How many times have you blindly passed something beautiful and not even known it was there? I realize I’ve done it a million times. If you travel south on Highway 101 and have never been to Nojoqui Falls Park, you’re missing out on something, too.
There’s an inconspicuous sign on the 101 that announces the sharp turnoff to the park. No details. No mention of natural beauty, deer, or the running waterfall. Just a standard brown highway sign.
To be honest, we wouldn’t have ever explored Nojoqui Falls, either, had we not lived in Solvang. Yes, at some point you get tired of walking downtown and feel the need to explore the trail less taken. In this case, that trail leads to an 80-foot waterfall in the back corner of Nojoqui Falls Park.
The park is almost always empty, so it’s a great place to picnic or barbecue. Perhaps because hardly anyone visits, there seems to be an abundance of wildlife peeking around, which can be exciting if you spot a deer, but scary when you realize that bobcats occasionally make their presence known.
My boys and I decided to trek out to the falls recently to see if the water was running. In the summer, the trail to the falls is beautiful and bountiful with foliage blooming everywhere. And, of course, there’s the thrill of the question “Will I or won’t I catch poison oak on this trail?” that nags at the back of your mind as you smile wider at your party and try to keep the thought to the back of your mind.
During the late fall and winter, the trail is equally beautiful. Partially undressed branches embrace above your head while red and gold leaves crush under your feet loudly enough to scare the bobcats away. And with each crunchy step builds the anticipation of whether or not the waterfall is running yet.
We tromped loudly, like the sign suggested, along the trail, struggling to keep the boys on the actual path and out of the brush. I expect it from my 2-year-old, but I haven’t yet figured out why my 8- and 9-year-olds can’t walk in a straight line. Walking with my boys is like walking with Woodstock from the Peanuts cartoons. That yellow little bird would always unnecessarily fly in little circular patterns next to Snoopy. (Why the extra effort, Woodstock? You know some of us aren’t producing more cells than we can burn, anymore. We don’t need all the loops and la-de-dahs. Remember, the shortest distance between two points is a straight line.)
So we looped and swirled and burned calories all the way to the falls. And it was worth it. There was a trickle of water sliding from the falls, which really was more than we expected at this time of year. It was fun and beautiful—and cool near the moss-covered cliff. Families waded in the pool at the base of the falls.
My husband Ron and I sat on the rock bench built in the hillside and watched the boys stick their feet in the cool water. In true Cone fashion, they didn’t stop there, as did the kids in the other families. One of my boys stuck a foot in, and then brought said foot up, shaking the excess water on his brother. My other son then gently but deliberately kicked up water toward the offending brother. The two then parted, turned, headed back toward each other, circled, then headed back
to their respective sides of
the stream.
Ron and I could see what was building. I sighed and preemptively hung my head in defeat. When I was brave enough to peek, I saw that they were jumping from rock to rock across the shallow pool of water, tempting gravity to make them slip and soak their clothes. But gravity was on my side this time, and they bounced along, pushing each other off balance as they passed, yet no one fell in.
We gathered our boys and rounded up their shoes and socks for the walk back. They walked up ahead, and we watched as Jake bopped Chase for no apparent reason. And then Chase hip-checked Jake, hopped on top of a stump, jumped off, and climbed into the hollow of a tree trunk. For no apparent reason. Then Jake body-checked Chase into a bush, turned, and kicked the base of a tree stump, then continued walking, all the while grabbing and pulling the leaves off of every branch that was within arms’ reach. For no apparent reason.
Finally, Ron walked ahead and between my two oldest boys to keep them in check. And that’s when I realized how blind I really am.
Living in a household of four boys, I’m sometimes treated like I’m special, sometimes taken advantage of. It’s often overlooked that I’m a girl, and I’m rarely understood.
But I don’t understand my boys, either. Like how they can fashion a piece of PVC pipe into a marshmallow shooter, or how that same PVC pipe can be used as a tool to direct the air blown through it into an unsuspecting brother’s ear. Or why anyone would need such a tool in the first place.
But it’s beautiful, the verve they have, and I’ve seen it so many times, yet I often overlook how moss-covered-waterfall-crunchy-leaf-naughty-tree-limb-beautiful it all really is. And that’s how I’ve learned to stop passing up the beauty that’s right in front of me every day. Even when I think I’ve seen it all.
Arts Editor Shelly Cone has lots still to see. Contact her at scone@santamariasun.com.
This article appears in Oct 28 – Nov 4, 2010.