As much as I love the ocean, it stirs me every time I wind my way up the San Marcos Pass. Today’s crystal clear view of the islands was spectacular but as I crested the mountain it was the panorama of the Santa Ynez Valley that took my breath away. The trees broke open to imposing peaks in the east – swathed in a dilute palette of pinks and khaki and beige. Below, the rolling hills along Paradise Road looked like yummy lumps of butterscotch, pocked with trees and rocks. Startled mule deer – their goofy ears splayed wide – paused in the shade of live oaks, searching for cool. A racket of crows stood watch over a vineyard; cottontails loped softly along the road; and the skeletons of ancient Chumash aps (their round dwellings of willow and grass) hid among trees that drooped from the heat.
It was 108 degrees today when I arrived at the reserve, where I am the only guest. Mi Casa is a rambling white ranch house with high, beamed ceilings, two fireplaces (which will go unused), and an ancient kitchen (which will be slightly used, as I didn’t really bring any ‘real’ food). When I actually ask and let God provide, he always does it in such style!
After writing, reading and meditating a bit, I fixed a salad and met Eric, the sweet and handsome young ranch hand. As we ate dinner he pointed out the sounds of the night: coyotes howling and hooting owls, and warned me of the possibility of ghosts. Swell. We cranked open every (screened) window in the house to lure the refreshing air in; in the morning my job is to run around shutting all the windows and shades before the cool can escape.
For now, I’m content to sit beneath the fan enjoying the brisk zephyrs, listen to the crickets and frogs, the occasional bark and howl, and write. :-)
CORRECTION! THE HIGH TEMP WAS 115.8! HOLY MOLY!
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