There are so many different kinds of beaches along the San Francisco Bay, so I decided to choose one of them, Stinson Beach, 40 minutes north of San Francisco. It took me around an hour and half to get there from my house. The last thirty minutes were amazing. As soon as you get out of the highways, and head towards the beach, you go through these winding roads around several mountains. The way to the beach went through Muir Woods and Muir Valley. As I entered the valley and then drove up and down and around the mountains full of tall and luscious trees, I felt I was in an enchanted land. The fog was all around us, but because there was a refreshing breeze, it wasn't a thick fog. You could actually see it move alongside you and above the trees. It reminded me of Sherlock Holmes' Hound of Baskervilles' Moors or Emily Bronte's Wuthering Heights, and at some point I felt I was about to hit Holmes' hound or meet Bronte's Heathcliff, not a very nice prospective either way. Nevertheless, the view was spectacular, and as I was driving, I had no wish to get away from it. I wish I had stopped the car and taken some pictures, but the roads were so twisty, that I didn't get a chance. And then, as I left this bewitching place, I was entranced by another stunning view, this time of Muir Beach:
I drove another ten minutes till we got to our destination. Upon our arrival, I discovered the harsh truth that the beach itself was covered in fog and misty air, and it didn't look that sunny. However, my spirits were not dampened by the cold and the gray; I marched on and let my eyes take it in, fog and all. The sea has such a calming effect on me, and my eyes and soul couldn't have enough of it. I opened the windows and let the salty smell of the water in the air touch my skin and tease my nose.
I was impressed that there were parking lots and restroom near by the beach. The parking lot where we parked was located a few feet from our beach spot, so it was easy for me to transport our stuff. The sand wasn't quite as soft as the Florida beaches' sand, but it was good enough for my kids to enjoy themselves. Although, they didn't play for long in the sand. The sea, with its powerful presence and playful waves, was calling them. The water was cold, but the young souls are defiant toward anything harsh, so they kept playing and chasing the waves. Charlton was keeping me company and was trying to get my attention by performing for me. Sometimes he would be tasting sand and sometimes he would do some kind of dance using sea weeds for props and following the rhythm of the waves. Often times I would be chasing him as he would try to chase the very tame seagulls. The books were left untouched, but not forgotten. I felt their loneliness, but the call of motherhood was more commanding.
Gillian, being her mother's daughter, immediately found some friends to play and swim with. As for Jefferson and James, they had a blast letting their little toy boats get washed away by the waves, and then trying to chase the waves themselves. Ah, the simple joys of childhood!
I was prepared to stay there till the sun set. I really wanted to take some unforgettable sunset-at-the beach- pictures, but my sweet Charlton, growing and all, doesn't feel comfortable sleeping anywhere but his bed. I was impressed he lasted till five. As we were getting ready to leave, the sun came out and dispersed the fog, apologizing to me for taking so long by giving me these impressive views as peace offerings:
What a great place to be a kid. Both the area and the home.
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