BRAISED RED CABBAGE IS OVERRATED – July 15
We were on the elevator, going downstairs for a nice breakfast at our hotel when Isaac noticed our appearance and with not a little disdain, remarked, “The Ginger family is wearing GREEN today.” It was purely coincidental. But we were, in fact, looking a bit Irish.
The drive was gorgeous in the mountains and through the vineyards between Agoura Hills and Malibu. We parked in Malibu at the Point Dumes National Preserve and edged our way down the steep stairs over the cliff to a beach covered with large smooth stones in the cove.
More bandana-tying was in order before hitting the beach. Among our finds onthe beach at Point Dumes was a large long-legged crab, a tiny sand dollar, some uncommon rocks, a piece of white quartz worn smooth by the surf, some sea glass, and an unfortunately deceased pelican sitting askew on a rock (we’re surmising the cause of death was old age.) Thinking I had come upon a brightly colored orange yam, I found instead a deflated sea creature, maybe a collapsed sea cucumber or some other mysterious plant.
Hope you are noticing the green apparel in these pictures….
We came upon a sunken boat, resting on its side as though tanning itself, but half buried in the sand. It reminded me of the boat on Gilligan’s Island.
Surfers were tackling waves about the size Jim was attempting to conquer during his “swim.” Of note, there are some lovely beaches with waves appropriate for swimming. But the stretch of Windansea that fateful day was not one of them.
Isaac set my camera on a timer to capture the below photo in Malibu. We do look good in green, don’t we?
I continue to hold on to my fabulous and ridiculous facial burn which gives me the appearance of a strange raccoon wearing a ghostly mask. Such an attractive presentation for a place like Malibu. I’m trying to wear my sunglasses.
Togetherness has been absolutely wonderful and positively grating. Most of us at moments have felt the need to distance ourselves from the collective or risk that unfortunate byproduct of family togetherness otherwise known as insanity. But by and large we are managing brilliantly for an opinionated foursome bravely navigating one rental car, one hotel room, sunburn, seven-lane traffic, and the bane of complete familiarity. We don’t have to impress each other, so we are free to be sporadically horrid. The good news is that we know each other (and the signs of impending eruption) well enough to realize the exact moment egg-shell walking, feeding, distracting, or allowing lots of space is warranted. And in this way the crisis is almost always averted.
Driving through Ventura County I have too much time to think and analyze. I am reminded that in spite of our obvious common appreciation for family, faith and friends, we are all drawn most keenly by something different on this journey we have undertaken together. My husband can barely pass a cliff or jutting rock without an attempt to conquer it. This is almost always true when said cliff is adjacent to a crashing ocean (or other measurable threat which causes his wife, the frightened onlooker, to panic and pale.) My son never fails to notice a fine car. He can zero in on any parked or passing sports car or luxury automobile (most definitely all those priced over $80,000.00) as though he was created with some sort of homing device. For my daughter the strongest point of connection is animals, from miniscule sand crabs to mammoth whales. And all manner of creature in between. Her now four month venture into vegetarianism is just one byproduct of this. (A curiosity as the daughter of a loyal Hatfield Quality Meats man.) And though I do love to watch and hear the sea, I think for me the pull of written words is still stronger. The few minutes of reading I’ve achieved each night before bed are as cherished as the new and wonderful sights for me each day. I guess I should have been a librarian.
Oxnard was stop two for today. Downtown was nothing special but I loved the sparkling Channel Islands Harbor. The sailboats bobbing in an organized row were just waiting for their chance at sea and it was a lovely sight. As we were driving along Harbor Boulevard, I couldn’t help but notice that some unknown resident had gone a little crazy with the craft glue. There were enough pointy seashells on her mailbox to cause serious injury to a careless mail carrier. Unusual architecture and unique exterior home décor made the drive through the harbor front residential area a lot of fun.
And we were off to Ojai. This is an artsy, eclectic town tucked into the southern edge of the Sierra Madre Mountains. Though the name of the town is derived from the Chumash Indian name for moon and is pronounced “Oh-hi”, Jim insisted on referring to it as “Ouija”, referencing the spine-tingling prophetic board game which creeped me out to the point of nightmares as a child. On first impression, Aubrey fell in love with the town and by the time we departed several hours later, Aubrey had determined that she would move back there someday. In fact, if it wasn’t too much trouble, she was just fine being left there immediately.
We enjoyed a very delicious lunch on the back patio of the Feast Bistro.
We visited quaint shops, tasted ice cream and lemon sorbet, mailed postcards from the most gorgeous post office I have ever seen (see below) and sipped caffeine from the local coffee roaster.
By about 2:30 we were back on the road and heading north to Santa Barbara. After an hour of the maddening traffic on the freeway, we began to climb some amazing residential streets in Santa Barbara. The zig-zagging roads skirted the mountain with breathtaking views of Santa Barbara below. At the top of the mountain we found the Old Santa Barbara Mission.
My favorite parts were the ginormous fig tree in the cemetery and the old fountain which had been used in the very early 1800s by the Chumash Indians for laundry purposes. You can see just how gargantuan the fig tree actually is when you find me in the picture below to the right of the trunk.
“Laundry fountain” below
Downtown Santa Barbara was very upscale and attractive. Impossibly tall palm trees were lined up like soldiers along Cabrillo Boulevard. It seemed almost surreal to have the shimmering sea with dipping sailboats to our right while the majestic mountains wore their misty shawls to our left.
Saw this odd shell-encrusted van parked near the wharf. I think the owner was trying to make some kind of political statement, but what came through loud and clear instead was, “I am very creative, have entirely too much time on my hands, and am more than a bit unstable."
We strolled the length of Stearns Wharf and we were back on the road, taking in more of the majestic mountains and winding our way through our first sightings of Los Padres National Forrest. We climbed higher and higher with breathtaking views of Santa Barbara and the Pacific to our left. I wish I could bottle this stuff and pop it open on some of the seemingly endless hours of day to day tedium. I’d keep a bottle in my desk drawer at work, for sure.
Stopped for some pictures at a vista in Santa Ynez near the awe-inspiring Cachuma Lake area. 154 West is just a feast for the eyes and the soul.
We found the town of Solvang just after the Chumash Reservation and we checked into our delightfully tacky little inn, the King Frederik. The village was a Danish settlement and is now a tiny tourist trap of a town which looks just like Denmark with its windmills and Danish architecture.
We walked out onto our second floor patio, and sure enough, King Frederick (or some other white-haired long-bearded fellow) was floating in the Jacuzzi. We ambled through the ridiculously marvelous little town (Aubrey and I joyously with arms linked, Jim and Isaac begrudgingly trailing behind…) and settled on supper at a restaurant called Bit O’Denmark. Oh my!
Did you know that if anyone ever offers you Danish braised red cabbage, you should run away quickly? Warm clove-flavored pickled cabbage is seemingly a traditional Danish garnish which is unfortunately served with just about everything on the menu. For dessert we ordered aebleskivers. These are basically warm pancake balls with raspberry syrup. They sound and look better than they taste. (See below)
Stopped by the Book Loft and began paging through a little book entitled, “All My Friends are Dead” by Avery Monsen and Jory John. If you need to laugh your head off and have about 5 minutes, you can read the entire book. Aubrey and I started looking at it first and our laughter drew Jim to the “reading.” When all three of us were panting for air with unappealing snorting sounds coming from our laughter, Isaac came over to see what new insanity has seized his family.
Toy Story 3 was playing at an outdoor park with families bundled into blankets and sprawled out on chairs. (Did I mention the nighttime breeze is downright chilly here?) We sat wrapped in our own blanket on a picnic bench to watch the second half of the film. There were several children of Native American descent nearby, three of whom were telling ghost stories at the other end of our picnic bench. We saw a small girl with her silky black hair splayed in tails standing riveted, her nose pressed closely to the clear plastic box in which her anticipated bag of popcorn was being prepared. The kernels sputtered and flew. Her chubby little cheeks and wide eyes were charismatic enough to pull the attention of many of the movie-watchers away from Buzz Lightyear and to her darling face lit up in the night. I will always remember the way she looked with the light of the popcorn maker reflecting her joy.
Walking back to our cheesy hotel, a restaurant on one side had a live band with music pouring out into the street. They had some competition from the Beer Garden on the other side of the hotel from which loud choruses of drinking songs rang out by 10:00 pm.
It was a happening place, that Denmark in the hills of California.
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