here, beyond words

September 11 – Big Sur. Those are the operative words for today. A nice breakfast in Carmel. and out and down the 1, eventually close to where the road has been closed and detoured a long time due to a landslide.

We make stops on the way to our ultimate destination – the next bookstore. First stop high above the Pacific on a dirt pull-off, the wind a howling gale nearly strong enough to rip the rental’s door off its hinge when I open it to take a photo, nearly blowing me over the cliff as well. If every picture tells a story, you see this most wonderful fairy tale there to the right. And, fortunately, even with the wind, I’m still here to report it.

We also drifted through a magnificent redwood forest on our way into Pfeifer State Park, where we got out – now with no wind and a warming day – and strolled around and through the Big Sur Lodge, a place of looking-glass windows, formal eating areas, and lovely paintings on the walls. Even the bathroom was way cool.

In a chance conversation on a street back in Carmel, a stranger had yelled “Nepenthe” as she walked away, and we pulled into that stop’s parking lot a while later, walked around and about, a powerful view of the sea from an upper patio, and then into the gift shop when it opened. I’m not sure I’ve been in a “touristy” commercial kind of setting that had me going, “Wow. Wow.” more often. Lovely art and fabric, books and posters, wood and bronze work celebrating native land and native creatures, and native Americans.

And that wasn’t all. I spied an opening out the back and walked out there, Ann following, and a man standing at the rail next to me said, “See the whales.” We stood there and watched, it was far below and well out into the waters, and there they were, two whales sinking and surfacing, their spoutings like white geysers splashing up from the deep blue sea. I actually had to leave, overwhelmed, close to tears. Oh, lucky, luck me. (And Ann.)

Then – this being an independent bookstore adventure – past and turned around and back to the one named “The Henry Miller Memorial Library.” Built and maintained in honor of one of Big Sur’s celebrated residents. Ironically, no book called my name from there, and I left empty-handed, on a morning in which Ann and I were truly stunned by the wonder of it all.

(Pics –The windy view looking back toward Carmel; Redwoods in Nepenthe parking lot; another bookstore checked off the list Ann compiled for months; and two forest urchins, background books still hanging from the days of emerging Covid, with a bust of the famous author himself.)