Michael and I embarked for the Lost Coast yesterday. We headed out with the solid intention of taking my new camera for a spin and having a byte-sized road-trip adventure, but by the end of the day I found myself invigorated and inspired to (finally) start this blog.
We set out mid-morning for Ferndale, about half an hour from home, and went on to explore the 30-mile stretch of Lost Coast between Ferndale and Petrolia, CA. I was really afraid that the weather wouldn't cooperate, since it was overcast at home, and foggy as we climbed the mountains between Ferndale and the coast. But I was happy nonetheless, because the foggy redwoods still gave me plenty of opportunity to test-drive my brand new Canon.
damp moss on a redwood sapling
As I prepare to leave for Japan (in 28 days!!!), I couldn't help but notice the Tsunami Hazard Zone signs that litter the North Coast. Growing up, I barely ever noticed them. There's a sign down the street from my house, but I never pay attention to it. The tsunami sirens have gone off a solid few times that I can remember, but I don't recall ever feeling a sense of danger associated with them. Yet it's interesting for me now to reflect in light of the March 2011 tsunami in Japan. At that time, I had yet to start taking Japanese, and to be honest, I hadn't ever given much thought to Japan. But thinking back on it now, the tsunami was probably the closest connection I had felt to Japan up to that point, and don't get me wrong, I really didn't give it much mind, either. My town was more-or-less evacuated in the hours after the earthquake hit Japan. I was at Brandeis at the time, but my parents called to say that they were heading up into the mountains with my grandma and dogs in tow. I remember feeling a tangible fear of tsunami waves for essentially the first time. Long story short, nothing happened, but just last night the local news had yet another story about Japanese debris washing ashore. Becoming a Japan-obsessed traveller getting ready to call Osaka home for almost 5 months seems like a crazy distance to have come from almost zero connection to Japan a little over a year ago.
this is a pretty touristy shot, but many of you have never seen this sign
As we neared the coastline, the sun started to shine in patches through the fog. I stopped by the side of the road to take pictures, and the sun beamed down at the perfect moment to illuminate this little guy's wings and the pollen on his fuzz. Needless to say, I love my new camera.
bumble bee on a thistle blossom
We stopped at nearly every gravel turn-off on the road to take more pictures and enjoy the beautiful scenery. The fog was still gripping the hills, but had pretty much disappeared by the time we rolled through open cattle range.
black cow beneath a giant eucalyptus
Michael wanted to try capturing some magic, so I reluctantly came out from behind the camera for a few moments and enjoyed the scenery.
wild wheat and rattlesnake grasses with lots of hopping grasshoppers (photo by Michael Martinez)
When we came back to the coastline, the blue sky made the waters shine deep aquamarine blues. The Lost Coast is the most natural and undeveloped stretch of coastline in California, and when you see it like it shone yesterday, you can't help but think that all of California must have looked a lot more like Hawaii 200 years ago.
coastline looking north
from the (frontage) road looking south
The only drive-thru you'll find in Capetown, CA is wild fennel you can grab from your car window as you drive by. It's the sweetest, most licorice-y fennel in the world... way better than your grocery store variety.
fennel blossoms by the shore
At this point we took a walk down on the beach. We explored the tidepools and found crabs, starfish, and anemone--the usual suspects. I had to be very very careful with my camera, but I captured this shot rock-hopping off the shore.
tidepools
There was a fair amount of driftwood on the beach as we walked along, and when looking through it, I remembered a story that my grandma Margot told me about 2 months ago about my great-great grandmother, Tai Tai (Hildred Daisy Hawkins).
In her "old" age, Tai Tai had read in a newspaper about a woodworking class for adults taking place at a high school near her Berkeley, CA home, and decided to enroll. Anecdotally, my great-grandmother Helen actually decided separately to enroll in the same class, and the two burst out in laughter on the first day when they discovered the other in the same woodworking studio. But Tai Tai really took to the woodworking, and so decided to continue with it after the course had ended as a hobby.
Tai Tai decided that she wanted to start gathering and working driftwood, but neither Pop (my great-great grandfather, Horatio Bates Hawkins) nor Tai Tai could drive. In his late 60s or so, Pop got his driver's license (barely-- he was supposedly the worst driver my mother ever saw) specifically so that he could chauffeur Tai Tai to the beaches in the Bay Area in search of driftwood. The two took longer and longer beachcombing trips until they stumbled upon their favorite stretch of beaches near Scotia, CA, some 250 miles north of home. These trips lead to some of the most treasured family heirlooms we now have, driftwood sculptures that Tai Tai made with love, care, and attention.
one of Tai Tai's sculptures passed down to my grandma Margot
one of Tai Tai's creations passed down to my mother
But as I was there on the beach near Capetown, looking at driftwood in my hands, I realized that, since Scotia is a logging town on the highway 101 a little ways inland, that these must have been the beaches that Tai Tai favored-- or at least close. And that realization helped me to time travel a little bit.
Tai Tai was an exceedingly strong woman for her time. She graduated college in an era when few women were afforded that opportunity. She travelled the world with her husband on diplomatic missions; according to the Berkeley Gazette, she "went to Soochow [China] during revolution. The keys to the city were surrendered to Mrs. Hawkins and she surrendered them to the attacking general only as he and the defending general had tea with her." During a period of guerilla warfare in Pakhoi, China, she "calmly prepared breakfast" and played bridge while machine gun bullets barreled through her living room (the article is here). She also abandoned Pop in China on marital hiatus for a few months to return the U.S., telling him "I am not a brood mare." She was strong-minded and stubborn, and a force to be reckoned with, and it was because she was such a strong woman that her servants in China nicknamed her Tai Tai ("Tai" means great, and her name was essentially 'great lady of the house').
Pop and Tai Tai in India (ancestry.com)
I can only hope to grow to be more like Tai Tai, as I admire her greatly. I am exceedingly proud to have formidable examples of world travelers like Tai Tai in my family. I can't even imagine world travel when it took several months by ship to get to one international port (people think my 12 hour flight to Osaka is long!). People talk often about catching the travel bug, but I think I inherited the virus from my forefathers. At least the stars aligned in such a way that I have been afforded this amazing opportunity to be able to travel, and inherited the mindset that anything is possible.
After our foray on the lost coast, Michael and I brought some take-out to grandma Margot's house for our weekly Mah Jong date. The Mah Jong set we've played on all summer is yet another heirloom. Pop and Tai Tai started playing in China as a social event... but without the customary opiates like the old Chinese men played.
Pop (as acting Commissioner of Chinese Maritime Customs) burning contraband Opium
in Ichang, China, c. 1920 (fifth from left in front) (ancestry.com)
in Ichang, China, c. 1920 (fifth from left in front) (ancestry.com)
Pop and Tai Tai picked up the ivory and bamboo tile set sometime during the 20's, along with the more 'American' tile stands (the Chinese don't play with them, but just stand the tiles up vertically. This is the set that I learned to play on when I was young. Before my great-grandmother passed away, the "four winds" of Mah Jong were the four generations of women in my family as we played. But Michael does a commendable job of filling in.
hand-painted mah jong tile stand
bamboo and ivory mah jong tiles
a portion of a mah jong hand
Overall, it was a really good day. It gave me a lot to think about in terms of my departure for Japan and France. Particularly since I've never been to Asia before, I'm looking forward to acting as a cultural ambassador for the US and for my family in the East. And I hope that my ancestors will enjoy watching over me on my adventures. And that you will too, via this blog! Enjoy!
chinese relief in jade on wood
Footnote! I will be blogging in English, Japanese, and French, so please feel free to use the Google Translate widget on the right anytime you might need a little help. As a disclaimer, I am in the lifelong process of learning these languages, so please excuse any/all mistakes you may find. I'll be including 18 photos with each blog entry, so I hope you like pictures! I feel that this number, a holy number (Chai) and my golden number (DOB February 18) gives the perfect opportunity for me to show you what I've been up to, while hopefully not overwhelming you, either. Lastly, you may have noted the title of the blog. Please hold me to writing at least 80 blog entries by my return to the US next May.
がんばりましょう！
