Everything changes. Nothing is forever. Mountains
move, rocks slide, roads collapse. Sometimes, chaos and rubble rule. What we
want to believe - that we can count on business as usual - is false. Security
is not just around the corner, but change certainly is.
Maybe this is not so bad. Risk can generate
possibilities. Westerners moan, “this too shall pass” but Buddhists call this
impermanence and embracing it makes life sing. Perhaps it’s possible to find comfort in change, to be
nurtured, not wounded, by reality. It is as it is, baby.
The unforeseen and seemingly impossible can free you
from illusions and put you on a higher path.
On Partington Ridge this winter though, we’d be happy with a new and improved road. Living in Big Sur means navigating some utterly unique episodes of destruction. The latest one arrived last month, just in time for Christmas.
Our beautiful old road, steadfast for 75 years, the solace of my morning commute, collapsed on December 23, two days after the Mayan Apocalypse.
An enormous weathered rock face, composed of
dinosaur-sized boulders (and probably as old) rolled down the cliff in a
prodigious rainstorm, destroying a 60’ section of the road. Rocks as large as
the pillars at Stonehenge
crash-landed on Highway One. It was a Biblical event.
A triptych of boulders resembling Mt. Rushmore is just a little
higher up the road, which raises the question, is there more to come? What I
could barely conceive of has become a reasonable expectation. The frightening becomes “the new normal” as my neighbors, many no longer spring chickens, hike over the path they’ve carved across the slide.
Personally, I prefer the “back road” because that’s where my baptism into this adventure took place. After changing into rough jeans from tights and sequins on New Year’s Eve, I traveled up the Dubois-DeAngulo dirt road at 2am perched like a hood ornament on my neighbor’s all terrain vehicle. This required a serious grip and a good sense of humor. To paraphrase Bette Davis – talk about a bumpy night!
Thanks to my wonderful employer, Deetjens Inn, we now share a Polaris Ranger 4X4
between three Inn employees and Ridge neighbors on an as needed basis. We can
travel down to work each day, and taxi neighbors up and down with groceries and
supplies.
Partington Island may become a real “eco-resort”, where we pack everything in and out on foot or on 4-wheel drive quad vehicles. As a friend of mine coined it, we could become “Quadlandia” and remain tranquil in the stillness of Nature.
Everything is somehow smaller and closer as we reach
out to our neighbors to arrange rides, share supplies and drink wine together. We
solve each problem the lack of road creates step by step, and build consensus
over the best course of action for rebuilding it.
Like the shifting rocks above the road, we can’t
predict what’s next with perfect accuracy.
It is so very quiet now, delicious, primal quiet. All
of us driving cars up and down the road, so necessary in our busy rural lives,
has stopped. The relentless drumbeat of modern life slows, and we remember.
This is what we came to Big Sur for, after all. We want to feel, as our
ancestors did, that we are an essential part of the cosmos, supported by the
web of community.
While we learn to love our neighbors more as we
help each other out, we are really a
tribe of social hermits here. We treasure the views from our nests, the
meditative state of calm that Big Sur brings. While that deep peace can best be sensed in a solitary way,
we are fortunate on Partington Island to share this feeling with like-minded
souls.
If there is a creed in Big Sur, it is that this land
teaches, heals, and answers prayers. The Esselen, who lived and feasted on this
ridge for centuries, leaving hillsides blackened with fire-stones and abalone
shells, had a mystical belief: Certain places on Earth transmit all that has
happened there. All you have to do is touch them, and you will remember.
