Home beckons, and I struggle to heed its call. Delightful days in perfect places, and it saddens me to leave them behind, even as we plan our next return. Packing our belongings, we make three stops before heading south.
First, one final visit to the beach of treasures, where we collect rocks of many colors and sizes.
Second, there is an elephant seal vista just twelve miles north of us. Paying no attention to it on yesterday's drive north, the elephant seals on the beach piqued our interest on the drive back. We arrive just, the kind gentlemanly docent informs a couple standing next to us, as a thoroughly exhausted male arrives from Alaska. We watch his trip from the water to the sandy bed. Slow at first, after a rest, he hauls himself all the way up onto the beach, where he joins at least a dozen others, already sleeping soundly. Soon he is sleeping deeply, engulfed in the pile, as if he's been there all along. Just up the beach, the younger seals, who have clearly already rested, are playing loudly. Their screams of delight vary from adolescent barks to deep, baritone throaty calls. They wrestle in the water and swim through the breaking waves. We drop what cash we have into the small plastic box, hoping that we make a difference in the continued protection and health of these magnificent creatures.
Third, we stop again at Cambria Coffee, for one more cup of heaven, and a pound to take home. We promise the kind young people at the counter that we will see them on our next visit.
South we head, with visits first to Morro Bay, then to Avila Beach and Pismo, and then home. Morro seems a brief drive, and we stop for a visit to the Garden Gallery at the beach. This place drew me in during our last visit to the Rock. Once within its wood walls and outside spaces, I find it difficult to leave. "Here, look at this. This is beautiful." How many times do we utter these words during our brief visit? I leave wanting to head home, dig up my back yard, and somehow replicate these spaces.
It is now noon, and we head down the coast toward Avila. Coming through the forested road off the highway, we emerge into the sunlight-dotted town of brightly colored buildings. We park and head to Hula Hut, where we have been anticipating a lovely, fresh lunch. We are not disappointed. We sit at a round table by the window. It is quieter here than I expected, but more lively than during our April visit. The beach is filled with families, the shore alive with children on boogie boards standing in the surf. We sit for a while, digging in the sand, writing in our journals, and wondering at the possibilities of staying here. One more cup of local coffee for the road, and we are off.
A final stop down the frontage road at Pismo, where Isabella loves to roll down the small soft dune beneath the pier. From here, we can see the little Inn that served as home our last trip, the crashing waves beneath it. A rest, a few trinkets to take home, and we haul our sandy selves into the car. I forego the coast this homeward trip, heading instead inland and through the Santa Ynez valley toward Santa Barbara. These hills and fields feel worlds away, which is just where I prefer to be for as long as possible.
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