Randy Johnson at bat for the Giants

Flight of the Conchords encore!

Busy Saturday

Not being able to sleep in because one is too fat and uncomfortable has its benefits. Today I've graded a bunch of papers (I have a lot, lot more remaining), eaten three meals--all different ethnicities/persuasions, accompanied Mike on a flooring mission for La Casita (the back unit he is fixing up), returned and bought new maternity clothes at Target, replaced Sammy's missing frisbee at REI, and taken Sammy swimming/frisbeeing at Point Isabel. It's a beautiful day and Mike is planting delphiniums which remind me of the Missoula Farmers Market. Five weeks of school left, ten weeks of pregnancy. I can do this!

A Reunion with Point Reyes

Today I returned to Point Reyes for the first time since we left in 2006. The oysters of the Hog Island company in Marshall and the Johnson company on the peninsula sustained me in my years after college, as I tried to eek out a living on sunshine and kayak tours. I felt around in the darkness of my new adult life out there and it provided for me.

My company was my brother and best man, Alec. We rose at 7:30 and packed the car in steadily falling rain. We stopped at Happy Donuts for apple fritters; I laughed when Alec was duped by a jelly doughnut look-alike that turned out to be filled with disgustard, I mean lemon custard. Happy Donuts - what a name. The usual tunes accompanied us on our drive out to Lucas Valley Road and around Nicasio Reservoir. We plotted our course of action.

We began by driving up Mt. Vision and mushroom hunting from the car. We covered tons of ground and found a wealth of fungus: agaricus augustus, the hedgehog, amanita rubescens, and others. We hiked out the Estero Trail to an enchanted forest of white pine - a real anomaly for the area - in search of more mushrooms. Alec came upon two fawns playing dead when their mother ran off. We were able to approach to within five or so feet (and perhaps more, but we feared the mother's retaliation and the possibility of later appearing on a FOX reality show called, "When Deer Attack!"), and we stood watching their chests rise and fall, wondering how their fear could be disguised with such tranquility. On the hike out we happened upon a bobcat hunting rabbits. Alec surreptitiously tossed sharp grass stalks at me that stuck to my shirt with the sole purpose of annoying me.

We stopped for lunch at Cafe Reyes, polishing a dozen oysters, some Racer 5 IPA, and a couple of wood-oven pizzas. We then headed north on the 1, picking up kayaks from a friend and destined for Nick's Cove, a quiet launch up Tomales Bay where kayakers are in the company of crabbers and halibut fishermen. After loading the boats and pulling on our Gore-Tex and neoprene, we paddled across to Hog Island, the Tule Elk Refuge, and up to Rope Swing Beach. We glided through the familiar waters, beheld grebes, coots, loons, buffleheads, a leopard shark, and a bat ray. We pulled up next to some tall, white sandstone bluffs and marvelled at the gnarled figures of bright red starfish gripping the cliffside.

At Rope Swing we got out to stretch our legs for a few moments and I took Alec back to the place where the old swing used to be. The rope swing is broken, now, and I wonder if that rope, tied to an old limb on an ancient cypress tree isn't symbolic of something I've lost and could feel today. It might have been a foot out of reach, and perhaps I could have jumped and grabbed it, but it would not have been the same, and I might have gotten hurt.

I love Point Reyes all the same, and perhaps more than ever, for all the things it has always meant to me: freedom, contemplation, invigoration, biodiversity, and friendship. But the peninsula keeps moving, just a few inches a year, up toward Alaska and the Aleutian Trench, where it will some day disappear into the Pacific Ocean, rope swing and all.