Usually I ride on Fridays but today I went for a walk . A winter storm is blowing down from the North, gray and full of rain. I anticipate it's coming. I love the odour of wet grass, bay trees and the smell of the sea. Living on the Straits of Carquinez we are at the midpoint in the waterway- the place where the saltwater turns to fresh, where the mighty Sacramento spills into the San Pablo basin and finds its way to the Pacific. It is less than a mile across to the other side- our county is even called Contra Costa- the other coast.
The Canadas are flying in, the Pelicans have already gone. I heard they go to Nevada and the Pyramid Lake. I saw this snowy egret and he saw me. I love to come to this place anytime during the year. Seals bark from the shipping buoy, you can see both bridges and the cute town of Benicia across the bay.
This is the place where the Ferry Boat ran when there wern't bridges, where the Miwork and Carquins crossed in their tule boats. This is all that is left of those days. I remember when there was a Ferry berthed here.
This is the mouth of Alhambra Creek, it goes for miles through the heart of the town, into the Alhambra Valley. It was low tide- but when the tide is high it sometimes floods the town.
I've lived here my whole life, and I can't imagine ever leaving. Though I covet the flatlands of middle America, the forested property of Oregon and the wildness ofNevada and the wonderful heat of the Southwest, I'll remain here, tucked away in the Valley of Hunger- Alhambra Valley.
I guess it it was good enough for John Muir, it is good enough for me.