Love at First Breath

Mike gave you his view of the California wildfires in his last Mondays with Mike post, and now, in honor of the Smelling is Believing writing workshop I’m giving this weekend at the Northwestern Summer Writers Conference, let’s see if I can describe scenic Mendocino County without using my sense of sight.

It was love at first breath. The short walk from the plane to the jetway gave me enough time to take it all in. Cool, fresh air. Even at the airport. Inside, the walk to baggage claim was quiet. Nobody barking at each other or shouting into their smart phones. Carpeted floors. Civilized. We weren’t in Chicago anymore.

Mike narrated our drive through the city – “There’s Alcatraz.” “A farmer’s market – beautiful!” “Golden Gate Bridge!” After we’d crossed, he found an Oakland A’s game on the radio and we settled in for the drive north on Highway 101. The closer we got to Mendocino, the more emergency announcements came through the car radio. Highway closures. Mandatory evacuations.

Mike pulled over once to let a faster car pass us by, and I opened my window. Smoke wafted in. I shut the window, put my palm to the glass, and felt heat. We got back on the road and continued driving north.

I kept my window shut until we got to our destination, and when I opened it then …not one whiff of smoke. Mendocino itself is so close to the Pacific that ocean breezes fended off the scent of fire. I stood still for a moment, breathing in pines. Ocean. Clean, cool, fresh air.

The radio station we’d been listening to during the drive had mentioned an acoustic set at a local coffeeshop. We headed there. The 12-string guitar sounded sweet, and the North Coast lager was cold. We made it.

The talk at diners and taverns during our four-day stay on the Mendocino Coast centered on the wildfires, which direction the wind was blowing, how many evacuees were staying with people here, what percentage of the fires were contained. In our hotel parking lot I heard a young fire fighter telling another guest that he’d been sent there by the fire chief, told to rest overnight before heading back in. But ensconced in a writers womb at the Mendocino Coast Writers Conference (MCWC) every morning along with 100-plus screenwriters, novelists, short story writers and poets, discussion was more on words than wildfires.

Mike picked me up for lunch each day, and sitting outside at a picnic table slurping down crab chowder at a waterfront sea shack for lunch is one taste of Mendocino I’ll never forget. The local radio station played constantly during our post-lunch drives to dog parks and hiking trails. Taking in all that beauty and fresh air while on the edge of wildfire catastrophe? That’s a feel of the Mendocino Coast I’ll never forget, either.