Return to Bodega Bay

My mother’s been visiting. She had some business to do in Bodega Bay, the fishing village she left two years ago to move to Maine. I went with her. She was pleased to be back but worried that there were no boats coming in and out of the harbor (we later learned that the collapse of the salmon fishery had put a lot of the fishermen out of business). The exception was this sloop that had run aground eighteen months ago and had just been left there — nobody can come up with the thousands of dollars it would cost to salvage it at this point. So it sits.

We went up to Bodega Head, the clifftop Mum walked daily when she lived here, and where she sent my father’s ashes into the wind. Say hi Dad, she said. Hi Dad, I said. Nearly nine years…

What was most astonishing was this long-tailed weasel, a mammal I’ve never seen before, popping out of his various holes to check us out. They are a gorgeous two-tone of cinnamon and caramel. He didn’t show us his teeth but those little jaws were evidence enough of a fierce predator. Of pocket gophers. Don’t think I didn’t want to bring one or two home with me…

PS: I finished this, too: