the country. I get it, I guess. Having lived in both bigger and smaller cities, there’s definitely a difference.

Las Vegas? Ruder. Boise? Nicer.

Go figure.

Sacramento is a big city. Cram more people into a finite space and they might get a bit prickly.

Wasn’t there a study where they did that with rats too?

The question is, I suppose, is whether Sacramentans are innately ruder people. Or is it something in the water? Take a reasonably nice person and transplant him to Sacramento from, say, Oakdale, and will he become a son-of-a-@#$%?

The study is likely reflecting the evils of city life. Traffic is an issue. Longer lines at Starbucks (that makes me cranky, for sure). Things are a bit more expensive.

One on one, I’ve met some pretty nice people here. My new neighbors have taken the time to stop and have a little chat, and I’ve met more neighbors here in two months than I did in my last small neighborhood in 7 years.

While it took me three frustrating visits to the DMV to get my new registration and license sorted out, the clerks there gave me a couple of “beat the system” tips. (Hello, DMV, even your own employees know your system is broken.)

Maybe a grocery store clerk could have wished me a good day in a more sincere tone. I don’t know. What was the study looking for?

All in all, it takes more patience to live in a bigger city – to drive on the freeways, to wait in longer lines, to live among 2 million people. Seems like common sense to me.

Farmer's markets

 It doesn’t take long to become a farmer’s market aficionado when you live in California. These are real farmer’s markets, with stalls overflowing with vegetables and fruit. There are markets most days of the week – Saturday in Davis; Sunday: under the freeway in Sacramento; Tuesday and Wednesday in downtown Sac parks, Thursday by city hall in West Sac.

We have our favorite urban market under the freeway that is loud and crowded. People might get a little pushy. It’s a get-in, get-out kind of place, but its appeal is in its size. If you can’t find it here, it’s not in season in California. This market is for people who shop. Some tote little carts to manage their haul.

It’s easy to tell the season, even the month, after a stroll around the markets.

In early June, there are mountains of cherries, separated by bing, rainier, and “special.” Walk up to a stand and I’m offered a sample. Which one do I want? Sweet or tart? I pause for a moment and am quickly offered both to try. Definitely sweet is my choice and I fill up a bag. To my side, my husband is filling a bag with tart cherries. For two weeks, we run back to farmer’s markets and gorge ourselves on cherries.

Then, suddenly, they’re gone.

It’s late June and the peaches and nectarines are in. Giant sunflowers leap out of buckets in the central stalls, along with sweet peas, hydrangeas and monster-sized dahlias. We sample the peaches, which have ripened quickly during a sudden heat wave. This year, many have ripened small. Instead, we load up on cucumbers, red onions, bell peppers and a variety of cheeses.

Early July brings the first of the tomatoes and they are piled high at the stands. Each week, the tomatoes get bigger and bigger and more varieties make a showing. Grape, cherry, beefsteak. Red, yellow, orange. Do I have a plan for these tomatoes? Not really, but I can't resist putting them in a bag. I can plan later.

There’s nothing better than a summer beefsteak sliced thick, set on top of a wheel of mozzarella and a topped with a basil leaf and drizzle of balsamic vinegar. Or the tomatoes get stewed down into a pot of meaty spaghetti sauce that I make sure is big enough to last a few days. Sometimes, I just want something fresh and simple and the tomatoes are diced and tossed with cucumbers and rice wine vinegar for a crunchy salad.

For me, a big tomato lover, the possibilities are bigger than the season.

But there is more. Corn stacks up and I price the ears with a bit of seasonal snobbery, gleeful when I can get one extra ear per dollar. We gorge on sweet cantelopes and giant watermelons with buttery undersides that burst open as soon as my knife splits the surface.

As July begins its slow roll into August, my farmer’s market gluttony continues unabated. There's everything from avocados to zucchinis piling up out there. This is the moment in the season where everything comes in at once and even the farmers seem overwhelmed by their bounty. We snag a giant bag of sweet basil for $1 and revel in the scent all the way home. Within hours, it is pulverized with garlic, toasted pine nuts, garlic and a drizzle of olive oil for a heavenly pesto. It's tossed into a pasta salad and served alongside a pesto goat cheese slathered crostini.

I have to remind myself that the snows and hard freezes aren’t coming here like they were in my former home in Idaho. The seasons will change but local fruits and veggies can be found through the coming months. There’s no need to panic and I have to resist a hoarder's mentality.

There's always tomorrow, and next week, and the next.

Point Reyes

The summer heat was bumming me out. It was promising to be another 100+-degree day inland so it was time for a daytrip to the coast to look for cooler temperatures. I picked Point Reyes because of its high cliffs, incredible views and varied terrain.

We got more than I had had hoped for. Elk, warm sandy beaches washed over by brisk Pacific waters, chilling breezes and a whale.

Cattle too. I didn’t remember the cattle. It’s a fact, though, that in this large state park there are more cattle than people. Interesting that there are historic ranches here, smack in the middle of a state park, but it does mean that visitors can drive mile after mile past fenced-off terrain before getting to the next beach access.

We found a nice trail at Tomales Point – basically at the farthest tip north, away from the lighthouse. It’s easy to find. Just go until the road ends. A couple of minutes before you get to that point, though, is where we saw dozens of elk. They are here by human intent as this portion of the peninsula was dedicated toward a reserve and they apparently are penned in by cattle guards and ocean cliffs.

Traveler’s tip: On a Monday, we drove for miles, hiked two trails and walked along two different beaches without seeing more than a dozen other people. This is California in the summer? We loved it!

The short trail at Tomales Point leads from the cliff down to the beach. It’s not too difficult – I’d say it would be classified as easy for most people. The large beach felt remote, partly because it was empty and partly because it was sheltered by the cliffs. Seeing as I’m a person who doesn’t always like to share, this remote and empty beach felt pretty good to me.

The best was toward the end of our day when we drove to the other end of the park, to the lighthouse. I was ready to forego the lighthouse since I’ve seen so many that I expected a "seen-one-seen-them-all" experience. But I was with my daughter and her boyfriend who were pretty psyched about seeing it so we drove the extra half hour out to the far point.

The point announced itself about a mile before we got there. After enjoying a perfectly sunny day, we suddenly saw bursts of fog rolling over us, crossing from one side of the peninsula to the other. The car started rocking slightly from gusts of wind as we wound our way around a few turns. It seemed like anything could be around the next curve in the road.

“This doesn’t seem real,” my daughter said. “It’s like a ride at Disneyland.”

It’s a short walk from the parking lot to the lighthouse visitor’s center, but just another traveler’s note here. This is where all the people are, and the parking lot is small. We were lucky to grab a spot but many people had to park a quarter of a mile away. If you can’t walk far, those with handicapped badges can drive on farther to a dedicated lot closer to the center.

I hadn’t expected to see whales this time of year, but the ranger told us there were a couple of pairs hanging around. We looked from a viewing platform out at the 180-degree vantage point, but the fog made any sightings unlikely. The wind was also a factor here – while it was only lightly breezy at other parts of the peninsula, this tip is buffeted frequently by winds that hit 35 miles an hour and above.

At this point, there was a decision to be made and it had to do with the 350 stairs (or like a 30-story building, a sign at the top warns visitors) that climbed down to the lighthouse. For me, it was a no-go. I had walked enough for the day. For a couple of 22-year-olds, it was an easy decision and they were off, carrying my camera so I could have a picture tour when they returned.

 Wouldn’t you know? A California gray whale gave them a great showing, coming right up to the cliff. I was informed that the trip down was worth the journey, with a ranger offering a tour of the lighthouse. But they agreed the hike back up was tougher than it looks. I was content with the pictures.

It had been a pretty full day and it was time to head back home. For a daytrip, Point Reyes was the perfect getaway.