An unexpected gift

How to you begin to describe the feeling? Kayaking on glass with a long-lost friend, being lifted, suspended in a cloud, in a misty dream you once had and forgot; picking huckleberries; crooking your vision up and down, left and right, to gaze at giant redwoods and bleached native grasses; noticing black-slick, Loch Ness-type creatures disappear and reappear—not just one, but two, three, four teenage siblings—otters—out for an afternoon adventure. 

At the most western shore is a cement-colored dam forged by behemoth waves and a breech, a re-occurring tributary as ancient as the Yurok people, the original inhabitants of this coastal alcove. Cormorants and egrets dive for their supper as David and I dock along the shore, taking-in the roaring vista Lego-ed with driftwood, crab shells and berry-sized sand pellets.

The scene reminds me of the emperor’s musical, globe-encased diorama described in Ray Bradbury’s “The Flying Machine” where the world is puzzle-pieced together in perfect harmony (prior to an invader who messed up his plans). Me, I am the nameless, flea-sized character paddling alongside David at his favorite place on Earth. 

What an honor, what a gift, to have a friend entrust you with what is sacred to him. David, the retired music director of the church choir I once belonged to, regaled me with fishing tales and rescue missions, fickle depths, and diverse water temperature, what to avoid and when to ride the current. His enthusiasm was infectious: He was, and is, a little kid multiplied by seven decades.  

David’s sacred place along Highway 101 is not a secret; teeming with wildlife both seen and unseen, it’s glanced at, and considered, by hundreds of travelers oblivious to the lagoon’s curative properties. When I first drove by Stone Lagoon, I wondered if this was the spot my friend had extensively written about and photographed? It’s hard to know when driving 65 mph; so, when David returned a text inviting me to join him for an afternoon kayak trip, I couldn’t wait to join him. After all, I was just up the road, about 30 minutes north where I was camping at Elk Prairie Creek Redwoods National and State Park, one of my very favorite campgrounds. 

Forgive me while I digress but being with David reminded me of a favorite story. 

When I was a little girl, one of my most cherished books was about a little blind boy who was to be visited by a Princess. He fretted over what to gift the Princess, but none his ideas were good enough. 

One day, as he was tending his vegetable patch, the birds and the sun spoke to him, drawing his attention to the juiciest, rosy-red strawberry in the garden. 

“It’s perfect,” he said, as his freckled cheeks broadened. 

And indeed, it was. 

When the Princess gently cupped the tender fruit in her hands, smelled it, admired it, then bite into the sun-stewed fruit, she couldn’t help herself; she kissed the little boy on the cheek, leaving behind a ruby residue. 

“This is the finest gift I have ever received,” she declared. 

Naturally, the little blind boy was pleased. A stranger, no less a princess with all the resources to buy anything she desired at her polished fingertips, fell in love with what he loved.  

She was blind, but now she could see. 

* * *

Beauty in simplicity. 

Beauty in Nature. 

Beauty in silence. 

Beauty in conversation. 

Beauty in a friend taking a chance that a busy, busy, hectic, LA-based writer/grandma/mom/cousin/sister/auntie would have the capacity to open her heart and walk into a painting, aware of every brush stroke, every color choice, every flying machine. No wonder David returns here three days a week and says that the time spent on Stone Lagoon isn’t counted against his allotted time on Earth.  

I have tired, but my descriptive skills aren’t big enough, warm enough, inspiring enough, to capture the mystical beauty of David’s landscape. In my brief five hours exploring Stone Lagoon, I can affirm that it’s an oasis where a person, if so inclined, can re-connect with their truest, mightiest self.

I hope everyone has their own version of Stone Lagoon, a place that brings you joy and peace and reminds you of your value and how much you’re loved.  

I am blessed to have discovered many chapels, Cambria, Tuolumne River in Yosemite, Kauai and Maui, the ancient redwoods in Northern California, the paint-chipped balcony at the Portofino Apartments. But I have also learned that if I stay in one place for 15 minutes or, better yet, an hour and do nothing but listen, look, and feel, I can channel “that peace that passes through all understanding” that I long for. 

Before launching my trip, a little more than a week ago, I wasn’t blind as was the little boy in “A Present for a Princess”, but I was nearsighted. That’s what happens when I forget, pull away from, prioritize busyness and others’ needs above my own. Being in Nature gives me a chance to breathe and remember what I already know. 

While it may not be a juicy strawberry, this Mary Oliver poem expresses my gratitude to David, and all the kind people I’ve met on this journey, especially Julie and Ken who shared their hearts with me as I sort out mine. It’s called “The Other Kingdoms”:

Consider the other kingdoms. The

trees, for example, with their mellow-sounding

titles; oak, aspen, willow.

Or the snow, for which people of the north

have dozens of words to describe its

different arrivals. Or the creatures, with their

thick fur, their shy and wordless gaze. Their

infallible sense of what their lives

are meant to be. Thus the world

grows rich, grows wild, and you too,

grow rich, grow sweetly wild, as you too

were born to be.