The Adventures Of Bette Porter and Sissee Gardner After Yale (Part 3, Chapter 5)

PART THREE: MENDOCINO, CALIFORNIA

Chapter 5

We had the pleasure of waking up to a sunshiny day on Friday morning which drew us to our upstairs window.

Below was a lawn of winter-burned grass bordered with clusters of frost-bitten ferms, then ran a stretch of rugged, grassy terrain to a cliff drop off. In the distance was a panoramic view of the majestic Pacific Ocean and since it was a clear day, we could see forever.

We had been told to look for the winter migration of gray whales heading south but saw nothing moving out there except a few distant freighters way out on the briny blue sea.

We dressed warmly in Christmas sweaters and dark slacks to get in a hearty walk at Mendocino Headlands State Park. We took the car since it was several miles away. With warm jackets, scarves and gloves, we trudged three miles on trails that wound along the cliffs from which we saw sensational views of sea arches, tide pools and hidden grottos, below us. It was so invigorating to smell the distinctive ocean air and even to hear the squawk of the sea gulls. It was different than my Newport Beach walks since we stayed up on the bluffs and viewed the picturesque vistas along the trail.

There was a point where we stopped with other hikers to watch two whales cavorting off shore, seeing their puffs as they exhaled and then dove down into the water, only to come up again. It was an enjoyable encounter for both Bette and I to share as we chatted excitedly watching the gentle giants until they disappeared.

When we got back to the Corvette we were famished. We drove to the village to find a restaurant.

Mendocino is considered the beautiful Crown Jewel of the Northern California Coast. It is a very idyllic community with a Main Street of unusual shops, local artist galleries, historical sites, plus eclectic cafes. In fact, a feel of funky consumes the beholder.

After breakfast we strolled in and out of the shops. I was mesmerized, not so much with what was there but with how Bette observed a painting when we stopped in galleries. I would walk by a canvas, glance briefly and move on but not Bette. I looked back a few times and saw that she stood a precise distance from each painting. Then she would freeze, with only her eyes moving, searching every square inch of it.