Yesterday, I arrived at Point Reyes National Seashore in northern California. Point Reyes is a scenic—and in places, quite rugged—slice of coastland that follows the San Andreas Fault just north of San Francisco. Since my arrival, I’ve seen jackrabbits and great egrets and black-tailed deer and wild turkeys and hummingbirds and raccoons and red-winged blackbirds.
I’ve also seen cows, tons of them, scattered across the grasslands that sweep over the hilly landscape. That’s because cattle and dairy ranches have been part of this area for generations, long before the feds designated the place as protected. Ranching, it seems, has been grandfathered into the park. (more…)
I stand in Guerneville’s only laundromat, in front of one of those front-load washing machines that promises to get my clothes cleaner and whiter than the kind with the lid on top. I toss in my clothes, lock the door, and insert most of my quarters. Fourteen, to be exact—$3.50 to wash one load.
I step over to the cash machine to retrieve more quarters for the second load. I reach into my pocket for my wallet. My pocket is empty. (more…)
At a small café in San Francisco’s Mission District, wedged between a taqueria and dry cleaner, Grace has been serving eggs and hash browns and coffee for about a hundred years.
She stands at five-feet-four, minus a couple inches for her perpetual stoop. When she walks, she never lifts her feet off the floor. It’s more a sleep-walker’s shuffle—a mix between indifference and the result of a stout, squat body that no longer wants to move. (more…)
We arrive at Our Lady of Guadalupe Trappist Abbey in northwest Oregon at about three in the afternoon. I park in the lower lot, pull my bag out of the van, and drop it on the ground. I don’t think. I just belt out a hefty “Shit!”
My traveling companion looks at me with as much monkish patience as he can muster and gently reminds me that we’re at a monastery. Properly humbled, I follow him to the guest quarters. (more…)
