POINT WILSON

POINT WILSON    I took a walk recently along a small stretch of beach on San Pablo Bay that I once considered my own. When I was a little girl my family and our close friends celebrated every Fourth of July on that wonderful and private stretch of beach. My family owned the beach property and small peninsula that was at the northernmost part of our horse ranch. Every Fourth of July my uncles would toss a football while I'd look for seashells with my mom and my brothers. Once in while someone would construct a raft or if the water was calm enough, we'd skip rocks. The memory of hot dogs roasted over an open fire skewered on unwound wire coat hangers, warmed hot dogs buns and the "dog" covered with mustard and a misting of sand (thanks to the bay breezes) is with me still. After our barbeques my uncles would shoot off fireworks and all of us little ones would get to hold a sparkler. We oohed and aahed at the lights and the mini-explosions as we re-enacted our own versions of "bombs bursting in air". Of course there were always roasted marshmallows for dessert and by the end of the evening we little ones were snuggled in sleeping bags that were full of sand, trying to keep warm, waiting to be carried back to the car for the ride back to the house.    

Years later as a teen I rode my then four year old Arabian gelding Mon-Ras down to that part the bay and would urge him into the water until it was deep enough for him to swim. Riding him bareback in the surf was an amazing and sometimes breathtaking experience. My friends Linda and Liz would usually join me with their horses Maverick and Juarez. We'd laugh and splash each other unmercifully. Warm summer days, the cool water of the bay, and the joy of good clean fun, life was good!   

This time my short walk was different. Even though there were still small seashells on the beach, it wasn't the Fourth of July, and Mon-Ras has been gone for eleven years now. (He was 37 years old when he laid down for the last time.) There is a subdivision where our eighty acre bay front ranch was once home to our National Champion Arabians and where I was lucky enough to have spent most of my childhood. Now, when I close my eyes and let my imagination wander, I'm back there again at Point Wilson with breezes blowing through my hair, the smell of salt water in my nostrils, and nothing has changed. 
~ Kimbra