Today I'm going to tell you why living on the Central Coast with a dog is very different than living here without one. At least, if the dog is the kind that needs lots of exercise and the person is the kind who feels guilty doing anything outside without the dog. Sometimes this obligation really gets on my nerves.
I've only jogged the bluff trail in the Montana de Oro once in three months, because Piper is not allowed. I used to do it every few days. I could be jogging through Cerro Cabrillo park and over to yoga class in Morro Bay once or twice a week...a double fitness blessing, if I had the heart to leave her at home. I never explore the canopied paths at Los Osos Oaks any more, or enjoy the view from Valencia Peak. All my old routines are ruined.
But maybe that is okay, because I am forced to find new ones. For instance, one day I was driving toward SLO on Los Osos Valley Road when I realized I had no idea what was on the other side of our southern hills. So I turned onto Clark Valley Road and headed up into them thinking, "maybe there's a dirt road or a trail head up here when I can run with the dog."
There wasn't, but there was some very interesting other stuff.
First, I passed through some wide fields with green houses and horse fences. At one driveway there was a sign that said "POLO." I guess that means they have games back there. I'm going to look into it. Wouldn't that be fun to go watch!?
I continued driving up up up... to a beautiful view of the valley behind me, and green groves ahead. (Sorry I couldn't take photos, the road was narrow and curvy with no good place to stop.) After a couple miles, the paved road switched to dirt and I hoped it would turn into an interesting and safe place to park the van and explore on foot. But it soon dead-ended on private property. I'd love get an invitation to visit those people, and see what it's like up on their land, and maybe I can. In addition to several "No Trespassing" and "PRIVATE" signs there was an ad for a Psychic. Someday I'm going to get all my friends together who are interested in such things and we're going to go up there and have some readings. ( I can't do it alone because I believe in psychics and I don't want to know my future any more than I want someone to tell me how a book ends before I've read it.)
Having gone as far as I could go, I turned around and headed back to Los Osos Valley Road (or the LOVeR, as we sometimes call it.) Just as I was about to turn onto it, I realized I had the option of going straight and exploring some more. What I'd thought was just the entrance into the Memorial Park was actually two narrow roads side by side. One swung into the park, the other extended past it, and around a curve. I couldn't see where it went, but I was excited to find out.
And boy, was I met with a treat! A whole field full of baby goats. I didn't get very close to them, because it made their mama's nervous, so these pictures pretty poor. But even perfect photos couldn't show how adorable they were...toddling around and bleating in their tiny little voices.
I don't know how old they were. Maybe just a few weeks? Some of them looked like they were still figuring out how to use their legs. They would spread them wide and strain their little necks trying to get at the grass. Then, if they still couldn't reach, they would pop up, fold both their knees into the air and just fall forward onto them. It looked to me like it hurt, but they seemed perfectly happy.
Did you know that a happy baby goat will wag it's tail just like a puppy does!? I didn't, but they do.
The road next to the goats was wide and even and unpaved, perfect for jogging with Piper. So, we set out to explore the rest of it on foot. It turned out to be a loop about a mile long, with some strange and beautiful elements.
The strange thing was a railroad track! It was right in the middle of a little residential neighbor hood that is mostly hidden from the main road. The track wasn't a big one, as you can see, but it was long.
I first noticed it where it crossed the dirt road, and then went over a small bridge. It was old and beat-up, obviously not in use anymore. But it must have been at one time, because it stretched out along several different properties, running up hills and through back yards...crisscrossing the road at several places... branching off and rejoining itself numerous times. I felt like I was only seeing a small amount of the total track. I wanted to follow it, but it kept disappearing behind houses and under hedges.
What was the purpose of this tiny track? Was it a ride for kids? A vehicle for vegetables? A way for neighbors to loan each other yard tools without walking down the lane? And why was it left to fall apart? It's a mystery I'm going to solve. I'll let you know when I do.
All these little things...the goats, the psychic, the railroad...where fun to discover. But the real delight of the day was this:
An entire field full of yellow mustard.
Of course, a photo, even a panoramic view pieced together from 7 different shots can't do it justice, even if you click on it to see it larger than it shows up right here. The intensity of color, the breadth of the view...there just isn't any way to capture that. I turned a corner and suddenly it was as if the world had turned to gold.
In the distance you can see Hollister peak, and the chain of volcanic hills leading down to Morro Rock and the Pacific Ocean. You can even see The Rock itself, right where the hills end and the sky takes over as backdrop for the flowers.
As incredible as the view was...with the flowers stretching from here to the hills, where soft green folds and rocky outcrops reach up to touch the pearl blue sky...it wasn't the best part.
The best part was the sound.
I couldn't hear it at first. But as I got closer and closer, it started to swell all around me, the hummmmmmmmmmmm of bees! How many? I don't know. A hundred? A thousand? A million?
Piper and I stood at the very edge of the field, stood still and just let the noise surround us. I tried to find the words to describe it to myself, but it was difficult.
It was like a song without words...sweet sweet sweet as honey, but serious too, like the threat of getting stung. It was pure and high, but deep and grumbly. It sounded like one clean pure note, and also like all 88 piano keys being played at once. If those bees had been trying out for a Broadway play they might have been cast as a chorus of angels, or a den of angry bears, or waves crashing against a shore, or the air whistling past Alice's ears as she falls down into Wonderland.
Forgive me for the attempts at poetry and metaphor. I try to steer away from that kind of writing, because I know it is usually just bad writing. But I don't know how else to tell you about the bees. And I don't know if I want to tell you the next part at all.
K and I went back the next day. I wanted to show her the goats, and the railroad, and of course, the field of gold. When we got there, the babies were just as cute as every, the track was just as mysterious, but the field...
the field was gone.
It had been completely plowed under. Nothing was left but mud and tire tracks. I tried not to be sad about it. This is an agricultural community and I support the farmers in whatever they need to do to grow their crops and care for the land.
I'm just grateful I got to see it, and hear it, while it was there.
Thank you, Piper! Without you, I would have missed it all.
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