Mission San Carlos Borromeo del Rio Carmelo

Awakened by the shrill squawkings of a murder of crows intimidating a flock of seagulls,  I could see daylight coming through the open air balcony of my room.  The air was cool, crisp and without the sometimes present early morning fog.  Since the hotel room does not have air conditioning, slithering and creeping things are rare, so Darlene and I spend the nights with the sliding glass door open.

Taking advantage of the early light, I slipped my jeans and boots on, made my way down to the car and headed south through the somewhat rough, hilly and darkened streets toward the Carmel Mission.

Carmel is noted for a lack of streetlights, traffic signals and curbed residential streets.  At one time, the town had some pretty unusual laws.  One being that it is against the law to wear shoes with heals greater than two inches in height without a permit.  The streets are so uneven, the city was simply trying to avoid lawsuits from those twisting ankles.  I understand the law is rarely if ever enforced now but if you're nervous about it, permits are granted free of charge.  At one time, it was illegal to sell or eat ice cream on public streets but that and other strange regulations were overturned when Clint Eastwood and his town council took office back in the 1980s.

A few blocks south of center of town, there is a very distinctive old mission that was founded  Father Junípero Serra in 1770.  When the padre passed away in 1784, he was buried in it.  I had passed Mission San Carlos Borromeo del Rio Carmelo several times and one of my co-workers had told me a little of the history of it.  Each time I pass by, I'm fascinated by the dome and at night, with the right conditions, you can see the rising moon floating above it.

As I began taking pictures this morning, the parish faithful slowly began to arrive, so I did not approach the interior of the structure, saving that venture for a later and more appropriate time.

Carmel-by-the-sea, California

I'm finally getting around to updating my travels over the past few months.  After spending a very hot summer in Shreveport, La with temperature in the triple digits for days on end, it was nice to work in New Roads, LA.  Although it was a 60 mile drive one way each day, it was wonderful sleeping in my own bed for 3½ weeks.

Oh well, break's over.  Well it's not that bad because I've landed in Carmel-by-the-sea, California.  This very unique place is well known for attracting the rich and famous - and of course, me.  Carmel is a very dog friendly town and have been told that sometimes borders on the ridiculous side.  I noticed  a George Rodrigue (he's from Lafayette, LA) gallery with Tiffany pictures in the window.  Old time movie actress, Doris Day pretty much started all the fuss.

I even managed to eat at the next table to Clint Eastwood a couple of nights ago.  No, I didn't hound him for a handshake, autograph or a cheesy photo.  No one else seemed to make a big deal out of it so I figured I'd go along with it.  Actually, it was at his Mission Ranch Restaurant.  I heard he would show up there on occasions but it caught me completely off guard when he pulled up a chair with a group of friends next to the table with me and my two dinner companions.

Feeling that I might not be here for a while, I've invited my wife up next weekend to stay a while so it was appropriate that I scout out places I wanted to show her.  This afternoon, I drove south on Highway 1 along the sometimes foggy coast.  Occasionally, pulling over to take in the sights of wildflowers, hearing sea lions bark  and snapping a few pictures while I watched a California Condor glide the up draft and eventually perch on a ridge high above me.

Driving further south onto Big Sur, I drove under some big Redwoods and with the sunroof open, smelled the ever present Eucalyptus trees.  One of the highlights was recognizing the Bixby Creek Bridge that we have all seen in commercials and movies.  Completed in 1932, it spans over a deep gorge and is an imposing part of the landscape.

Further south, I enjoyed getting out and walking down a trail at the Julia Pheiffer Burns State Park to a very controlled stroll that overlooked the McWay Falls.  I say controlled because you must stay on the trail and going down to the beach just doesn't happen.

Figuring I should get back to my hotel in Carmel, I arrived near sundown to see the sun casting a warm glow on a gingerbread style house behind the inn.  While not all the houses in Carmel look like this, the "cottage" look is what makes the place their own.

Line In the Sand....um..grass!

...or How Petty Can I Be?

Perhaps the summer has been too long and hot or it could be that I've been working near or from home the past couple of months.......but....my new neighbor is getting next too me.

We've been in these modest digs for 6 years now which makes us some of the "old timers" of this zero lot-line neighborhood.  The guy on one side is an original too and we get along.  Sometimes when he's out on vacation, I've been known to edge and mow his yard.  He's the sort of guy that will sometimes run the weed eater around the side of his house adjacent to my property.

The home on our other side has suffered a troubled past.  It's been on the market twice and the latest resident has signed a lease-purchase agreement with the second owner.  That means it will probably be vacant within a year.

Maybe I'm being a little petty here - well yes, very petty - but our new neighbor is the kind that simply will not edge around his own home much less along side our house which is technically on his dirt.  There are two foot high weeds growing up around his deck and between the houses.  Increasingly so, he has moved his mowing space further and further away from the property line which throws the responsibility of mowing around the cluster of meter boxes and street light pole to me.  All summer long, I edged around those boxes, kept it clear for meter readers and went the extra mile treating fire ants in his front yard.


Call it what you like but I see it as him drawing a line in the sand...well...maybe the St Augustine, expecting me to continue doing what he should be doing.   So, not to be outdone, when I mowed this past time, I left a 6 inch strip between where he stopped and where I stopped.  Next time around, I will move it another foot back toward the line until I've re-established the true property line in the grass.  Oddly enough, it's not stealing anything tangible but it is stealing my time and violating unwritten patterns of responsibility for hopeful property owners.  My time, equipment and sweat is just as valuable as a man at least 20 years my junior.

Home

Even though Delta Airlines probably misses me, I really shouldn't complain.  Really.

It's only August and I've seen some amazing places already this year and who knows what is to come.  However, for the past couple of months, I've been fortunate enough to work semi-local from Hot Springs, Arkansas, New Iberia, Louisiana and for the past 4 weeks, I've been in Shreveport.  All within driving distance leaving me close enough to get home almost every weekend.


This morning, realizing that Darlene did not have her favorite coffee creamer, I dressed and took a leisurely ride into Prairieville.   I could have used the rental but, there was a Harley in the garage.  A no brainer in my book.  I was careful not to make too much noise riding through the neighborhood and irritating the honest folk of eastern Ascension Parish.

Due to the fog and humidity, visibility was maybe 500 yards at best and there was hardly any traffic riding up Bluff Road save a pick-up or two and a lone bicyclist whom I imagined felt smug and maybe a little superior knowing he was out burning calories on two wheels and I wasn't.  Crossing a tributary to Alligator Bayou and riding easily through the tunnel of overhanging Live Oak limbs draped with Spanish Moss, I disturbed a Blue Crane and an Egret who who sought only to give me a wide berth.

There was something special about the peacefulness of it all that made me glad, proud and blessed to be home, home in south Louisiana.