Summer on the North Coast of California

Warning the below post might come across sounding like a self-centered, ungrateful white girl. And, as the post is mostly about my memories from when I was younger, they probably are from a self-centered, ungrateful white girl. I just hope that I have matured a bit since then.

Growing up, we spent a lot of time at the beach: whether in Santa Cruz while my dad surfed or up the coast while my dad dove for abalone. My memories of these times, like all of my memories growing up are sparse but vivid; like 10 second clips from a very graphic movie that cuts in and out of my life every few months or years. Cut to me as a young teenager… I can smell the salty air, ripe with the stench of drying kelp on the beach covered with sand flies. I can see the wind whipping my hair into a rat’s nest that will take days to untangle. I can feel the cold fog in my bones even through my sweatshirt and long-sleeved shirt covering my bathing suit put on with the dismal hope of a nice day for laying out. And finally there is me leaving the beach feeling sticky and dirty after a day shivering in the elements, ready for a warm shower. Alas, my beach days were not always like those I had envisioned... Mine were the days on the North Coast of California not the warm sandy beach days of Southern California.

And now with every weekend spent up the coast at Timber Cove, with the summer fog and gloom in full effect, I can’t help to revert to those memories.

A sunny mild day? I am bundled up waiting for the fog to roll in and ruin the fun. A walk along the beach? Every light touch on my legs I assume is a sand fly or bug ready to attack. A light breeze? Might as well be an Arctic storm.

It might sound extreme, but childhood memories (either real or imagined) can impact people in crazy ways. And I may be prone to dramatics.  But thankfully, slowly but surely, I am getting a little better at embracing the elements and appreciating my surroundings…

And as for that maturity that hope I have gained? I now realize that the issue wasn’t of location or lack of beauty or fun, but mostly of bad expectations (and of course my being selfish and ungrateful).  Growing up, I wanted and therefore expected warm sandy beaches, and that was definitely not the case in most situations.  And it is that desire that set me up for disappointment. If I had just appreciated the moments for what they were, I would have been so much happier.  For instance I now love a cold foggy windy day at the beach… it gives me the perfect excuse to stay inside and read a book while occasionally looking out at the winter weather in summer. 

Just another warm sunny summer day on the coast...