Photography by Chelsea.
French Husband drove, he always has. I fall asleep, so does Chelsea (though she is sleepy most of time) and Sacha..well he had school.
Chelsea took photos of our trip while in the car. Well, when she wasn't sleeping that is. It seems I would open my eye (not to be confused with eyes) for a second, and see her hanging out the window with her camera in her hand. Though when you are someone who sleeps the moment the car is turned on, seeing your daughter hanging out the window is just not that big of a deal. I snored instead of panicked. Sleeping has its benefits on a mother's nerves.
The ride from Willows to Westport is over three hours long. It is a beautiful drive…. made more beautiful when in and out of dreamland.
I recall the rush of cold air when Chelsea would open the window to take a photo… Though unfortunately, she slept through the lakes, hence not a single photo… and neither of us reminded French Husband to stop for lunch.
Around the time when the tree's branches make a canopy over the road is when I woke up. From this point onward I cannot sleep… like a horse biting at the bit, I feel almost home. This part of Highway One is full of memories, full of beauty, full of "I can hardly wait we are almost there!!" Literally I devour the scene as if it were manna from heaven.
French Husband sees fog. He sees all the things that I do not notice. He likes to tease Chelsea and I about our Paradise. We do not heed to his remarks, instead we threaten not to fed him if he continues.
This house… on the edge of the cliff… standing by its lonesome in a field of nature's grass. I have silently wished this house was mine every single time I have passed it.
While in Westport I learned the house on the cliff is going to become a luxury resort. Expanding with several guest houses.
I am glad Chelsea took this photo of how it is, how it has been, and how it will remain in my mind's eye.
Highway One.
The other side of California.
Rugged.
On one side you have the mountain.
Straight up, rough, golden, silent.
and on the other side you have the…
Ocean.
As far as you can see, rough, blue, loud.
Westport has one store which Marie has owned for the last ten years. It hasn't changed since 1969 (or maybe that is just a line in a song…). I look forward to walking into the familiarity, I expect the wooden floors, the creaky door, the rubber ducks, the deli counter, the wrap around deck, the payphone, the single gas pump… I don't expect it to change. It is a landmark. It takes me back to 1969 in every possible way.
I hope it doesn't become decluttered, shiny and new, like a dime a dozen.
I gotta pray it doesn't.
Westport has a few homes, a corner lot full of trailers, two hotels, and much more than the eye can see.
It has soul, and that is all it needs.
It is the last town for miles.
French Husband is beginning to understand the seduction of fog… or at least I think he is. Luckily, Chelsea gets it.
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