Rolling Out the Redwood Carpet
We had two days of winning weather with which to enjoy the redwoods of northern California (NorCal). The morning in Crescent City broke sunny, but not completely cloudless. There was haze on the horizon and a few cirrus clouds above to take on the pink of sunrise. Two lines of pelicans glided past the Battery lighthouse (very picturesque). Then, as the light grew, gulls arrived in numbers and a squadron of cormorants took up post on a rock. A number of bulbous objects were scattered on the water near the shore -- a look through the binoculars revealed that they were harbor seals bobbing in the water, only their heads above the surface. From time to time, a couple seals would thrash about in some kind of game or dispute, but mostly the seals just hung in the water (or, I suppose it's possible the water was shallow and they were standing on their back fins). We stayed until the noon checkout time to milk full value from the balcony view. By then the sky had cleared nearly completely, and did completely clear that afternoon.
Heading south we soon entered the Redwoods National and State Parks. Sure enough, there were lots of redwoods, being everything redwoods should be -- tall, stately, arranged in cathedrals of hushed air and mottled light, with soft, fern-covered floors. Redwoods are the tallest trees -- nay, tallest living things -- in the world, reaching heights of 370 feet. (Their cousins, the sequoias, are the largest trees in terms of total volume, but don't grow quite as tall.) And they live for hundreds, even thousands, of years. It is humbling, in a comforting way, to walk or drive among them.
We pulled into the first of the state parks (Del Norte Coast Redwoods State Park) to check out the visitor center. It was everything a visitor center should be: log construction; interior low and dark; fireplace; light reflecting soft and golden off the pine paneling; display cases of stuffed animals; exhibits on the trees and Native American culture; small gift shop/bookstore; a place to which you would love to be assigned as a park ranger.
We next detoured from 101 to go past the historic Requa Inn, driving steeply up to an overlook high above the mouth of the Klamath River. Those of you who pay attention to environmental/natural resource issues will recognize that name -- there have been huge disputes in dry years over whether the water in the Klamath should be taken out for irrigation or left in for salmon. And then there have been fights about whether the Klamath salmon themselves should be left in or fished out. The mouth of the river was nearly completely dammed by a sand bar, and in the still water behind it a number of rowboats held fishermen. Looking one direction was the vast blue Pacific, looking the other direction was the Klamath River Valley, with redwoods and other pines recessing back and up to mountain peaks.
Back on 101 we crossed the Klamath on a bridge guarded at both ends by golden bears. The bears originally were gray. The citizens of Klamath decided they needed to spruce up things and painted the bears gold. The State painted them gray again, thinking vandals had assaulted the bears. The citizens and state traded paint jobs a few more times until the State realized it was honest citizens and not vandals that wanted the bears golden, and put away its gray paint pots.
On the other side of the river we started up a coastal drive and went as far as an overlook on the other side of the Klamath River mouth. But then the road turned into bumpy dirt and I put my tail between my wheels and turned around. Several miles further south on 101 I saw another sign for a coastal drive; it too soon turned to dirt and I realized it was the other end of the same bumpy road. So back to 101 for more redwoods and less coast. A few miles along, the road turning left to the parking lot for Lady Bird Johnson Grove was fully paved, so we confidently followed it. From the parking lot, you cross a handsome redwood footbridge to a nature trail loop. There were redwoods with little caves at their bases; a redwood hollowed, split partly opened, and painted black inside by a fire; some immense redwood logs; trees that weren't redwoods; and lots of tall, tall redwoods. A Stellar jay flirted on the path and in nearby branches. I went as far as the small clearing where a ceremony was held in 1969, dedicating this primeval forest grove to Lady Bird Johnson in honor of her Beautify America program, then returned to the car where Mary Lou had retreated from the mosquitoes (she'd had a banana for breakfast, a good mosquito attractant).
Back on 101, we stopped for lunch at the "world famous" Palm Cafe in Orick and admired the town's zip code -- 95555. Soon after starting up our drive again we pulled into the Redwood National Park Information Center, a handsome building of the modern height-and-light architectural style, whose back door opened on to the beach. Its exhibits focused on the native Yurok culture. Further down 101 we pulled into Patricks Point State Park. When we saw there was a fee for entering we planned to turn around, but the ranger very nicely gave us a pass good for 40 minutes -- enough time to view the stunning Agate Beach spreading a few hundred feet below the camping area, and the waves crashing on Wedding Rock on the rocky cliff segment of the shore. With that, we were out of official Redwood Park for the moment, and in from the coast, all the way to Eureka, our resting place for the night.
The next morning was again beautifully sunny. Having now read the tourist brochures, I see that we gave Eureka short shrift, but I was anxious about making Fort Bragg by nightfall -- we had made reservations there, assuming reservations would be required for a beach town on Friday night of Labor Day weekend. So we buzzed right out of Eureka and down 101, but then soon took the exit to Ferndale. Beginning in southern Oregon, there had been beautiful pink pampas grass growing along the road, always in places where stopping for a picture would be hazardous. Right at Fernbridge (where a long historic bridge crosses the Eel River), I saw photo-accessible pampas grass. In making the turn to them, we discovered a roadside produce stand, where I bought a crenshaw melon, some plumcots (hybrid of plums and apricots), and a square of honeycomb from a friendly but imperative saleswoman. Then we drove into Ferndale, a dairy town with a number of Victorian buildings, many of them sporting impressive picked-out paint jobs.
The next stop off 101 was Scotia, an honest-to-God company town right here in the 21st century, owned by the Pacific Lumber Company. However, it will not be a company town for long, as PALCO is working on selling the infrastructure to neighboring Rio Dell and the houses to the residents. Mary Lou went into the museum which is housed in a former bank. It has typical impressive bank architecture -- columns and pediments -- but all made of redwood. I took pictures of the train engine and logging equipment on the museum lawn, and of a duck-crossing sign that had silhouettes of a momma duck and 4 ducklings, one of whom had fallen on its face. Aww.
Back in the car we drove past the immense PALCO sawmill to 101 and then soon exited again onto the Avenue of the Giants. This is a scenic alternate route that runs close to the 101 freeway but provides a much more intimate experience of the redwoods. The maximum comfortable speed on the road is 35 or 40, and often the asphalt comes right up to the trunk of a living redwood. There are a number of groves named after a patron civic group, and there are a variety of kitschy stops with redwood wonders and shops selling burl furniture and boxes, bowls, plaques, etc. made of redwood. We pulled in to view the Immortal Tree, aged 950-1000 years, with a height of 248 feet. It had made it to 298 feet, but a lightening bolt lopped off 50 feet -- Thor must have felt threatened. Next stop was lunch at the Eternal Tree cafe in Redcrest. We ate at a picnic table with a Stellar jay flitting nearby (I saw lots of Stellar jays throughout the redwoods. If you recall all the way back from the Green River raft trip, they have black crowns similar to a cardinal, and are very dignified-beautiful.) The Eternal Tree spot made me think of the '50's: cafe serving hamburgers, hotdogs, and homemade blackberry cobbler; low profile gift shop with red and green neon signs ("gifts", "burls", "open"); and the Eternal Tree House -- a 20 ft space hewn from the base of a redwood, complete with a door and windows. The tree was 2500 years old when its trunk was felled in the early 1900's to make, among other things, ties for the railroad. (Yes, 2500-year-old redwood used for railroad ties!!!!) But the loss of its trunk and the hollowing of its base did not kill the tree -- healthy offspring grow from its roots and from the burl on top of the stump.
We drove into the Women's Clubs Grove, which has an even more narrow, tree-hugging road than the Avenue, and then made a stop at the Humboldt Redwoods State Park visitor center. It has a log from a tree that began growing in 1148 and fell over in 1987 after achieving 300 feet of height. Plates on the 9-ft cross section identify rings associated with major historical events. Near the center of the cross section is a plate showing the tree ring from 1215, when the Magna Carta was signed. About half-way from the center is the ring corresponding to Columbus landing in America (1492).
We passed up the drive-through trees, the one-log house, and other woodland marvels, and left 101 at Leggett to head over the hills to the coast on Route 1. Noticing the "Last Service for 28 Miles" sign and the flashing dot on my gas tank meter, I stopped in Leggett for $3.69/gallon gas. Ouch. The road was about the most twisty highway I've ever been on. Some of the hairpin turns just kept turning and turning -- speeds above 10 mph not advisable. We twisted our way into fog and had high fog all along the coast to Fort Bragg. As we drove I saw and smelled my first eucalyptus trees on this trip. I think of eucalyptus as quintessential NorCal, although it is in fact an import from Australia and, apparently, doesn't go further north than Mendocino County.
We passed a number of "vacancy signs" before reaching our high-priced sure-fire reservation. But upon walking into the room, it clearly was worth the premium -- our sliding doors provided a beautiful ocean view. A number of gulls were on the sidewalk just beyond our little patio and, upon seeing me, edged closer in hopes of hand outs. I never saw anyone feeding the gulls, but they were nice and plump. On a walk on the bluff above the breakers, I saw ice plant for the first time this trip. This is a succulent ground cover that I also think of as quintessential California, although it apparently also doesn't like to go above Mendocino.
It was still foggy in the morning. Going out to the car, I saw two black horses joyfully running together through a foggy field across the road -- nature imitates art. We drove to Mendocino and looked for consumer opportunities in some of the shops. Even in the fog-muted light, the flower colors in the gardens were bright and vivid. We saw several stands of "pink ladies" -- a bright pink, lily-like flower that grows about a foot high, with no foliage (thus, their other name -- naked ladies). By Albion, it was after noon and still quite foggy. Since I was not feeling at all deprived of ocean views, and had seen the coast south of that point, we decided to turn inland at route 128 to find some sun. It indeed appeared within a very few miles. This route afforded us another redwood experience -- the Navarro River Redwoods State Park. After that we were in the beautiful golden hills: the roly-poly hills in this part of the world are covered by tall grass that turns golden brown in the dry summer (and emerald green in the rainy winter). Contrasting against the golden grass are the dark green live oaks; the effect is lovely, especially on a clear, sunny day like we had. We had an outdoor barbeque lunch at the Navarro General Store, wound down the road through the golden hills, and then entered wine country, where some of the gold is replaced by green vines in neat rows. We turned onto a narrow, winding road through vineyards, stole two ripe grapes off a vine dripping with purple clusters, and purchased some wine for my parents at the Quivira tasting room. I then proceeded to get us somewhat lost in wine country, but we eventually made it to my parents' home in Santa Rosa.
On Sunday my parents took us to Jack London State Park for a picnic and tour. Turns out London was more interested in innovative farming than in writing (but had to write to fund his failed farming experiments). The site of his farm in the Valley of the Moon is now a state park. You can tour the modest clapboard farm house, the stone buildings for various farm functions, the "pig palace", the elegant stone home built by London's wife after his death -- now a museum holding artifacts from their world travels, and the charred ruins of Wolf House -- a stone mansion the Londons built but never lived in, as it burned down before they moved in. (Vanity of vanities. All is vanity. Eccles. 1:2) On Monday we had barbeque and abstained from labor.
On Tuesday I drove Mary Lou up to Lake Tahoe. We stopped at a produce store in the hot Sacramento valley. It had exotic items such as prickly pears (4 for a dollar), dried fruit of every ilk, and nuts with wondrous flavors, such as jalapeno lemon almonds. At Sacramento, we left I-80 for Route 50, and then took Alt 50 to 88. This was a gorgeous drive through US Forest land in the Sierra Nevadas, with practically no commercial development of any kind. The route took us past several pretty mountain lakes, surrounded by pine and light gray granite. At the tops of ridges, bleached pine carcasses were dramatic atop granite boulders against the azure sky. Small chamisa bushes were in yellow bloom along the road.
We reached the Tahoma home of Mary Lou's friends Earl and Louise at dinner time, so turned right around and went to South Tahoe for Chinese food. On the trip back, we got to see the full moon above Emerald Bay. At another opening to a lake view, I saw a shooting star fall next to the moon's trail on the water. The next morning, after an excellent breakfast from Earl and Louise, I said good-bye to Mary Lou and drove around the lake. This took me into Nevada, bringing to 25 the number of states I have touched on this trip (AR, CA, CO, ID, IL, IN, IA, KY, MD, MN, MO, MT, NV, NM, ND, OH, OK, OR, PA, SD, TN, TX, WA, WI, WY), not to mention the District of Columbia and the Province of Manitoba (when I visited the International Peace Park at the border of North Dakota). It was the perfect kind of September day, making the blue of the lake and the blue of the sky and the blue of the far shore mountains a symphony of blue, with green pine counterpoint. It engendered many requirements for photo stops. Then I returned to Santa Rosa for a couple more days of parental visiting.
Friday my parents and I separately drove to the Legion of Honor Museum in San Francisco to see the Monet in Normandy exhibit (you've seen many of the exhibit's paintings on posters, calendars and coasters). I also enjoyed the Rodin sculptures inside the museum, the statute of a zealous Jean D'Arc on the lawn, and the many blackbirds huddled on the marigolds next to the entrance walk. Then I said goodbye to my parents and drove to my brother's home in Redwood City.
And here I am. The not-so-young woman has gone west. This annventure is done, and another kind of annventure now begins.
So this is my last Annventurer blog entry, unless I decide to do an epiblog. It has been grand. Thank you for joining me.
--Ann
Heading south we soon entered the Redwoods National and State Parks. Sure enough, there were lots of redwoods, being everything redwoods should be -- tall, stately, arranged in cathedrals of hushed air and mottled light, with soft, fern-covered floors. Redwoods are the tallest trees -- nay, tallest living things -- in the world, reaching heights of 370 feet. (Their cousins, the sequoias, are the largest trees in terms of total volume, but don't grow quite as tall.) And they live for hundreds, even thousands, of years. It is humbling, in a comforting way, to walk or drive among them.
We pulled into the first of the state parks (Del Norte Coast Redwoods State Park) to check out the visitor center. It was everything a visitor center should be: log construction; interior low and dark; fireplace; light reflecting soft and golden off the pine paneling; display cases of stuffed animals; exhibits on the trees and Native American culture; small gift shop/bookstore; a place to which you would love to be assigned as a park ranger.
We next detoured from 101 to go past the historic Requa Inn, driving steeply up to an overlook high above the mouth of the Klamath River. Those of you who pay attention to environmental/natural resource issues will recognize that name -- there have been huge disputes in dry years over whether the water in the Klamath should be taken out for irrigation or left in for salmon. And then there have been fights about whether the Klamath salmon themselves should be left in or fished out. The mouth of the river was nearly completely dammed by a sand bar, and in the still water behind it a number of rowboats held fishermen. Looking one direction was the vast blue Pacific, looking the other direction was the Klamath River Valley, with redwoods and other pines recessing back and up to mountain peaks.
Back on 101 we crossed the Klamath on a bridge guarded at both ends by golden bears. The bears originally were gray. The citizens of Klamath decided they needed to spruce up things and painted the bears gold. The State painted them gray again, thinking vandals had assaulted the bears. The citizens and state traded paint jobs a few more times until the State realized it was honest citizens and not vandals that wanted the bears golden, and put away its gray paint pots.
On the other side of the river we started up a coastal drive and went as far as an overlook on the other side of the Klamath River mouth. But then the road turned into bumpy dirt and I put my tail between my wheels and turned around. Several miles further south on 101 I saw another sign for a coastal drive; it too soon turned to dirt and I realized it was the other end of the same bumpy road. So back to 101 for more redwoods and less coast. A few miles along, the road turning left to the parking lot for Lady Bird Johnson Grove was fully paved, so we confidently followed it. From the parking lot, you cross a handsome redwood footbridge to a nature trail loop. There were redwoods with little caves at their bases; a redwood hollowed, split partly opened, and painted black inside by a fire; some immense redwood logs; trees that weren't redwoods; and lots of tall, tall redwoods. A Stellar jay flirted on the path and in nearby branches. I went as far as the small clearing where a ceremony was held in 1969, dedicating this primeval forest grove to Lady Bird Johnson in honor of her Beautify America program, then returned to the car where Mary Lou had retreated from the mosquitoes (she'd had a banana for breakfast, a good mosquito attractant).
Back on 101, we stopped for lunch at the "world famous" Palm Cafe in Orick and admired the town's zip code -- 95555. Soon after starting up our drive again we pulled into the Redwood National Park Information Center, a handsome building of the modern height-and-light architectural style, whose back door opened on to the beach. Its exhibits focused on the native Yurok culture. Further down 101 we pulled into Patricks Point State Park. When we saw there was a fee for entering we planned to turn around, but the ranger very nicely gave us a pass good for 40 minutes -- enough time to view the stunning Agate Beach spreading a few hundred feet below the camping area, and the waves crashing on Wedding Rock on the rocky cliff segment of the shore. With that, we were out of official Redwood Park for the moment, and in from the coast, all the way to Eureka, our resting place for the night.
The next morning was again beautifully sunny. Having now read the tourist brochures, I see that we gave Eureka short shrift, but I was anxious about making Fort Bragg by nightfall -- we had made reservations there, assuming reservations would be required for a beach town on Friday night of Labor Day weekend. So we buzzed right out of Eureka and down 101, but then soon took the exit to Ferndale. Beginning in southern Oregon, there had been beautiful pink pampas grass growing along the road, always in places where stopping for a picture would be hazardous. Right at Fernbridge (where a long historic bridge crosses the Eel River), I saw photo-accessible pampas grass. In making the turn to them, we discovered a roadside produce stand, where I bought a crenshaw melon, some plumcots (hybrid of plums and apricots), and a square of honeycomb from a friendly but imperative saleswoman. Then we drove into Ferndale, a dairy town with a number of Victorian buildings, many of them sporting impressive picked-out paint jobs.
The next stop off 101 was Scotia, an honest-to-God company town right here in the 21st century, owned by the Pacific Lumber Company. However, it will not be a company town for long, as PALCO is working on selling the infrastructure to neighboring Rio Dell and the houses to the residents. Mary Lou went into the museum which is housed in a former bank. It has typical impressive bank architecture -- columns and pediments -- but all made of redwood. I took pictures of the train engine and logging equipment on the museum lawn, and of a duck-crossing sign that had silhouettes of a momma duck and 4 ducklings, one of whom had fallen on its face. Aww.
Back in the car we drove past the immense PALCO sawmill to 101 and then soon exited again onto the Avenue of the Giants. This is a scenic alternate route that runs close to the 101 freeway but provides a much more intimate experience of the redwoods. The maximum comfortable speed on the road is 35 or 40, and often the asphalt comes right up to the trunk of a living redwood. There are a number of groves named after a patron civic group, and there are a variety of kitschy stops with redwood wonders and shops selling burl furniture and boxes, bowls, plaques, etc. made of redwood. We pulled in to view the Immortal Tree, aged 950-1000 years, with a height of 248 feet. It had made it to 298 feet, but a lightening bolt lopped off 50 feet -- Thor must have felt threatened. Next stop was lunch at the Eternal Tree cafe in Redcrest. We ate at a picnic table with a Stellar jay flitting nearby (I saw lots of Stellar jays throughout the redwoods. If you recall all the way back from the Green River raft trip, they have black crowns similar to a cardinal, and are very dignified-beautiful.) The Eternal Tree spot made me think of the '50's: cafe serving hamburgers, hotdogs, and homemade blackberry cobbler; low profile gift shop with red and green neon signs ("gifts", "burls", "open"); and the Eternal Tree House -- a 20 ft space hewn from the base of a redwood, complete with a door and windows. The tree was 2500 years old when its trunk was felled in the early 1900's to make, among other things, ties for the railroad. (Yes, 2500-year-old redwood used for railroad ties!!!!) But the loss of its trunk and the hollowing of its base did not kill the tree -- healthy offspring grow from its roots and from the burl on top of the stump.
We drove into the Women's Clubs Grove, which has an even more narrow, tree-hugging road than the Avenue, and then made a stop at the Humboldt Redwoods State Park visitor center. It has a log from a tree that began growing in 1148 and fell over in 1987 after achieving 300 feet of height. Plates on the 9-ft cross section identify rings associated with major historical events. Near the center of the cross section is a plate showing the tree ring from 1215, when the Magna Carta was signed. About half-way from the center is the ring corresponding to Columbus landing in America (1492).
We passed up the drive-through trees, the one-log house, and other woodland marvels, and left 101 at Leggett to head over the hills to the coast on Route 1. Noticing the "Last Service for 28 Miles" sign and the flashing dot on my gas tank meter, I stopped in Leggett for $3.69/gallon gas. Ouch. The road was about the most twisty highway I've ever been on. Some of the hairpin turns just kept turning and turning -- speeds above 10 mph not advisable. We twisted our way into fog and had high fog all along the coast to Fort Bragg. As we drove I saw and smelled my first eucalyptus trees on this trip. I think of eucalyptus as quintessential NorCal, although it is in fact an import from Australia and, apparently, doesn't go further north than Mendocino County.
We passed a number of "vacancy signs" before reaching our high-priced sure-fire reservation. But upon walking into the room, it clearly was worth the premium -- our sliding doors provided a beautiful ocean view. A number of gulls were on the sidewalk just beyond our little patio and, upon seeing me, edged closer in hopes of hand outs. I never saw anyone feeding the gulls, but they were nice and plump. On a walk on the bluff above the breakers, I saw ice plant for the first time this trip. This is a succulent ground cover that I also think of as quintessential California, although it apparently also doesn't like to go above Mendocino.
It was still foggy in the morning. Going out to the car, I saw two black horses joyfully running together through a foggy field across the road -- nature imitates art. We drove to Mendocino and looked for consumer opportunities in some of the shops. Even in the fog-muted light, the flower colors in the gardens were bright and vivid. We saw several stands of "pink ladies" -- a bright pink, lily-like flower that grows about a foot high, with no foliage (thus, their other name -- naked ladies). By Albion, it was after noon and still quite foggy. Since I was not feeling at all deprived of ocean views, and had seen the coast south of that point, we decided to turn inland at route 128 to find some sun. It indeed appeared within a very few miles. This route afforded us another redwood experience -- the Navarro River Redwoods State Park. After that we were in the beautiful golden hills: the roly-poly hills in this part of the world are covered by tall grass that turns golden brown in the dry summer (and emerald green in the rainy winter). Contrasting against the golden grass are the dark green live oaks; the effect is lovely, especially on a clear, sunny day like we had. We had an outdoor barbeque lunch at the Navarro General Store, wound down the road through the golden hills, and then entered wine country, where some of the gold is replaced by green vines in neat rows. We turned onto a narrow, winding road through vineyards, stole two ripe grapes off a vine dripping with purple clusters, and purchased some wine for my parents at the Quivira tasting room. I then proceeded to get us somewhat lost in wine country, but we eventually made it to my parents' home in Santa Rosa.
On Sunday my parents took us to Jack London State Park for a picnic and tour. Turns out London was more interested in innovative farming than in writing (but had to write to fund his failed farming experiments). The site of his farm in the Valley of the Moon is now a state park. You can tour the modest clapboard farm house, the stone buildings for various farm functions, the "pig palace", the elegant stone home built by London's wife after his death -- now a museum holding artifacts from their world travels, and the charred ruins of Wolf House -- a stone mansion the Londons built but never lived in, as it burned down before they moved in. (Vanity of vanities. All is vanity. Eccles. 1:2) On Monday we had barbeque and abstained from labor.
On Tuesday I drove Mary Lou up to Lake Tahoe. We stopped at a produce store in the hot Sacramento valley. It had exotic items such as prickly pears (4 for a dollar), dried fruit of every ilk, and nuts with wondrous flavors, such as jalapeno lemon almonds. At Sacramento, we left I-80 for Route 50, and then took Alt 50 to 88. This was a gorgeous drive through US Forest land in the Sierra Nevadas, with practically no commercial development of any kind. The route took us past several pretty mountain lakes, surrounded by pine and light gray granite. At the tops of ridges, bleached pine carcasses were dramatic atop granite boulders against the azure sky. Small chamisa bushes were in yellow bloom along the road.
We reached the Tahoma home of Mary Lou's friends Earl and Louise at dinner time, so turned right around and went to South Tahoe for Chinese food. On the trip back, we got to see the full moon above Emerald Bay. At another opening to a lake view, I saw a shooting star fall next to the moon's trail on the water. The next morning, after an excellent breakfast from Earl and Louise, I said good-bye to Mary Lou and drove around the lake. This took me into Nevada, bringing to 25 the number of states I have touched on this trip (AR, CA, CO, ID, IL, IN, IA, KY, MD, MN, MO, MT, NV, NM, ND, OH, OK, OR, PA, SD, TN, TX, WA, WI, WY), not to mention the District of Columbia and the Province of Manitoba (when I visited the International Peace Park at the border of North Dakota). It was the perfect kind of September day, making the blue of the lake and the blue of the sky and the blue of the far shore mountains a symphony of blue, with green pine counterpoint. It engendered many requirements for photo stops. Then I returned to Santa Rosa for a couple more days of parental visiting.
Friday my parents and I separately drove to the Legion of Honor Museum in San Francisco to see the Monet in Normandy exhibit (you've seen many of the exhibit's paintings on posters, calendars and coasters). I also enjoyed the Rodin sculptures inside the museum, the statute of a zealous Jean D'Arc on the lawn, and the many blackbirds huddled on the marigolds next to the entrance walk. Then I said goodbye to my parents and drove to my brother's home in Redwood City.
And here I am. The not-so-young woman has gone west. This annventure is done, and another kind of annventure now begins.
So this is my last Annventurer blog entry, unless I decide to do an epiblog. It has been grand. Thank you for joining me.
--Ann
posted by Annventurer | 11:28 AM
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