There’s nothing like cool, country air and a flaxen sunrise to put you back in your right mind.

My sister and I told work to kiss our tailgates and we hit the road to explore life and improve our photography skills.

Wildflowers like California poppy and lupine contributed color and cheer to our adventure.There were plenty of old ranch fences and barns to get our minds wandering to a simpler time.A little black and white to mix things up.Isn’t the oak-studded California landscape stunning?Little bitty flowers hugged the curvy road making us smile. Daffodils, one of my sis’s faves.She likes poppies, too.
I like weeds with tendrils.

The road eventually led to Platina. If you ever get a chance to visit the Platina Store & Restaurant, do it! It’s a boot-scootin’ good time: greasy burgers, homemade pies, interesting conversation with locals and the only place I’ve seen microwavable pork rinds for sale.

Enjoy!

Some choices hold you down,

Some chances set you free.

“Hate is easy, love takes courage” is the signature you use at the end of  your emails. As I looked through the recent photo-filled email you shared, I was struck by the strength and importance of your message and realized how fitting it is for this season of my life.

I won’t go into all of the details here, but I will say this: There have been few times in my life when I have come across someone so evil and so conniving that I am rendered shocked and speechless by their blatant disregard for another human’s feelings and worth.

It’s been nearly two years since the day I last met someone like this. I was blinded by her charm, wit and intelligence and openly shared many details about my work and personal life with her. Once I finally realized her true nature, it was too late. Since then I have distanced myself from her, but her presence, though not physical, is still poking around, secretly stabbing at me with a coolness that cuts like the brisk winter wind.

The part about all of this that bothers me the most is not her false friendship, copycat thievery or lack of originality, but that I used the word “hate” when speaking of her the other day. I very rarely use this word. In fact, I have only used it one other time while speaking of another human being. Disgraceful, I know.

After reading your signature again, I see that I have taken the easy path. I have allowed myself to hate her. I have never taken the easy road in life, so why start now? From this point forward, I will only speak kind words of her, I will send positive thoughts her way and wish her all the best with her journey through life.

And who do I have to thank for this new awareness? You, Mikayla. So, thank you.

Your mindfulness has shown the importance of letting go of a negative emotion and has illuminated a quality that I would like to apply more liberally to current and future friendships: love. Yes, it will take courage given this failed friendship is not far behind me. But I can do it. I will do it.

Thank you again, Mikayla. I appreciate you.

All my love,

Auntie Amber

Please view Mikayla’s beautiful photography and creative talents below. Bravo! Continue to create. Continue to love.

Of course a little bit of luck helps, too. Which brings me to the following question. Did you know the buckeye tree is a symbol of good luck?

The foothills and mountains of Northern California are peppered with Aesculus californica. Once California buckeye has lost all its leaves — which happens during summer, and all of its fruit — which happens during fall, the bare grey branches of the multi-trunked tree look like gnarly chandeliers hanging from the earth’s surface.

My family saw plenty of buckeye on a recent trek we took through the hills just east of our home. After walking about a mile, we came upon a cluster of the small trees tucked into in a cool, shady draw. Buckeye fruit was everywhere! Although our family’s motto is “observe, do not disturb,” we let our son have fun chucking the bare, shiny spheres as far as his super-teenage strength would let him.

We meandered up and over and around the shady hillside, and although the air was chilly, the golden foliage of the black oaks gave a certain warmth to the woodland. After a brief race along a narrow, ribbon-like stretch of red clay, we came across this love lichen.

Once we turned toward home, my son became more playful, tossing bright orange toyon berries into my hair. As I watched him, I became acutely aware of the forest’s stillness and thought about how quiet my life will be in a couple of years when he goes off to college. For a moment I forgot to breathe, but the pungent, peppery aroma of oak leaves and rich moist soil came to my rescue reminding me to inhale and exhale. I caught up to my son, kissed him on the cheek and gave thanks for the many blessings in my life.

Happy living!

After a rather busy week of work, family responsibilities and a trip to Sacramento — if I never go back to that filthy, overpopulated city, it will be too soon — I was looking forward to some quiet time. Upon arrival, I was not greeted by silence, but a chorus of birdsong. The voices of migrating birds, songbirds and scrub jays mingled to form a jungle jingle. I saw many other birds on my trek including Canada geese.

This particular gaggle took flight just as I snapped a pic. Do you see the straggler?

Cranes remind me of yoga. They have the most graceful posture. Is there a crane pose in yoga?

Three geese out for a stroll. Looks like they found something scrumptious to nibble on.

Oh, the majestic oaks of California. Every time I see a stand like this, I feel blessed to live in this part of the country.

Another oak welcoming walkers to venture around the corner. What’s that? Silence. I’m far from the trailhead now.

These are not native trees, but they are spectacular nonetheless. That levy holds an upper pond. Just to the left is a spillway that feeds the lower pond.

I thought this dome drain was interesting. It reminds me of the plank houses my son used to make when he was a small boy.

Mallards chillin’ in a quiet corner of the ranch.

These weeping willows circle a small body of water that acts as a giant mirror to the heavens.  As I sit pondering life, I wonder if these chartreuse beauties are going to pull up their roots and begin playing ring around the rosie, or in this case, ring around the Adam’s Ale.

Looking west, do you see that bird in the tree to the left? Birds are everywhere: in the water, near the water, in the trees, under the trees, everywhere. Someone with a fear of the winged sort would be most uncomfortable on this trail.

More autumn color. This path leads to one of the event centers located on the Lema Ranch property.

Mt. Shasta to the north of me, another gaggle of geese getting a little too close for comfort to the south of me. I think I’ll move on. “Stop that, sir. You’ll find no food there.”

The trail was not lacking in plant material. Wind from the last storm caused much of the foliage to shake loose. Black oak, or Quercus kelloggii, leaf — I love the contrast here!

As I near the end of Secluded Loop, I realize I have come full circle. Familiar birdsong streaming through the trees invites me to rest awhile. I sit on a rather chilly bench where I admire lichen, acorns and the natural landscape while I listen to my feathered friends’ live performance.

Making my way back to the parking lot, I capture glistening manzanita dew drops.

At the entrance to the trail I see a checkerboard table and am reminded of a day not long ago when my sister and I enjoyed an afternoon together at another McConnell Foundation property near the Sacramento River. Good times, good memories, good way to begin the morning.

If you’re ever in my neck of the woods, check out Lema Ranch. You’ll be happy you did!

I wasn’t ready for a pet as I am still sensitive about having to put our dog down last fall. But Beatrice is a gentle soul who loves, loves, loves attention. Although it took some coaxing and a good game of cat and mouse to earn his trust, he now spends his days lounging on the deck, staring at me as I work. He stays there until the thrill of the hunt calls.

You might be wondering about his name. I named him when I still though he was a female. Our friends pointed out that his head is a good indicator that he’s a male. Upon investigating some rather graphic kitty genitalia photos on the Internet, we confirmed that yes, Beatrice is a boy.

Problem is, I can’t think of another name for him. I named him after Beatrice Wood, the American artist and writer who was also known as the “Mama of Dada.” She was a free spirit who lived life on her terms, just like my Beatrice.

Beatrice Wood had gorgeous grey locks and penetrating eyes. She was vocal about what she expected from life. Again, like my Beatrice.

So, until I find another name that fits him, he is Beatrice.

I don’t think he will mind. Just so long as I keep up with the petting and playing, he will continue purring and bringing joy to my days — and tolerating being named after a woman.

Well, I’m off to love Beatrice. Like I said, sometimes we have no choice when it comes to our pets.

Pink. Yes, pink. Here in Cali, we still have some lovely blushing flowers to admire, like this Begonia. Once Jack Frost breathes over my garden, this little beauty will be a goner. So, I will admire its delicate nature now.

This sweet Dianthus adds cheer to the entry of our local camera shop, Crown Camera. Thanks for your patience and expertise, MacKenzie!

And purple. I know, it’s not a color you think of when you think autumn, but this Salvia forsskaolii thrives in my garden where it found the just-right place to seed itself under an orange tree.

White. More the color of winter, but again, it’s here, it’s thriving, so I figure why not share. Besides, the buttery yellow center counts.

See the garden spider playing peek-a-boo with me?

Yarrow leaf in the sunlight — delicate and dreamy.

California native scarlet globe mallow. This hardy plant flowers nearly year-round in my garden.

It’s a prolific pollinator plant. The honey bees just love it!

And not everything has to be living to be fascinating and beautiful. Take this dried thistle for example.

Finally, one of my favorite garden items: the oak gall.

Happy fall!

We’d kneel beside one another, and using our pointer fingers, we would poke holes in the newly turned soil at the base of each “climbing string.” One by one we dropped  promises of life into the soft earth. We knew that with time, and plenty of water, soft green sprouts would emerge, providing contrast against the dark earth. Eventually, hundreds of blooms would paint the otherwise dull space below my mom’s bedroom window.

Delicate flowers in shades of white, pink, purple and blue covered the south side of our house making us proud of our good work. We loved the way the miniature trumpets opened each the morning, and by the time we came home from a hard day’s play, they would already be closing — the extent of their short life cycle.

Just as those prolific annual vines brought much happiness to my mom, my sister and me, my Ipomoea nil brings joy to my family of three.

When my son was younger, he loved to watch the bumble bees that were searching for nectar disappear into the glowing throats of the purple trumpets. Nowadays, he and my husband just roll their eyes when I tell them I can actually see the progression of the flowers as they open wider with the rising sun. Who stands around watching this sort of thing?

I do. And I imagine, many more like me who long to connect with nature, even if it is just for a moment or two each day.

Here are some photos of the interesting treasures I found on Point Reyes Seashore — I didn’t really have to look far for the first one. The love of my life and I were glued to one another for the entire weekend — just the way I like it!

Tiny jellyfish. I almost didn’t see it.

I imagine this is the feather of one of the many seagulls that call Point Reyes home.

Poor soul. Although dead, I think he or she is still lovely to look at. So intricate and complex, the crab.

Beautiful place to die: right beside the deep blue Pacific Ocean. Wouldn’t it be a peaceful way to leave this life? The rhythmic sound of waves lulling you into your eternal sleep, the gentle coastal breeze tickling your arms … or wings … one last time, and soft, golden sand offering you that last bit of warmth.

When we were young girls, my sister and I used to beat the H – e – double hockey sticks out of one another when our dad took us to the Mendocino Coast during summer break. We were wild animals, the two of us, when left to do what kids do best: have a blast!

Who’s that sleeping?

Love the cheerful flowers.

Even in black and white, the ice plant is stunning.

Here is hubby again, dusting off the Parasheet — a must have for picnics or beach parties.

Happy, bluff dwelling California cows. What a view!

And, finally, on our way out, one of the many protected farms that pepper the Point Reyes Headlands.

Posting these photos has me already looking forward to our return to this stunningly beautiful, diverse California landscape — and of course another fun-filled weekend with hubby.

Once on the headlands, the drive to Point Reyes Historical Lighthouse, built in 1870, took a little while. Thankfully we had the luring landscape to make the drive a textured and colorful adventure. We passed historical farm after historical farm — all protected by MALT (Marin Agricultural Land Trust; read about how these ranches came to be protected here.) Finally, the Pacific Ocean came into view along with many deer lying in the velvety-looking bluff grass.

At the lighthouse parking lot, which resembled a Prius and Subaru convention, we strapped on our walking shoes and made our way up the paved trail with the promise of a historical lighthouse tour in our future. Along the way, a small child began yelling for her mother after my husband pointed out the fawns, or deerlings, as my husband likes to call them. No, not one photo. They move so quickly once a child’s shriek finds its way to their sensitive ears. Imagine that. Thanks, hubby.

This fire hydrant stood still, though.

A man-made concrete wall had little hope against these persistent yellow-flowering plants. This wall is part of an elaborate water storage system developed back in the day. The Point received less rainfall than inland areas and, although surrounded by seawater, the lighthouse grounds never had adequate wells or springs to supply fresh water for the lighthouse keepers and their families, nor did it have enough water to power the coal-fired generators that made steam for the fog signals.

To ensure they had enough water each year, the lightkeepers built a water catchment system and cistern capable of holding 52,000 gallons of water. Here is the dome of the Point Reyes Lighthouse cistern.

We did not head the warning; we are still youngish and perfectly capable of climbing back up what, 150 steps, maybe.

On the way down, we admired Mother Earth’s art.

I particularly liked this cravasse-like opening to the sea.

This weathered building, where the permanent automated light stands, offered a nice contrast to the grey-blue, endless Pacific Ocean.

According to the NPS, “Weeks of fog, especially during the summer months, frequently reduce visibility to hundreds of feet. The Point Reyes Headlands, which jut 10 miles out to sea, pose a threat to each ship entering or leaving San Francisco Bay.”  For more than a hundred years, the Point Reyes Lighthouse warned mariners of danger.

Inside the cast iron lighthouse, this weight sits as a reminder of the pulley system that was once responsible for rotating the light.

Looking up, a “first order” Fresnel (fray-nel) lens developed by Augustin Jean Fresnel of France — he revolutionized optics theories with his new lens design in 1823. Keeping the prismatic glass clean was one of many duties for the lightkeeper.

“Daytime duties for the keepers included cleaning the lens, polishing the brass, stoking the steam-powered fog signal and making necessary repairs. At the end of each shift, the keeper trudged back up the wooden staircase. Sometimes the winds were so strong that he had to crawl on his hands and knees to keep from being knocked down. The highest wind speed recorded at Point Reyes was 133 m.p.h., and 60 m.p.h. winds are common.” – nps.org

The base of the lantern is still in tip-top condition.

This building once held air compressors that powered the fog horns.

A lonely chair sits inside, peacefully and patiently waiting for someone to show it a bit of attention.

Components of compressor room.

Heading back to the top of the Point, my husband takes off at full speed ahead — he must think that he is a professional athlete capable of making a new world record climb, if there is such a thing. Notice the 300 on the face of the step? Not even close to my projected 150! Good grief.

I’ll take my time and smell the flowers — or at least take photos of them. See how far ahead of me he is?

We made it, finally. Only a few skipped heart beats later and enough sweat droplets to make me think I was at a tropical location instead of at the cold, overcast Pacific Coast. I am happy we pressed on despite the cautionary sign.

Back at the car, we scarfed coldish pizza and guzzled about a gallon of water. After making myself presentable, tucking in the many wiry, out-of-control curls that gave me a medusaesque look, we wound our way back down the Point and headed out to the sea.

Next week: beach photos! Lots of treasures, both living and not, were found on South Beach, Point Reyes.

To learn more about the Point Reyes Lighthouse, visit the NPS site here.