Trinidad, perched on the cliff above a small harbor that carries far more history than it attests to, is a community that is truly based on love. At first, the casual tourist is greeted with the warmth that a metaphor of a sweater might offer a writer. A sweater is a metaphor that the tourist might need literally on an average morning in the coastal fog. In Trinidad, one feels a tight-knit, soft, comforting quality in the small town, but not overbearing sweetness or abrasive generosity (though generous they are) These are qualities that might be more akin to an itchy wool yarn. We are sustainable bamboo knit. And if a sweater, let Trinidad be a sage green. The color combines the sea and the forest, captures down-to-earth values and sage green is a modest color. The town is humble, and everyone knows that all good things came from humble beginnings. For such a small town, they are more supportive per square inch than any city I’ve ever seen. Where do I begin to elaborate? There are countless networks, established or not, that take care of everyone in some way shape or form. For instance, should something happen to my Grandma, her small church group would surely notice. But if not, the small art center would surely notice, for they all speak to or about one another every day. If, for some reason, they didn’t, Sierra would discover whatever was the matter with my Grandma and then, wouldn’t you know it, the whole town would be alerted. There is an “angel network” that give elders and others in need a supportive phone tree to call if they need a ride, groceries…you can pretty much name it. They hold countless fundraisers for the small local K-8 school, and all do at least fairly well (lest they don’t include evening entertainment of some kind, they might suffer) A small group of women dress in black every Friday and protest the Iraq war, these “Women In Black” have been doing it since 2001. The only cafe in town, Beachcombers, doesn’t use ANY paper cups/plates/cutlery. If you need a mug, you can buy one, or you can borrow theirs, take it with you and bring it back when you get a chance. Keep in mind, the town population is around 400. Ahh… so endearing, yet so REAL. I could go on, but I’m sitting outside the Beachcomber right now and my toes are cold, because it’s eleven thirty at night.
This is further proof that I am having a steamy affair with the internet. My Grandma found out about us, too. Dont worry…. he’s good to me, but when I need him, I gotta have him.
Tonight is my last night. The trip needed to be longer, but doesn’t it always. This is just my brief goodbye post, I’ll include more info when I post my pictures.
In the mean time, the story of Sophie Scholl has had a profound and, what I sense to be, lasting effect on me. I read about her in Cultural Amnesia (an amazing book that I recommend to anyone interested in the history of western culture… am I as snobby as I sound?? The answer is NO.) I’ll write a more conclusive, complete story of her life and death in my next post, but if you’d like to brief yourself, read here. It’s bare bones but it’s something. More need to know about such an angel among men.
My toes are frozen, but it’s a beautiful clear night, i can hear the ocean and smell the salt and i can hear the waves gently rocking the bell in the bay. So eerie. & I just saw a fox! time to go. xoxoxoxox