Ages ago, I had this dream for my life in which I would make movies for six to eight months out of the year, and then return to New England to work in theatre for the summers. While the dream was planted, what sprouted wasn’t quite that.
What grew to fruition is a life in which I work in movies six to nine months out of the year, and spend the rest of time hiking, writing, and involving myself in rescue in some way. While I don’t spend my summers in New England to work in theatre, I have a habit of “wintering in the Bay area” while on jobs. When I first came out to California, I stopped in San Francisco before Los Angeles and I immediately wanted to find a way to live there. Although I was never accepted no matter how many times I applied to Pixar, I have been blessed to get a number of gigs here. All told, somewhere around year and a half I’ve lived up here over the course of nine years. While I have never spent a summer here, this is my fourth winter.
With the mark of Spring Equinox, Tucker and I had to prepare for our inevitable return to our southern abode. I was not looking forward to leaving, but I felt it was time (and I couldn’t afford the rent any longer.) We had two weeks of hiking, writing, relaxing, talking to neighbors, going to the beach, and walking the quiet streets of our neighborhood. Los Angeles had closed their parks, beaches and trails, so returning home meant no longer being able to do that which we do. However, Tucker would have a whole yard to himself. Here, the patio offered no grass to roll in, and I was beginning to suspect he was getting nefarious messages from the dryer vent.
What grew to fruition is a life in which I work in movies six to nine months out of the year, and spend the rest of time hiking, writing, and involving myself in rescue in some way. While I don’t spend my summers in New England to work in theatre, I have a habit of “wintering in the Bay area” while on jobs. When I first came out to California, I stopped in San Francisco before Los Angeles and I immediately wanted to find a way to live there. Although I was never accepted no matter how many times I applied to Pixar, I have been blessed to get a number of gigs here. All told, somewhere around year and a half I’ve lived up here over the course of nine years. While I have never spent a summer here, this is my fourth winter.
With the mark of Spring Equinox, Tucker and I had to prepare for our inevitable return to our southern abode. I was not looking forward to leaving, but I felt it was time (and I couldn’t afford the rent any longer.) We had two weeks of hiking, writing, relaxing, talking to neighbors, going to the beach, and walking the quiet streets of our neighborhood. Los Angeles had closed their parks, beaches and trails, so returning home meant no longer being able to do that which we do. However, Tucker would have a whole yard to himself. Here, the patio offered no grass to roll in, and I was beginning to suspect he was getting nefarious messages from the dryer vent.
Our usual final walkabout is Fort Funston. On our southern drive, we stop there for a walk with my friend Carolina and her pups, then head over Skyline to bid the redwoods farewell, and perhaps grab a bite to eat at Alice’s Restaurant. Then we make the 300 mile journey straight south back to our little piece of tree-dotted land in Burbank. But Alice’s was closed, and I couldn’t see my friend. So we took our final walkabout the day before rather than the day of.
Funston on the weekend is always busy, but the cars lined up the highway from the bottom of the hill all the way past the entrance. I never park on the road since it’s a tad dangerous. Coming up to the drive that led to the entrance, I saw that the parking lot was closed. So I continued driving to Thornton Beach, but it being the weekend, the ten spaces were taken, and again, the cars lined the side of the road. So we kept driving south.
The previous weekend we had tried to go to to Wavecrest Open Space in Half Moon Bay which is down a dirt road behind a baseball field. However, because the field was closed, so was the parking lot. A few people managed to park along the road, but there were no spots left. I had thought there was a trail in from the neighborhood, so I drove back to the few streets lined with seaside bungalows. I was hesitant to park, and then came across an actual lot--at Poplar Beach. There were people everywhere. Throngs of them. It was like 4th of July.
Funston on the weekend is always busy, but the cars lined up the highway from the bottom of the hill all the way past the entrance. I never park on the road since it’s a tad dangerous. Coming up to the drive that led to the entrance, I saw that the parking lot was closed. So I continued driving to Thornton Beach, but it being the weekend, the ten spaces were taken, and again, the cars lined the side of the road. So we kept driving south.
The previous weekend we had tried to go to to Wavecrest Open Space in Half Moon Bay which is down a dirt road behind a baseball field. However, because the field was closed, so was the parking lot. A few people managed to park along the road, but there were no spots left. I had thought there was a trail in from the neighborhood, so I drove back to the few streets lined with seaside bungalows. I was hesitant to park, and then came across an actual lot--at Poplar Beach. There were people everywhere. Throngs of them. It was like 4th of July.
I did not want to be around all those people. I came for the solitude and for nature. But there was nowhere else for me to leave my trusty steed. So I tried to breathe less deeply and avoid coming in contact with people who seemed to have no recognition that we were in the middle of a pandemic. Shortly thereafter, we managed to get to the bluff where people were acres away from one another.
This time though, the side of the road yielded some spots to park by the baseball field. Half Moon Bay had closed beach parking, so we wouldn’t be running into people there. And perhaps that closure made fewer people give it a try.
Tucker and I were so happy to be out on open land again, acres from people, miles from crowds. We’re social, but enjoy our distance in nature.
Tucker and I were so happy to be out on open land again, acres from people, miles from crowds. We’re social, but enjoy our distance in nature.
This dog down at the beach seemed to be enjoying his solitude. Just sitting on the edge of the sea, watching the waves roll in. (I did wait to see another dog later and some humans about, so I don’t think he ventured out alone-alone.)
And this bird's whose solitary beauty backlit by the sun on its final stretch to the horizon looks at peace.
I’ve never been much of an ocean person, but here I am. Because it’s more than just ocean. It’s cliffs, and bluffs, and sand, and flowers. I don’t sit on the beach and sunbathe; I walk above it, and on it, enjoying the salt air and sunshine.
This is what I will miss being back in LA. While the ocean is technically only 30 miles away or less, it’s not the same. It’s not for another 100 miles north at best that you start to get that distinctive character of the California coastline.
I am blessed to have stayed as long as I have this winter (all the way into Spring!) and can only hope we will be back again. Not being able to see friends, and not knowing when my industry will start up again, it’s hard to speculate when Tuck and I will again tread on the beaches,
or walk along the trails of Fort Funston,
or watch the fog roll in beneath the Bay Bridge.
But we will.
Because this home.
And we always come home again.
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