RESET

#77 - I wanted some time behind the wheel. Just go someplace.

Welcome! I’m glad you are here. 

Was it angst, or ennui, that I felt?? 

I wanted some time behind the wheel. Just go someplace.  

It had been a while. It was time to get out on the highway, get up to speed, set it on cruise control, and take in the scenery.  

Do some “free-range” thinking. Taking a long walk just doesn’t do it sometimes. 

I had a few hours. The itch might be scratched, that feeling, captured. That perspective found that sets all at ease.  

Then I could turn around and go home.

I’m close to a few highways. It doesn’t matter which one I take so long as I can go between commutes or opposite them.  

I picked the left or right fork in the road as I came to them and was soon on Highway 4 heading east.

 Toward the Delta. The Sacramento-San Joaquin Delta, the confluence of two of the most productive river systems in the world.  

I’d go to Bethel Island. “The Heart of the Delta”, as their welcome sign says.  

Why not? It had been well over a year. Twenty miles of highway and ten miles of suburbia, most of which is newly developed on what was ranch and farm land.  

Bethel Island is on the west side of the delta, alongside the mainland but separated by a slough.  

Marinas and harbors and boat slips line the slough on either side as you cross the bridge into the community. Fishing and life on the water are high on the list here.  

There are still farms and ranches. 

Tracts of land throughout the delta create a maze of islands of varying size and shape. The delta itself is roughly 30-35 miles long and wide. 

Levees were constructed around the islands as they were reclaimed for ranching and farming. Many of the islands, because of subsidence over the decades, are well below sea level, and breeched levees take a toll. 

Many of the island tracts were “let go” after storm breeches. Other tracts slowly went into disrepair, and nature took them back.  

Getting to and from the islands was by ferry. Today, only two ferries remain in the delta. Bridges have replaced the others. 

The waters teem with fish. 

The small old laid-back town, of Bethel Island, unfolds in half a mile after crossing the bridge. Everything a small-town needs, it has - groceries, beer, gas, a restaurant, bar, and cafe. An auto and boat repair garage. A post office. A real state office.  

It’s just a few miles off island for anything else needed. 

A road runs along the slough past waterside homes of all shapes, sizes, and age. 

At the end of the road that goes through town, maybe three-four miles, on the north side of the island, is another cluster of homes and boat slips.  

Adjacent to the homes along the levee, are protected wetlands. 

The corner house, across from where the wetlands begin, has a Mulberry Tree. It is well known among birders.  

With its ripe fruit, the tree is a hot spot during the spring migration. The birds love it. 

Birds less seen frequent the tree. A rare one or two makes an appearance. It’s probably on the “must see” list of many birders. 

It can be a busy place on spring weekends with all the people around. All carrying binoculars. Some with high-end cameras.

It is the road through town that I took.  

There are cattle and hay fields, hawks gliding in circles high above the fallow fields, and views to the horizon all around.  

There are a few places to pull over, usually at access gates. I stopped and got out. 

I walked up and down the fence line, stretching my legs, looking around.  

There is little traffic.  

Today it is clear but hazy. Winter is closing in. The air is cold and damp. There is no wind.  

Just the stillness. And the silence. That quiet hum some call - “Om”. Does it come from within, or without? I can’t tell. Both? 

Mt. Diablo is twenty-five miles to the southwest, with a ridge extending south toward San Jose, and one running north, sloping down to the flats and the now widened river to the Carquinez Strait and San Francisco Bay.  

Highway 4 goes over that northern ridge. Home is just on the other side. 

Across the Delta to the east on a clear day, you can see the Sierra Mountains, a hundred miles away. 

To the north, the Jersey Island ferry makes its way across the slough to another tract. Fields of hay or cattle all around and in the distance, hills rise against the southern horizon. 

I used to bring my dog. He’d chase the jackrabbits.  

Take away the mountains on the horizon, and the occasional Eucalyptus Tree, and I’m reminded of younger days back home in Louisiana. The same terrain.  

I’m glad I came here. Probably wanted to all along. 

And, Presto - RESET! 

Whatever was “unsettled” in me was no more. The itch was scratched, that feeling captured, the perspective found. 

At least for a while. 

Time to go home. 

Thank you for reading Before I Forget . . ! Please leave a Comment. I much appreciate it! 

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Have the best week possible! See you next week, my friends.  : )