Thinking back to the last “normal” weekend in southern California before it became clear that covid-19 was spreading locally & closures started.
After a busy Saturday & Sunday morning, I went out for a calming photo walk at the beach.
Not many people were there. I’m not sure if it was just not warm enough yet, or people were starting to keep their distance already, or if they were just all at the other end where there was a kite festival.
Wait, *is* that a trail? There are a lot of branching trails in #HahnPark, and I took one that was steeper than the others because I wanted to make sure I had as much time as possible on top of the ridge before sunset. But after a while I started to wonder. By the time I got here, footing was tricky, and there was one point where I needed to use a hand to brace myself.
It wasn't a problem going uphill in daylight, but when I came back down after sunset, I made sure to take the shallower switchback trails instead!
Apparently their neighbors reported them for renting it out as Airbnb or similar (which the city doesn’t allow). Then they painted the house bright pink with giant 😜 and 🤐 emoji on it. Now the neighbors are complaining about the mural, but the city says it’s on private property 🤷♂️
Honestly I’m surprised – it sounds like the kind of area that would mandate specific shades of beige paint.
Interesting: A few miles from Hearst Castle, a trash collector spent 50 years cobbling together his house out of junk and found objects. As Cambria became more trendy in the 1970s, neighbors wanted him to tear down the multi-level “eyesore,” while others saw Nitt Witt Ridge as a folk art monument. It’s still there, and still a controversy within the city and its historical society.
We went to the Orange County Fair yesterday, which was weird because it’s in the smoke plume from the wildfire in the nearest mountains. The light was dim & yellow. The sun, when we could see it, was deep red. At night we could see the mountains silhouetted by an orange glow. But the smoke was all high enough we didn’t smell it, and no ashes reached the ground.
This is a park at the top of a hill rising up from the Pacific Ocean. Today there were a zillion crows riding the air currents and occasionally alighting on the fence that separates the park from the steep drop-off.
I liked the idea that the crow might be bristling at the prohibition. But I miss the old signs they used to have on the fence. They had a bit more personality.
Some sort of flowering scrub brush in the dry part of Madrona Marsh preserve. Some parts of the preserve have ponds year-round, some collect rain in winter and spring, and some are always dry land with grass or chaparral.