The Coast North to Mendecino (Day 3)

A restless morning, dewed grass, cool misty mist. A close garden. No room for headstands.

We drove around the pirate hook coast of Point Reyes to the end of the world. Open field pastures with fences; cordoned, mother cow machines steaming away.

Out at the edge of the land, wading through wildflowers, lupine, cow parsnip. Binocular vision. We could see San Francisco and the top spires of the Golden Bridge. It was a clear day. Elephant seals battled and lowed a hundred feet below. Gulls sat on nests down at chimney rock.

“The cliffs are like cake,” Susan said. Yes, and like sine waves, I thought. It was as if a giant had taken a knife and carved out a long, high, curved coast from rollicking hills. Hazelnut sponge with green mint ice cream. Or, maybe like a giant might come along and run a stylus needle over them to play some low groaning earth music.

No salads to be found in Bodega Bay, so taco lunch instead. Then up highway 1, twisting along the cliffs that slow drip into the sea, a motion of millennia.

At dusk, we arrived at Pegasus Farm a few miles outside of Mendocino. A co-op purple kitchen. In the garden stood two rustic, homely cabins, doors wide, inviting us. The farm was empty save us and the towering redwoods.

Quick dinner in a bright and small restaurant, and a stroll through the local grocery to restock provisions: walnuts, raisins, bone broth, baker’s chocolate.

Back at the farm the night was cold, breezy, and starless because of the thick clouds. We sat on the bed under thick quilts and listened to the story of the mead of poetry.