"Summer afternoon, summer afternoon; to me, those have always been the two most beautiful words in the English language."
— Henry James
One of the residual pleasures of being a lifelong gardener is meeting fellow gardeners in and about Laguna. From the checkout lines at Ralph's mini-mart (has anyone been fooled to think the aisles are wider by the smaller shopping carts?) to a stool at the Mar Bar, rather than recounting tales of travel to Paris or critiquing Cindy Frazier's performance in "Damn Yankees," conversations invariably move toward the ethics of dealing with a view blocking tree or exchanging lies on the quantity and quality of tomatoes harvested.
It's not that we're struck solely by the lure of horticulture; the lore is equally important.
I find myself frequently walking on a favorite pathway with Buster in Heisler Park. The beauty of the landscape is matched by the sound of crashing waves below the rugged cliffs. While I appreciate the occasional early morning solitude of a singular walk, I enjoy the company of fellow dog lovers and other walkers.