I had a crazy trip to LA which involved losing a tooth (very careless I know.) and two auto accidents.
On the way down I was rear ended- and on the way up I spun out on black ice and went wheeling across the freeway.
I’m fine though- packing for Spain! We leave on January 31st.
Max- helping pack.
And I have begin narration for my book, Gods & Monsters which will be serialized and published by MetaStellar this year!
here’s a tiny piece to peak your interest:
“Lake Merritt is a tidal lagoon east of downtown Oakland.
Long before man walked these shores, unnamed streams ran along redwood shores into an estuary. The streams were home to spawning salmon. And on moonless nights, you can sometimes still see a few pellucid salmon seeking lost gravel beds, listening to a song deep within their genes.
“I can see back to a time when grizzly bear and elk roamed the hills. Seals, sea otters and gray whales were common. The Ohlone fished, hunted, and gathered food along its shores. You would have loved it then. But people do not like the untamed things of this earth.
“By 1810, the last Ohlone had been relocated to Mission San José to serve the holy fathers. The Ohlone did not take well to captivity. They vanished like stars above city lights, perishing even more quickly than the wild creatures on the shores. Today they are ghosts, visible only beneath a dark star light, or a new moon.
“In 1849, Dr. Samuel Merritt came west searching gold. He combed the streams and broke stones looking for hidden veins of treasure. He found none. Some men succumb to despair, others mine their strength.
“The lucky may find gold, and the meek may inherit the earth,” he said, “But not the water rights. Water is more precious than gold.”
“Dr. Merritt formed the Oakland Waterfront Company. Soon he controlled the entire shoreline. He built a grand house on the estuary.
“By 1867, Dr. Merritt was mayor of Oakland. By 1869 he had built a dam, creating the lake that still bears his name.
“The lake had thick wetlands fringing the shore. Its fertile, shelter attracted large numbers of migratory birds. The birds in turn attracted equally large numbers of hunters.
“Dr. Merritt didn’t enjoy the retort of weapons so close to his home. He didn’t like the shores of his lake stained with feathers. The scent of blood was more pungent than the climbing yellow roses curving over his doorway.
“In 1896, he declared the lake a wildlife refuge. A year later the state made it official. It was the first game sanctuary in North America.
“Some say, that on dark, still nights, nights when the moon is new or hidden by fog, Merritt can still be seen, walking the shores, gently puffing a cigar and surveying his creation.
“Like the migrating birds, People flocked to Oakland. Creeks became drains. Lake Merritt became a harbor for the necessities of nature. Sewage flowed into the arms of the lake covering it like a shawl across bare shoulders. The stench was terrible.
“The bloated bodies of Bass, once so plentiful they could be scooped from the Lake by hand, floated belly up on the calm waters and ringed the shores.
“Finally, the stink was too much to bear. City officials built new pipes, sending the sewage around the Lake directly, deeply into the bay. All sewage flows to the sea and yet it is not full, at least not yet.
“Without its burden of waste, Lake Merritt began to cleanse itself.
“A park circles the lake. It’s still as mirror, reflecting the recombinant juniper which edge the shores like twisted ropes, above them, white, green, and gold art deco apartments rise like imperial angels.
“You would like it River, seeing the resident small, back coot plunge beneath the surface like miniature submarines shattering the still water. Watching the gulls soar overhead, battle midair for scraps.
“Long necked, black-headed Canada Geese, float on the placid surface. Thirty years ago, people would flock from miles around to admire the stately Canada Goose, but now they are considered noisy messy irritants. Feeding is prohibited. Neighbors plot to drive them away. Preservationists destroy their nesting grounds. They are once-rare flowers, become weeds.
“Exotics have never bothered me much. Things travel and spread, always have, always will. Funny, that the most invasive species there is makes it their cause to combat aliens.
“If you visited the lake River, you might have given them with rolls so crunchy they would have never squawked again. They would have followed you silent as white cheeked shadows. But you remained in the city and the geese remained a nuisance.
“The fish, lizards and salamanders hiding beneath rocks and foliage, don’t mind the Canada geese. They would, however, if they could eradicate the Black-crowned Night Heron, who crouch secretly in the shadows, skewering minnows, and reptiles with dagger sharp beaks.
“Tall eucalyptus tower round parts of the lake. Like vampires, eucalyptus arrived during the Gold Rush. And like the vampires, eucalypts do not decay.
“Great and Snowy Egrets, white as dreams with serpentine necks and long questing beaks nest in eucalyptus, but songbirds find no purchase. They cannot make cavities for nesting in the firm eternally youthful wood. Short-billed birds poking for beetles or worms suffocate, their nostrils clogged with pitch.
“Like geese, the eucalyptuses have become pests. Residents wish them gone. Some have even smuggled in Australian insects to attack them. But, like the trees, like the geese, like the vampires, the bugs always prefer exotic sources of food.
“Black Cormorant reside at the lake year-round. Unlike most diving birds Cormorant do not have waterproof feathers. When they emerge from the water they perch, they extend their wings outward to dry, giving them the nick name Jesus Christ Birds.
“They are so buoyant they must eat pebbles to dive. In Japan, fishermen bind their necks with metal rings to prevent them from swallowing and scoop fish from their sealed throats.
“If an Ohlone’s guardian spirit was a Cormorant, he’d possess a knack for accomplishing what others could not. Cormorants are feathered reminders to dive without hesitation. But now the Ohlone have vanished, and the cormorants have been transformed from totems to fishhooks.
“It’s easier not to mourn the disappearance of the wild and the taming of the estuary when you can see the future as clearly as the past. I can see the concrete and metal collapse and crumble. Slowly, the lake will resume her old form, her true form, a creature of the tides, a mingling of fresh water and salt tears. The salmon will run again and the spirits of the Ohlone and elk will wander the shores.
“Of course, I also see its damming again, that is the way with circles, they never end. We can’t stop them where we want to. Space curves, even as we walk forward.”