Mendocino

For a few days last week, Tyler, our dog Jack, and I stayed at the Andiron Inn in Little River, just outside of Mendocino. Although Tyler had made reservations awhile ago, as our departure date drew close, we became uncertain about whether or not we should be traveling in a time of Covid and poor air quality. Finally, after my having a dream about flying geese, and our learning that the air quality in Mendocino had cleared and was considered very good, we decided to go.

The inn is quirky and the owners were delightful hosts. On our second day there, one of the owners walked up to me and said, "Since your cabin has a kitchenette, I am giving you this egg." I found myself holding a small turquoise blue egg that one of her chickens had just laid. While I admired its beauty, I was having some trouble imagining what to do with it. The pans in the kitchenette had seen better days, and since we had not come with the intention of cooking, we had no other eggs to supplement the offering.

We eventually settled on the idea of scrambling it. With no butter or oil on hand, we resorted to using some Pam spray that we found in a cabinet. Not feeling terribly confident of the outcome, I cracked the egg into a plastic cup and mixed it with milk, salt, and pepper. I left the scrambling to Tyler. We were both surprised that the beleaguered pan performed admirably. Tyler coaxed the egg out of the pan into the shape of a rolled omelet. We cut it in half and shared. It was a delicious and satisfying reminder that God's gifts are often subtle. In order to savor them, we need to learn to pay attention. When we do, we can find sustenance, and the knowledge that sometimes we need far less than we think. There is healing in that revelation, not only for ourselves, but for the world. 

     

I did not think to take a picture of the egg. In fact, I took very few pictures. Nor did we spend a lot of time in the actual town of Mendocino.  Concerns over Covid had closed several places, and in other shops and restaurants there were lines to get in. We simply were not in the mood. I did visit a fine market there, and picked up some provisions so we could simply relax in our cabin and on our deck.  Ft. Bragg, while a little less picturesque, was a little more open and we spent a nice morning walking and window shopping and we were able to visit a gallery.   The ocean was where it was supposed to be, and was fairly flat. Tyler did some cold water snorkeling, while Jack and I walked along the beach.  A friend had suggested a book, Braiding Sweetgrass by  Robin Wall Kimmerer.  The author has a PhD in botany and is a member of the Citizen Potawatomi Nation.  When I tried to order the book, it was backordered, so I loaded in on my Kindle.  It is a thoughtful read, written by a woman trying to bridge two worlds, so I did go ahead and place an order for the book.  Some books I just need to mark so I can refer to later.  In addition to some vintage cookbooks, which were really fun to read, in the cabin was a cheap twelve string guitar.  Tyler sat on the deck and restrung it.  Every afternoon, the inn keeper would walk the goats, Peanut Butter, Sugar, and Cocoa by our deck.  The goats would join the outdoor communal yet physically distanced social hour and then would be led to alfalfa and bed.  As night and morning both began bats would fly close.  The nights were beautifully dark with a crescent moon and glistening stars.  On Sunday morning, I heard geese again.  I thought we would take our time going home, but alas, the smoke was heavy in Anderson Valley.  Like the geese so often do, we just kept going.      

   

While in Mendocino, I said hello to an old woman that I am pretty sure I spoke with a few years ago.  Every coastal town needs at least one or two of the old old out and about. I think I could grow into that role.  On Monday, I turned 68.  I remember when I underwent psychological testing, a requirement for the ordination process, the young woman who was doing the testing asked me when and how I thought I would die.  I really did not hesitate with my answer.  "I will probably be in my late 80's and my heart will finally wear out."  That is the way most of my ancestors passed on.  Seems as good a gauge as any.     

 

However, I hope to return to the coast before then. For now, I will say, it was a fine trip. I never did see the chickens.        

   

 May we all know the blessings of our journey,  

 

Sue Ann