October 17, 1963
Another spectacular sunset paints the sky in warm pastels as the sun plays peek-a-boo through a stately row of quaking eucalyptus trees. These haunting giants dwarf the groves of orange trees they protect from the winter winds. The perfectly shaped and neatly arranged orange trees seem to display their overly laden branches with the almost human-like traits of vanity and pride. As I pass through mile after mile of these beautifully groomed and so valiantly sheltered groves I wonder why all of this repetition doesn’t seem monotonous. Maybe we can appreciate and actually love sameness when it’s presented this beautifully.
July 12, 2010
I remember this road from an old map I’ve kept over the years. I can’t wait to travel this leaf strewn country lane once more and see how time has treated the many orange groves that gave Orange County its name. Today the road of my memories resembles any of the thousands of other busy suburban streets that pass though endless arrays of housing developments, strip malls and shopping centers. I frantically search for any signs of the past, the groves, the eucalyptus windbreaks, the beauty but its all gone, everything is gone. “Wait I see something, look over there ... there’s ... there’s one old eucalyptus tree that actually survived.” I look again. “Look,” I yell. “Look that tattered old tree is weeping.”