October Wanderings🍂🍄‍🟫

Just recently became brave enough to go out and walk by myself. Or with the boys when Brent is gone. I think the Halloween décor scared me more than anything else. (There is plenty of it around.) I felt perfectly at ease and had no reason to be worried, but strange places take a while to feel like home. Little children walk to school alone in this neighborhood, so I think a big girl like me is totally fine.

Saturday mornings are reserved for breakfast away. The Brentwood Café has quickly become one of our favorite places. It is an old-timey 1970s diner with the best omelets and steak and eggs. A lot of locals are there every week and say they have been coming there for fifteen to twenty years. Everybody knows everybody. A bonus is that the Brentwood Farmer’s Market is within walking distance from the café. Set in downtown Brentwood, which is darling, this market covers three city blocks and is chock full of delicious delights. Going again next Saturday for French pastries.

Autumn is taking away our warm summer days, so we are no longer going to the river. But I still must tell you about the little beach we found nearby. It is along the Sacramento River and came as a surprise because the river here is very deep and wide and scary looking. There are no sandbars. Just boats and jet skiers and kite surfers. Up near Glenn, the same river is calm and shallow and quite harmless looking. Folks up there float the river, swim, and go boating. There are lots of sandbars around there. (The Sac River ends up in our bay here.) One day as we were driving a road along the river that we had been down many times, Elliot spotted a small sandy beach area across the river that was packed with umbrellas. We decided to check it out one weekend, and sure enough…it was a perfect little river beach. We were quite delighted. The water was crystal clear, blue/green, quite calm, and so cold. I am relieved we have a place nearby to swim after all.

There are quite a few mountains around us here. The grandest is Mount Diablo. We finally took the time the other day to drive to the top. Silvia whined and groaned the entire way up the eleven miles of switchbacks, but faithfully delivered us at the top. It took us around forty minutes to drive those eleven miles. I do not know what Silvia would say, but I would say the views were well worth the drive. It was crystal clear up there. For the first time in my life, I sincerely appreciated that at some point in Brent’s life, he thought it necessary to spend five hundred dollars on binoculars. Panoramic views were enjoyed from the observation deck of the lighthouse up there. Yes, there is a lighthouse up there. (Well, not technically a lighthouse because it was built to guide aircraft, not ships. And it shines over the bay, not the ocean.) It is called The Mount Diablo Beacon. It no longer casts its beam over the Bay Area as it was shut off in 1941 after the bombing of Pearl Harbor. They relight it only a couple of times a year on Memorial Day and such. With our fancy binoculars, we could see the Golden Gate Bridge and the sparkling bay waters speckled with ships and white sailboats in the distance. The entire Bay Area lay spread beneath our gaze. Mount Diablo is beautiful at sunset, and we often comment on it as the sun sets and the first few stars appear, leaving Diablo a giant purple sentinel watching over the bay.

I am fairly certain that every variety of eucalyptus tree grows here. I can not wait to stop one of these days and gather a great big bundle to take home. (Currently gathering my nerve to ask Brent to stop AGAIN for what he calls “weeds”.) I am still not used to driving by a seeded eucalyptus tree or a silver dollar eucalyptus tree. Like how can one not stop and pick a branch or two?

We went back to Muir Woods one sunny October Sunday. This time with a parking reservation. A lot of walking ensued upon our arrival. Just think of winding paths through the shaded woods with monumental redwoods towering overhead and a colossal number of ferns at our feet. It made me a little dizzy to stand and look all the way to the very tippy top of those trees. And I, a little speck of dust standing at the base of a tree grander than I shall ever be. Little brooklets sang cheerily, and the water tumbled like laughter over smooth rocks. We crossed over the brooklets on wooden bridges a number of times. A very quiet, peaceful setting that made me want to stay and stay but a certain little red-haired boy kept begging to go to the beach. So, off we went. Sat on the shores and watched the sun slipping toward the San Francisco skyline. (I only brought two fern leaves home to press, and we ate a picnic lunch at Muir Beach Overlook.)

We have made new friends. Their names are Curt and Lois. They live merely 7 minutes from our place. I would guess them to be in their mid-sixties...? Lois’s sister Sara Newsome joined our church years ago in Livingston, I believe. Brent just so happened to be in class with Sara’s son. Small world. While Sara was here visiting Curt and Lois, they invited us and Lesters to come for supper. It was a lovely evening spent around a sprawling farmhouse table laden with chicken grilled over a wood fire, quinoa, and cabbage salad. Apple pie, raspberry/blackberry pie, and ice cream for dessert, along with a steaming cup of coffee carrying a generous splash of cream. Curt, Lois, and their eldest son live on a ten-acre farm somewhat in the country. Curt has grapes, raspberries, blackberries, peaches, and more. Lois has free-range chickens. The eldest son has real estate in Long Beach. We are to come back anytime to pick fruit or hang out. They popped by our place the other night with a large box of the most delightful-tasting grapes. (Brent and I were not grape lovers until we came to California.) Grapes fresh from the vine are somehow so much better. They are so delicate and juicy. The skins are paper thin, they are small, and perfectly round. I baked molasses cookies and Curt laid on the floor and played with Ezra.

Brent attempted to put a tract box in a Motel 6 the other day. The man behind the desk regretfully told him that they were not allowed to have anything political or religious in there. He acted as though he wanted to take the tracts, so Brent gave him a box to take home. The housekeeper said she was going to be sneaking some tracts into the rooms. So far, we have twenty routes. Our goal is to get thirty to forty routes, then we will start servicing those routes and mostly be set up here. Some of the routes have up to twenty-six stops and some need a few more stops added here and there. Brent spent quite some time visiting with a guy who wanted to know exactly what we believed before he would let us leave tracts at his store. He wanted to be sure we believed in the Trinity and such. He said there are a lot of people who want to leave stuff there and they are not real Christians. So, once he was satisfied that we were indeed real Christians, he allowed Brent to leave the tracts. I just want to let y’all know that there are now tracts sprinkled all throughout the breathtaking Napa Valley. In fact, all the way to Clear Lake. The scenery was very easy on the eyes. Napa Valley is massive wine country that gives unmistakable Italy vibes. Vineyards blanket the hills and mountains around. The wineries are so quaint and cottage like, and there is wine tasting galore. The winding dirt paths, sprawling vineyards, and immaculate landscapes are a drawing. I was easily persuaded that fall in the valley is nothing short of magical, for the leaves of the grapevines transition from lush green to red, orange, yellow, and purple. Yes, I found the valley quite lovely to be sure. Someday maybe we can go back and explore a little more.

Unexpectedly received a call from our property manager who informed us they would be coming out to inspect the house. I turned into a full-on whirlwind sanitation queen and got this place shining. (Most definitely did not want to be finding another home.) We passed our inspection with flying colors, and I will say I overreacted. Again. She completely failed to see my sparkling baseboards and glistening appliances, only taking a few random pictures and checking fire and carbon monoxide alarms.

There is an overwhelming amount of fall activity going on around here. We finally decided on Dell’Osso Family Farm. Dell’Osso Farm was founded in the 1920s by three brothers from Italy who started farming asparagus. They went on to plant pumpkins, olives, all kinds of fruit trees, and tomatoes. Fast forward to today, the farm has grown into one of the most popular October Festivals in the nation. There is a massive corn maze, huge slides, the cutest ever steam train that winds all over the farm through the orchards and stuff, pig races, horseback riding, hayrides, mini golf, a tiny town where everything is kid size, llamas, sheep, goats, chickens, cows, a vintage carousel, tacos, apple cider, apple cider doughnuts, and I’ll stop now.

Now we are preparing for a short visit from Vince and Moni, Jonny and Abi. Very excited indeed.

Any news from home is readily accepted in return for this letter.