March 26 was the last time I hit the trails. I think that I didn't blog it because I'm too sentimental about it. To write a blog post means to miss my old life. My life before the COVID19 pandemic. And I don't really want to think about it. I don't want to think about the medicine that I've been missing since shelter-in-place was ordered. (It makes me sad; I'd rather not be sad.)

The last day I drove to work was Thursday, March 13 -- my last day of teaching before spring break. It was raining. We were in strange times, masks and gloves on about a quarter of the people on campus, but malls were still open, as were bars and restaurants. Still on that last day on campus, March 13, I was so naive to how things were going to drastically change. I remember it was cold, and I was wet from the rain even though I had an umbrella. The mood about campus was anxious. I filled my truck with gas a couple days after that. More than a month later, I still have a half tank. In my old life, I filled my tank about every 5 days. Now, I work from home, recording lectures and holding a computer "lab" online. I no longer drive 50 to 60 miles a day. 

My husband has worked from the home office for years now. And other than not having to drive the boys to their stuff in the afternoon, his life has not changed much. My parents' lives have not changed as well, but most everyone I know, my 3 sons, a freshman and senior in high school, and a junior in college, included are experiencing a major disruption.  

I have not been having that great of a time working from home, especially with trails out of reach. This is not to say that I don't enjoy all this extra time with my family. I do. It's wonderful, and there are lots of great talks and strolls around the yard. But my classroom is my kitchen. And there are unique challenges to Zoom lectures and email correspondence. To top that, the first week home my computer crashed. I had to purchase a new one, which was not in the budget. A few weeks later, my iphone was stolen out of my purse while I shopped for groceries. That hurt.

People are anxious. I am anxious. On the good side, as of now, everyone in my family, both immediate and extended are well. California has been on "shelter-in-place" since March 20. The moods have been tense since. At first, we were allowed to take hikes in the mountains and bike rides and such on the beach. Eventually, all those options have been shut down. I stopped hiking well before the local governments and forest service made it impossible by closing down roads, parking lots and trail heads. I have not hit the trails for nearly 4 weeks! I've had some small walk-abouts in the neighborhood. But that's it. And this is my greatest suffering point. It would help me a good deal to have the medicine that satisfying wanderlust amply provides. I don't have it; I look elsewhere for refuge.  Some good and some not so good.  I have since washed all the hardwood floors of our beach shack and then moved onto shampooing carpets (they were disgusting.)  I washed the walls, the bookshelves and cabinets. I weeded the planters and washed out the bird feeders (Oh, did they need it!). I began purging papers from the office/library. I haul out a garbage bag full every week. I really have neglected these things for so long, it's shameful. Normally, I'd go for a hike and process that with a positive note. I haven't processed my neglect with a positive note yet.

I suppose to remedy the minor existential crises this shelter-in-place order brought on, I force myself every day to make my surroundings better.  I cut flowers in the backyard for a kitchen bouquet. I have the boys sweep the porches and mow the lawns. I prune plants and remove wilted Calla Lily, Camilla and Birds of Paradise blooms. I feel oddly driven to do these things. I am driven to do them because it covers up how I feel that I'm failing intellectually, physically and spiritually right now. I've assigned myself some exercises. Not physical exercises (where I am drastically lacking), but instead intellectual and spiritual exercises. Aside from beautifying my surroundings, I began reading (once my great love) -- one book of fiction and the other non-fiction. Every morning I begin with my reading (and a cup of coffee). And after that, I make my bed. 

I have done all these things to try and substitute the medicine that trails provide (which too, is only a temporary remedy to the anxious-spiritually-struggling life that I keep finding myself at). I have always had this need to feel that I am moving forward. Shelter-in-place is perhaps as close as you can get to the opposite of moving forward, thus the manic reaction to beautifying my surroundings at home. There is a lot of beauty here at home too. Aside from the small little seaside yard and a peek of the ocean from the front porch, there's my family. It's good to be with them. (Though I still await seeing my oldest son who is in Ventura County.) I guess that I am rambling now, and really should get back to the purpose of this blog overall -- trails.

So, back to  my original intent for this post, it was March 26, as I have already mentioned and we were 6 days into shelter-in-place, but exercise was clearly allowed and even encouraged. I had read that amenities and parking lots would be closed at Aliso/Woods Canyons but that the trails would be open. Lack of parking lot has never stopped me. And so, I set out in the late morning, to a lesser known entrance to Aliso/Woods. Turned out, the city of Laguna Beach had closed all trail heads in the city, and I had to sneak into the park (which was open). It was not difficult by the way to sneak in. The person patrolling the closed trail heads, (I heard a city volunteer) had driven away by the time I made it to Meadows Trail head, and by the time she returned, I was already well into the park (but I am fairly certain she had to have seen me from her vantage point upon return).

I hiked more than 10 miles, beginning in Moulton Meadows Park, down Meadows Trail to Wood Canyon, Cholla, West Ridge and Top of the World. At first, the trails were empty and I began to doubt the legality of my presence.  But once in Wood Canyon, I counted thirty or more hikers, runners and bikers over a 5 or 6 mile stretch. The park mind you is 4,500 acres, so even with 30 plus people, I had much time alone. About three-quarters into Wood Canyon I hiked off trail to the ladies room in a wooded area. And there in the deep shade, I stumbled upon a bob cat who froze for a second and promptly took off further into the brush. Back on the trail, about a 1/4 mile later, I spun around abruptly with hunch I was being followed. Sure enough, I spied a coyote trotting in my direction! Once he realized I had stopped, he was off the other way.

My last hike was a lovely one and much needed. When I arrived to Alta Laguna Park, I found myself fenced in and had to climb out. A few others were doing the same. The road was crowded with cars since the lots were locked shut. There were were a couple of police squad cars driving about, and city workers were posting "No Parking" signs. I enjoyed my last couple of miles back to my truck like I would a last cookie. I knew this would be my last hike in a while. As I made my way back down into the park, near Meadows trail, I could see the city truck patrolling the area right in my path, "I'm in for it," I thought and plugged forward ready to face the music. But the truck thankfully, had just driven off before I arrived. I was relieved to not have a confrontation. I haven't been out since, and that is not a good thing. Who knows though, maybe in the long run, it will be.