Playing while the sun shines

It only takes that first ray of sunshine and everyone comes out to play.

Me too.

Winter in California means playtime is never far away -- though the occasional rain and brisk wind might drive us indoors. Once the sun is out, the coats are stripped off and we're basking once again.

So long, 2014!

Soaking it up

Rain or drought, there's always someone frowning. But the recent deluge in California brought the best out in the Cosumnes River Preserve.

Midtown's Shady Lady

It’s a cool cloudy morning as we step through the red, orange and yellow leaves on the sidewalk to the Shady Lady. Inside, soft jazz tunes welcome us as we admire the large horseshoe-shaped bar that dominates the room. Red walls, stamped tin-tiled ceiling and sassy paintings round out the décor.

There is only one thing to do – for one of us, at least. The Bloody Mary arrives moments later. I sneak a sip and am filled with a day’s worth of regrets. My lips burn -- then throat and stomach in turn. Who needs coffee? I’m awake now. I’m filled with horrified admiration as I watch my husband finish it off.

Breakfast is equally dramatic, in a fiercely good way. The walnut and currant French toast is sided by fresh raspberries, blackberries and blueberries. I feel so healthful as I pour on the syrup and devour. A side of applewood-smoked bacon tops it off.

We return the next Sunday and repeat it all over again. Who knows? This one might be worth a three-peat.

Oakland renewed

There’s nothing like a Sunday morning farmer’s market in California.

In the early days of November, it’s still sunny and warm, bringing a crossover of summer and fall produce. I have a craving for winter squash – roasted butternut, chunked then drizzled with butter and brown sugar; spaghetti squash, forked into strings and piled with homemade sauce; acorn squash, halved and roasted.

Here at the Oakland farmer’s market, I’m on the waterfront at Jack London Square. The walkway is lined with booths, filled with kale, apples, basil and cauliflower. I pick up broccoli, bok choy and a giant butternut.

After tasting some hummus – cilantro/avocado and garbanzo/garlic – that goes into the bag too along with pita chips to scoop it up with.

Surprisingly, there’s a booth with strawberries. That seems so wrong for November so I pass it by.

My husband and I talk about why food is entertainment. Why indeed. I’m ogling the guys making crepes. Correction, I’m ogling the crepes.

They are piled with ham and eggs, tomatoes and peppers.

I check my watch. Close enough to lunchtime. We order up a spinach crepe that comes with caramelized onions and cheese.

Armed with two forks and two knives, we head to a bench with a view of the marina.

This is why we’re here. The waterfront. The marina. The Bay. We watch elegant yachts come and go. There’s a group lesson for kayaking about learning the basics of holding a paddle.

In the distance is the City, looking so pretty and clean from here.

The Bay Area ferry loads up a crowd and heads across the water. From here, you can travel by water to San Francisco, Sausalito, Angel Island and more. Behind us, trains rumble by.

Oakland has had a mean reputation for decades but the Sunday market here is refreshing. I’ve heard of the renewal happening here and seeing it is uplifting.

It’s a relaxing place to spend a Sunday morning.

Those jumping frogs of Calaveras

The frogs are everywhere. Statues and artwork. Keychains and stuffed toys.

Aside from that, Murphys is a darned cute town. Forget the frogs. There’s enough going on here without them.

Murphys sits in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada, an old goldrush town founded in 1848. Its 24-year-old founder, John Murphy, had a trading post and a mining claim, and did well. In less than a year, he collected more than $1 million in gold and then skedaddled off – like other young wealthy Californians tend to do – to the Bay Area.

These days, Murphys focuses on micro-wineries – with one or two on each block of this one-street town. In-between are art galleries, boutiques and an assortment of shops and restaurants.

We remembered Ironstone Vineyards from two decades ago, when it dominated the landscape. It still does, with good wine and lovely grounds overlooking vineyards about a mile outside the main town.

Since Mark Twain immortalized Calaveras County with his story about a jumping frog, we'll just have to endure the kitschiness that accompanies the charm. 

Big trees

I’m walking across the stump of a giant Sequoia and it feels like sacrilege. Here, in Calaveras Big Trees State Park, that appears to be the point. This tree was cut down years ago, taken as a trophy of achievement – man conquering the wilderness.

Like shooting a herd of bison, or punching a hole in the ozone layer. We did it, therefore, we exist.

Mark Twain made a jumping frog of Calaveras County famous. But I’ve leapfrogged over Angel's Camp, past the goldrush towns of Murphys and Arnold, and headed over the rise to the big trees.

Up, up and up to the 4,000-foot level where the redwoods and sequoias live among the dogwoods and sugar pines. It’s high enough to call these mountains instead of foothills, especially when we come to an overlook that displays the vastness of the Sierra Nevada.

We’re walking along the north end of the park where a number of well-maintained trails lead us through the forest. As the name of the park indicates, this is about the big trees.

I look up. And up. And up. Beautiful redwoods, their bark soft and thick, draw my eye. I can’t help but reach out my hand to touch. But it’s the giant Sequoias that command the scene, towering over the forest, each branch as big as an oak tree. No wonder; they’ve been here for more than a thousand years.

Like everyone must do as they walk along this trail, I wondered at how the world had changed during the lifetime of these trees. It's a meditative walk.