There’s a beast within humanity that rises from time to time, and from place to place, that displays its recklessness, its disdain, stupidity, greed. It mutters, “Ah, to hell with it.” It declares, “Let’s exploit this.” It argues, “Get.” It goes for the vulgar, the gimcrack, the cheap. It leaves waste in its wake. In the shallow end, it’s only kitsch. In the deep, it’s monstrous, devouring, deadly.
There’s a beauty within humanity that rises from time to time, and from place to place, that expresses its creative will, its appreciation, wit, tenderness. It sings, “Ah, look!” It whispers, “Wonderful!” It agrees, “Give.” It delves, explores, reconditions, nurtures, offers grace, life.
This is third in a set of northern California road trip ramblings.
Just before sunrise, I walk through the grassy dunes and onto Glass Beach. Here, a half century of discarded intimacies lie at your feet. Millions of consumer products that the sea couldn’t stomach, spewed up, and scoured, in an effort to return glass to its natural state. Certainly a more appealing one. There are bits of brown, from guys guzzling at bars, gazing out from their disappointments, from weariness. Dashes of white, from women at their make-up mirrors, finger-dipping into beauty jars. Chips of green, from teens playing Spin the bottle and drinking 7UP. Stuff people bought they no longer had use for. What was empty, old, broken. The opposite of what we truly want: to be filled, new, complete.
 |  Vintage ads, when Site Two was active. |
It was early in the twentieth century that residents of Fort Bragg chose this coastline to be the local dump. When Site One was overwhelmed, Site Two was established. It wasn’t until the late 60s that the dumping ceased. All sea-tumbled now, the fragments are collectable. Sea glass also fetches a good price.
Bex joins me, and her kids scuttle along, sleepy-eyed but enthusiastic. We, too, scour the glass, amazed, curious, mindful.
We also find whimsical creations along the beach, made, in counterpoint, from nature’s castaway material. A creature staring out to sea. A cannon-like contraption. Ebenezers (so named after the biblical account in 1 Samuel 7:12).
A burnished car part, submerged, embedded in rock.
Having studied the beach to our satisfaction, charmed from the thrill of discoveries, we head north.
We pass rusted cars with eucalyptus trees growing through their hoods, their roofs. As Neil Young said, rust never sleeps. No, it kills its prey, in a slow, lock-down death. And once again, nature’s had its way, its say, with a sly wink toward alternate, sustainable energy.
To some, the glory of nature is not enough. You must pull it this way, push it that, squeeze it into money.
Like the 1930's schemers who erected Paul Bunyan and Babe the Blue Ox, to welcome you into “Trees of Mystery,” along Highway 101 at Klamath. It’s a kitschy intrusion — made of wooden beams, chicken wire, and stucco — near Redwood National Park. Paul stands 45 feet tall, and Babe, 35. (In 2007, Babe’s half-ton head fell off; fortunately, no one was crushed.) Thanks to some archaic inner workings, Paul can blink, turn his head, even speak. And, thanks to anatomical specifics, you can see that Paul’s Babe is a he.
“There is no escaping them,” says the roadside attraction’s website. “The moment you exit your car, you notice something different.”
We drive on by.
{ Ira Glass meets Paul Bunyan: For an amusing listen (or read), here’s This American Life’s “Secret Identity.” }
As Joni Mitchell chides in “Big Yellow Taxi,” “They took all the trees, put ‘em in a tree museum / they charged the people a dollar and a half just to see ‘em.”
We enter old-growth forests, where the air is sweet, curative, crisp.
{ Ira Glass meets Paul Bunyan: For an amusing listen (or read), here’s This American Life’s “Secret Identity.” }
As Joni Mitchell chides in “Big Yellow Taxi,” “They took all the trees, put ‘em in a tree museum / they charged the people a dollar and a half just to see ‘em.”
We enter old-growth forests, where the air is sweet, curative, crisp.
As with many trees, redwoods are social organisms. Together, they create their own ecosystems. They provide and share nutrients; their roots are shallow but run far, intermingling with their companions. This is one of nature’s ancient support groups.
 |  |
Welcome to the "Chandelier Drive-Thru Tree." A magnificent redwood, whose branches (large trees of themselves), sprout strikingly out half-way up, like a candelabra — with a hole the size of a truck hacked into its trunk. So you can drive your bubble gum-chewing kids, who take turns on either end of the back seat to tan their arms on the sunny side of the family station wagon, right through. “Providing a unique treat for travelers.” After nearly ninety years, cars still line up, with kids and adults alike scrambling to take selfies. Of course, it will cost you: five bucks per car, three for motorcyclist or pedestrian.
There are those who want to make merchandise of beauty.
There are those who embrace it, breathe it in.
Then there are those who see a wall and splash dreams across it ...
murals in San Jose
next time: living a dream : cast of characters
last time: living a dream : the watery part of the world
photos: Troy Howell and Gibson Girl Photography
last time: living a dream : the watery part of the world
photos: Troy Howell and Gibson Girl Photography
RSS Feed