Big Basin

Big Basin is a California state park not far from San Jose.  The toddling drive from Santa Cruz left me always expecting to find a larger road or at least some signage . . . my college friend, Karin kept reassuring me we were heading in the right direction and that we were on a HUGE road for the area.  And then we were there.

Taking pictures of redwoods  . . . pictures that communicate their scope and splendor . . . well, I haven't figured it out.  It is similar to taking pictures of the Grand Canyon that convey depth. 

Karin, who lives in a tiny cabin  in the redwoods herself, was a delightful companion.  She waxed eloquent about the smell of the redwoods in morning and taught me about fairy rings and fires.  We described the emotional state of the various trees and/or the feel of a certain stand. Their age and height took hold of my heart and wouldn't let go.  I like to touch them.  Even those who had fallen had a certain feel of vitality to them.

The redwood's ability to survive the forest fires is a testament to stability and strangely encouraging to me.  Seeing the charred but healthy trees -- charred from fires 50-200 years ago -- made me feel like a safe little girl.

These aren't redwoods, but they were such impressive little trees -- about to dance, having a lively conversation?

We drove through the park and got onto Skyline Drive.  With views like this I didn't even notice how long it took to wind our way down to San Mateo.

Big Sur

I know it has been awhile since I have posted.  Not because I haven't had any adventures though.

Last week I drove up Route 1 through Big Sur -- from Cambria to Monterey.  I am not one to keep track of time, so I am uncertain how long it took to navigate the windy mind blowing road.   Somewhere between 2 -4 hours . . .   When one is in heaven, who cares about the time?

I ran into these guys when I took a short excursion into the hills. Unfortunately, I was advised to turn back -- small car, low to the ground, and all.  My little car felt a bit insulted it wasn't off road quality.

What is there to say?

I climbed up and sat on these rocks and ate my lunch.  The couple near me were speaking German.

I stopped at the state park to do a short hike and to indulge in the fantasy of living with a view like this day in and out.

On the other side of the road, there were coastal redwood forests . . .

There used to be a house that overlooked this waterfall, but it was given along with the land to the state for public use, so they tore it down.  Now it lives in my imagination. One could get used to this view.

Well there I am . . . a bit stern, concentrating.  You would think I would have the technique down to take a photo of self (nose down, smile, soften your eyes) . . . I am still working on it.

Try as I could, I couldn't find a way down to this idyllic cove.  There were footprints though!  Someone young and lithe, no doubt found the way.

There were so many pictures I didn't take. And the art galleries were closed by the time I got to them.  So I will HAVE to go back.  A convenient excuse.  Very.

San Miguel Mission

On Saturdays, I arrive a little early for mass so I can walk the grounds of the San Miguel Mission.  It is about 15 minutes down the road from me, and I much prefer it to the modern Catholic Churches that are a bit closer.  There are still friars living at the mission, so it is not entirely open to the public. You can see the lovely courtyard with a fountain and olive trees.

What is it about arches? 

There is an adorable girl about 10 years old who wears her hair in two long braids.  She smiles at me knowingly -- we have never spoken, but we are friends. There is a leathery farmer who sits behind me with his wife- wrinkled brown - his gaze shockingly bright. The Eucharistic minister wears cowboy boots.  And the Friar switches form English to Spanish as he extends the peace.
 

Cloisters always move me; perhaps because they make me think we are  going somewhere.

The first time there was a wedding going on and little girls in froufrou dresses were skipping through the cloister.  That day there were two barn owls sleeping in the nook above the arches -- I wish I had my camera. At the time, I felt sure I would see them again.  Maybe next time.

The colors washed out a bit -- the bench is a country orange.

The doorway to the church.

I love the imitation marble look -- all done with paint.

Sorry, I didn't want to use a flash and this was as clear as I could get it.

My sketch of the interior.

This is what I see driving to the Mission.  Ah, beauty!