I fell in love before I was out of grade school.
Every summer, we loaded up the family sedan and my dad drove us from the East Bay town of Pittsburg to Santa Cruz for vacation. The moment we began descending the mountain through the redwoods, I'd crane for the first glimpse of open sea.
Then we'd be under the cliffs and on the beach, skin blue from the chill of the water, gulls arcing through salt air and waves thundering. I didn't come from money, but the beach was ours, and for a week we were rich.
I don't know where the last half-century disappeared to, but I'm still in love. So pardon me if I take personally the political drama unfolding at the California Coastal Commission, where dark forces may be chipping away at a 40-year tradition of protecting the coast from overdevelopment. (Read the rest.)
