Bopping around Barcelona


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Every voyage is an exploration and every journey a discovery of the true self. -Kidore Hobbs

It’s no accident that “adoptee” and “authenticity” both start with “A.” As I’ve chronicled

The Goodbye Baby gives an insider view of growing up adopted.

in The Goodbye Baby-Adoptee Diaries, my way through a forest of adoptee-induced emotions is journaling. Another route is travel. As an adoptee who spent a lifetime searching for a sense of family and a “real” family tree, I go to unknown for self-understanding. As Martin Burber sagely remarked, “All journeys have secret destinations of which the traveler is unaware.”

Europe calls me. My late birthfather Giovanni Cecchini was born in San Martino Sulla Marricina, Abruzzo, Italy, and my late birthmother was German. Two years ago, I explored eastern Germany. Recently, along with lifetime gal pal Jeri, I traveled by ship on a tour aptly titled Mediterranean Odyssey. Each day we disembarked to spend a day or two in a different city. The countries we docked at were Spain, France, Monaco,Italy, and Croatia. Italy, of course, was a top destination (more about Italy in a future post), but for years I’d dreamed of traveling to Barcelona, Spain and seeing the architecture of Antoni Gaudi.

This month that dream became a reality! Barcelona was the first stop of a 2 1/2 week-long Viking Ocean Cruise. Spain’s Catalonian capital is a visual feast. A great city brimming with history, wide boulevards, a magnificent L’Arc de Triumf, elegant buildings and a wonderful atmosphere. After hours in airplanes traveling from New Mexico to Spain, Jeri and I were eager to walk, and walk we did…

We strode the famous Las Ramblas – a mile-long leave pedestrian way. A wonderfully wide road, completely closed off from cars, the route drew us back several times during our Barcelona stay. Sidewalk cafes serving tapas provided lunches, each one tastier than the one before. A highlight was the extensive open air market, literally bursting with lane after lane of beautiful fruit, vegetables, meat, cheeses, baked specialties, flowers, spices and more.

The best of Barcelona, however, comprised the astonishing creations of Antoni Gaudi, the brilliant and endlessly creative nineteenth century architect. He produced wonders such as La Sagrada Familia Cathedral, Casa Batlló and La Predrera. Having always loved Art Nouveau, I resonated with Gaudi more than any other aspect of Barcelona. Herewith, Gaudi details that reveal the man’s genius.

Window of La Familia Sagrada Cathedral

“House of Bones”

Atrium, Casa Batlló


Join author Elaine Pinkerton on alternate Mondays for posts about adoption and life. Your feedback is invited. Coming in May: her newest novel All the Wrong Places (Pocol Press).

Adoption Recovery 101


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The test of a first-rate intelligence is the ability to hold two opposed ideas in mind at the same time and still retain the ability to function.

-F. Scott Fitzgerald

...Nothing so wise as a circle. -Rilke

…Nothing so wise as a circle. -Rilke

This morning’s labyrinth walk yielded reflections that I’d like to share with you…

With the publication of The Goodbye Baby-Adoptee Diaries, a memoir comprised of diary entries from the 1950s through 1980s, I began to heal from years of repressed anger and pain. I forgave the past and myself. I redirected my imagination. Instead of dwelling on all those invisible wounds (from being separated from my birthparents), I was able to focus on writing.

After The Goodbye Baby, I decided that I’d moved on. Producing a memoir was instructive and healing. Helpful as it was, however, it wasn’t enough. Or to put it more accurately, it didn’t last. The stress and instability of my first five years of life sometimes come back to haunt me.

Here’s my newest “rescue remedy,” a three-pronged remedy for adoption recovery.

Realizing the difference between dreams and expectations. As Sarah Ban Breathnach recommends in Simple Abundance, I’m following her recommendation:
“You dream. Show up for work. Then let Spirit deliver your dream to the world.”

I do this daily and I reaffirmed this intention with creating a new edition of my             guidebook Santa Fe on Foot. (

Allowing time each day for books.
I spend time reading for edification, for entertainment, for information, and (sometimes) sheer escape.

We really do not know what’s in store for us. As Sarah Breathnach recommends, “…we’ll only find out once we start investing our emotions in authentic expression, and not in specific outcomes.” Don’t get caught up in the “delivery details.”

Keep your dreams even as you accept what IS.

Keep your dreams even as you accept what IS. Join Elaine on alternate Mondays for adoption thoughts.







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Note from Elaine: This post was originally published in December of 2013 and is now part of my novel-in-progress The Hand of Ganesha, scheduled for 2019.  All the Wrong Places, prequel to Ganesha is due out in April of 2017. Pre-publication orders are being taken at

Lord Goldingham is the ancestor of my character Arundhati Benet, one of the protagonists of The Hand of Ganesha.


A British tourist, one Lord Johathan Dinegar Goldingham, strolled along the beach

The India of his dreams...

The India of his dreams…

just south of Chennai. His cousin Lady Elizabeth, a descendant of George Earl of Cumberland, had invited him to Calcutta. That hectic cauldron of humanity was not to his liking and therefore Goldingham announced diplomatically that he would travel to outlying areas rather than exploring more of the city.
It was here in Tamil Nadu that Goldingham found the India of his dreams. After exploring the stoneworks of Chennai, he hired a black Indian to lead him to the beach where stone ruins could be viewed. The tide was out and huge stone ramparts loomed up from the water. It was as though an ancient city were rising up from the ocean, that or sinking into it.
As he walked, Goldingham pondered the Bagavad Gita, particularly that portion he’d committed to memory:
He who neither likes nor dislikes, neither bemaons nor desires, who has renounced both the auspicous and inauspicious and who is full of devotion to me – he is dear to ME.
The trip to India was, he surmised, a step toward achieving the end of desire. His desire, that is. After the death of his beloved Bet and the tragic accident that took their son and daughter, he lost his will to live. Reading the poetry of Samuel Coleridge gave him a new reason to get up each day. It was Coleridge’s “Kubla Khan” that drew him to the mystical, world of the imagination.
As he edged along the ocean, it occurred to him that he should look in the damp sand for fragments that might have floated surfaceward from an ancient city under the sea, the lost kingdom of which he’d dreamed.
No one around to find his behavoir peculiar, he felt strangely liberated. Still nimble at age 45, he sat down on the white sandy beach and removed his shoes and stockings, stuffing them in a rucksack he carried on his back. After rolling up his trouser legs, he waled  into the ocean, ankle deep. The water felt warm, like bathwater. Not at all like the icy Atlantic Ocean surrounding his native Isle of Jersey. He stretched out and retrated his toes, as though they might find artifacts buried just under the sand.
The world of the imagination, that’s what attracted him to Samuel Coleridge and “Kubla Khan” and to take this trip to India. He strode from the beach in front of his hotel toward a lone pillar, part of the ruins of Mahabalipuram. He tried to envision the lost city that lay beneath the ocean, the ancient empire of which this pillar was just a part. He recited, at first in his head, and then out loud…
In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree;
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
Down to a sunless sea.
So twice five miles of fertile ground
With walls and towers were girdled round;

Beyond this point he’d not really memorized. He remembered only a fragment beyond the “walls and towers”; a “damsel with a dulcimer.” A damsel, yes a damsel…

Stay tuned for more excerpts from the prequel to Elaine's novel Arundati.

Stay tuned for more excerpts from Elaine’s novel The Hand of Ganesha, sequel to All the Wrong Places

ADOPTING FICTION~Characters in Search of a Plot


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January is a great month for new beginnings.

As an author and adoptee, I find myself forever involved in a personal makeover. Maybe it’s the extreme sort of freedom granted by having more than one family tree – the parents to which one is born and the adoptive parents who raised one. Whatever the case, I find myself often embarking on new ventures. This became crystal clear during the creation of my memoir The Goodbye Baby~Adoptee Diaries. During the 50s,60s and 70s, I sought to be the kind of daughter my parents wished they had, never meeting my own impossible standards. Harvesting my journals for that book was a route to being at peace with having been adopted. It freed me to write other books.

Searching for characters took me to Mahabalipuram, India

Searching for characters took me to Mahabalipuram, India

Always a new avenue… However, the constant thread has been and will always be writing.  After the debut of my guidebook Santa Fe On Foot-Exploring the City Different, I suffered from post-publication letdown  This reaction is not uncommon. With writers I know, the joy of completing a book brings with it a dreary vacuum, an emptiness. The only solution is to begin another book.
Good news: I have a novel coming out this April, All the Wrong Places. It’s being issued by Pocol Press, an independent publisher located in Clifton, Virginia. Here’s the plot…
Adoptee Clara moves from the east coast to Red Mesa, New Mexico, and begins a teaching year at the American Indian Academy. Shortly after the start of a new semester, headmaster Joseph Speckled Rock is found dead on Clara’s classroom floor. Both teacher and students are shocked.
    Clara deals with her students’ grief and her own frustration by daily running in the rough hills surrounding the academy. Carnell Dorame, a talented student and Clara’s favorite, uses the Internet to trace the identity of her birthmother. The school’s computer teacher Henry DiMarco invites Clara out for a date and they end up becoming lovers. Henry, however, is not what he seems. His real business is smuggling pottery, an enterprise that is tied in with the death of Speckled Rock.
    When Clara begins to suspect Henry’s dual nature, he decides that she is in the way and breaks up with her. She runs to a remote arroyo and underground cave studying petroglyphs that might lead to her birthmother’s identity. But it seems she is not alone…
Will adoptee Clara Jordan be able learn about her family tree? I can tell you this much: Clara does learn about her birthmother, but it is not a good reunion. She’s left with more questions than answers.

In Hindu tradition, Ganesha is a god of wisdom and success

In Hindu tradition, Ganesha is a god of wisdom and success

I’m now at work on a second novel in the Clara Jordan series, The Hand of Ganesha. My heroine Clara moves to Santa Fe, New Mexico, still questing. There she befriends Arundhati Benet, another adoptee. The two discuss traveling to India to trace Dottie’s ancestry. Their friend Sanjay Roy invites them to go with him to Chennai, Tamil Nadu, where he has relatives. The two women end up being separated from Sanjay. They find themselves at a Kumba Mela festival and either find a clue as to Dottie’s real origins – or not. I’m “interviewing” Clara and Dottie. Daily “free writing” has yielded character revelation and background.r than imposing a plot, I listen to what they have to say about what happens.

Does the interview method work? Time will tell. I’ve given myself until Valentine’s Day to decide on a plot. After that I’ll begin the “real writing.” I’ll be armed with a plot, but that will be subject to change. The characters will have the final word.


Join author Elaine Pinkerton on alternate Mondays for reflections on adoption, writing, hiking and living in the Southwest. Stay tuned for news on All the Wrong Places, and check out Your comments are invited!img_2279

Poetry Monday, Once Again


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Note from Elaine: I’m adopting poetry for this first post of 2017, contributed by a writer friend whose work I’ve admired for many years. Her beautifully crafted images capture much of what there is to love in northern New Mexico. Join Roberta as she takes you through Northern New Mexico’s palette with intimate details, sweeping panoramas, and all kinds of weather!

Grace Notes of 2016 in Jaconita

A form that's both ancient and contemporary.

A form that’s perfect for today.

by Roberta Fine

Snow enhancing trash.
Crystal-crusted broken hoe
Crowned by red-topped finch.

Wrinkled, folded hills
Holding ancient secrets.
Spinning fireside tales.

Finely crafted nest.
Feathered weaver’s masterwork.
Lying on the ground.

Silver silhouette
Truchas Peaks shining in new
White Communion dress.img_2917

Hummingbird stealing
Insects from spider’s rich cache
In window cobweb.

Slim moon slice smiling
In arching black velvet sky
Empty of storm clouds.

Coral fruit crowning
Lushly-leaved apricot tree.
Feathered thieves dive in.

Monarch’s stained glass wings
Fanning magenta blossoms.
Sipping as it clings.

Apple scented breeze
Stirring hollow wooden chimes
Into two note song.

Caught in burnt-red sprays,
October sun igniting
Locust’s vibrant leaves.

Yellow butterfly
No bigger than a nickel
Finding last flower.

White veil laid smoothly
Overnight over Sangres.
Valley brown, leafless.

Poet Roberta Fine lives and writes in Jaconita, New Mexico. She finds inspiration from the diverse seasons and scenery of the Southwest.

What are your favorite scenes from home and environs in your corner of the world? Please send comments, and tune in to Elaine’s website every other Monday for a fresh blog post about adoption, hiking and life.

Roberta Fine adopted Haiku as her medium of expression

Roberta Fine has adopted Haiku as her medium of expression

Adopt a Peace Plan for the Holidays


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The grandchildren are visiting soon, and I couldn’t help but recall a long-ago past. Like

Christmas is full of joy and anticipation!

Christmas is full of joy and anticipation!

my five-year-old boy and eight-year-old girl, I was caught up in Christmas magic. I couldn’t wait! What a contrast with these days’ scrambling to accomplish everything, to set the stage, to “deck the halls.” It can be exhausting!

During a recent hike in the Santa Fe National Forest, I talked with a friend about combating Holiday Doldrums. His solution was simple: “Aim for peace, and stay within the confines of the day.” Great advice as far as it goes, but I’ve found it helpful to set boundaries for the day, especially during December madness. Based on a recent message from the Chopra Center, here’s my personal six-point plan.

Be in the NOW, regarding each day, from sunrise to night, as a gift.

Raise your appreciation quotient. Challenge yourself, as you go throughout the holidays, to turn your attention to others. Last week I was stuck in a slow-moving line at the post office. Instead of the snag turning into an ordeal, I enjoyed a pleasant conversation with a fellow USPS customer. We discussed the superiority of the greeting cards carried by our post office. Just one example of being grateful for the “small stuff.”

3. Think less about yourself, more about others. Give your ego a vacation and practice really listening. It is a way of flipping the script and focussing on being.

4.Be easy on yourself. Don’t obsess about making the holidays perfect. That can be a

Make it a daily practice to recall at least 5 things for which you're grateful.

Make it a daily practice to recall 5 things for which you’re grateful.

recipe for disappointment. Look for ways to be satisfied with all you accomplish.

5. Set limits, and do it gracefully. The holidays are often a time when old family issues reappear, stress levels rise, and people overstep your boundaries. Reactive responses are the enemy. If you find yourself saying the same things you’ve said in the past, just stop. Determine to recalibrate your emotions.

6. Focus on the spiritual. Whatever your beliefs, place them in center stage during Christmas and Hannukah. Turn to scriptures, poetry, being in nature — whatever inspires you.

Create a checklist, writing these suggestions on an index card. As you go about the day, refer to the list to see how you’re doing. It shouldn’t be burdensome but more like a game. Be grateful for the times when you meet your expectations. How do YOU make the holidays less stressful and more joyous. Please share your reflections!


Please join Elaine every other Monday for reflections on adoption, hiking and life. Let us know if you’d like to contribute an adoption-related guest post. And remember, as of now, the days are growing longer!

Nature can be the best therapy of all!

Nature can be the best therapy of all!

Adopting an Attitude of Patience


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In this Internet age of instant gratification, is PATIENCE an outdated virtue? And if

With the Internet, we can reach out to people everywhere.

With the Internet, we can reach out to kindred spirits everywhere.

it isn’t, how can we possibly adopt a practice of patience in an increasingly impatient world?
Essayist Andrew O’Hagan, in a recent issue of The New Times Style Magazine, praises the speed and ease allowed by our connectivity to everyone, everywhere, all the time.
In his article, “Sign of the Times,” O’Hagan says, “I now feel—and this is a revelation—that my past was an interesting and quite fallow period spent waiting for the Internet.” In answer to those who question the validity of online friends and community, he says, “Physical loneliness can still exist, of course, but you’re never friendless online. Don’t tell me the spiritual life is over. In many ways it’s only just begun. Technology is not doing what the sci-fi writers warned it might—it is not turning us into digits or blank consumers, into people who hate community. Instead, there is evidence that the improvements are making us more democratic, more aware of the planet…pressing us to question what it means to have life so easy, when billions do not.
I resonate strongly with Mr. O’Hagan’s commentary. Until I began using the Internet to find answers,  my adoption conundrums stayed unresolved.  Step one was publishing The Goodbye

The Goodbye Baby gives an insider view of growing up adopted. of

The Goodbye Baby gives an insider view of growing up adopted.

Baby-A Diary about Adoption, my account of what it was like to grow up in the 50s and 60s during the era of “closed” adoptions. Following the book, I discovered a vast adoption community online: book reviews, discussions, forums, all manner of exchanges centering on adoption. Adoption from every angle: birthparents, adoptees, people wanting to adopt, adoptive moms and dads. The Internet, I can honestly say, helped me come to grips with with reclaiming my adopted self.
If only that were the end of the story. Once I declared myself “recovered,” the old adoption issues would sometimes sneak back in, sometimes return with a vengeance. Like weeds in my rugged “au natural” back yard, they never really went away. Basically, I learned to diminish their influence, and that is still a work in progress. The goal: An attitude adjustment.
Change may come slowly, but with patience, we can change even ourselves. I’m adopting the following rules for the next 30 days, after which I’ll compare my patience quota before and after.

And here’s a recipe for adopting a practice of PATIENCE. I invite you to try it

In the chess board of life, PATIENCE wins the game.

In the chess board of life, PATIENCE wins the game.

with me:

Give yourself time. For example, in going places if you have to follow a car 25 miles per hour in a 40 MPH zone, allow leeway. You may arrive too early, but in most cases that’s better than arriving late.
Develop realistic expectations: Life is full of the unexpected. Avoid the idea that things will run like clockwork.
Refuse to give in to anger. It is dangerous to your mental equilibrium.
Realize that delays are temporary. As the saying goes, “This too will pass.”
Be proactive: Find ways to make positive use of waiting time. Listening to audible books or reading on a Kindle app, texting a friend with words of encouragement, planning a menu while waiting in the dentist’s office. You get the idea!

I had to be patient with resolving adoption issues, and the approach worked. Now I’m

applying the same principles to life in general. In invite you to join me in a thirty day trial. Please comment or Tweet me about your challenges and/or progress. I patiently await news of your experiences!

I Hereby Adopt a Mountain


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Note from Elaine: In the spirit of hiking for happiness I’m re-publishing  this step-by-step account of a beautiful Santa Fe, New Mexico outing. It’s also a chapter in my new book SANTA FE ON FOOT-EXPLORING THE CITY DIFFERENT.santafeonfoot


To celebrate November, National Adoption Month, I hereby adopt a mountain.
Monte Sol (Sun Mountain) gives me inspiration for writing and a new appreciation for simply being alive.

. Allow me to explain…

Readers may know that my favorite short day hike is Sun Mountain, often called by its Spanish name, “Monte Sol.” Along with three other prominent foothills of the Rockies, it offers a distinctive silhouette. The skyline of southeastern Santa Fe goes like this: Picacho Peak, a near triangle topped by a slanted nipple shape; long galumphing Atalaya, a favorite five-mile hike; and Monte Sol, the most perfectly symmetrical of the three.

Monte Sol is right off Old Santa Fe Trail.

Monte Sol is right off Old Santa Fe Trail.

Monte Sol is beautiful and convenient. I go there almost every day. When the City of Santa Fe gained permission from landowners for access from the road, they established a trailhead to Monte Sol. It was a landslide victory for local and visiting walkers. The path up Monte Sol became more accessible to not just me (I happen to live practically next door) but to everyone in the world. Often it’s an up-and-down affair, but when I have time, I take advantage of rocky outdoor seating that’s perfect for sunning, meditating, eating a sandwich, writing, or simply watching the clouds drift by.

Though it’s only 8/10ths of a mile to the top of Monte Sol, the elevation gain is nearly

Almost there!
Almost there!

1,000 feet. The steepness makes for a good workout. The final third of the ascent involves over 100 switchbacks and requires one to step up, up, and ever up.

THE HIKE PROCEEDS IN THREE ACTS: a beginning, middle and end. The first section of path is curved but gentle. The second takes the hiker up a series of large rocks and to a view less of the city below than toward other, unnamed foothills. The contours became darker as the day advances. The final act, most demanding, requires careful footwork as the path narrows, at times disappearing. One mounts a virtual rock staircase, finally reaching a ten-foot wide rock that looks as though it might have been an ocean floor.

From then on, it’s a mostly dirt walkway until the “Ah Ha” moment of reaching the top. Surprisingly, the summit of Monte Sol is a flat area the size of a couple football fields. A panoramic view unfolds in every direction, and one can understand why early settlers compared the high desert terrain to a kind of inland ocean. The southwestern palate of green, sage, tan, brown and purple stretch beneath one in layers. Huge white clouds billow overhead.

There, with the city stretched out below, the Sangre de Cristo Mountains and the Pecos Wilderness to the North, the seeker can find peace and serenity. On warm afternoons, it is often tempting to stay awhile, basking in the sun like a lazy lizard.

That said, though one can find solitude here, on this particular Sunday afternoon, I encounter a dozen other hikers. There’s the man with the Irish Setter with a yellow bandana around his neck (the dog’s neck, not the man’s). Along come the mothers of small children who’ve managed to train their little ones to tackle the arduous walk but to make it fun, and the young woman with headphones who is running rather than walking. I can’t imagine how she would jog the steeper boulder sections, but assume she pauses to pick over the rocks before continuing her fast pace.

Then I remember my younger self, a Me who was always running and training for the next marathon. I would not have been daunted by a few precipitous passes. A lifetime ago…I miss those running days. And yet, I’m grateful to be covering the same territory. I’m glad to be out here, slower but still strong.

Enough of Monte Sol musing. It’s time to leave the summit and head back down into the real world. I watch gigantic black birds circling overhead and take a final look at the distant road stretching south to Albuquerque, then hike down to the flatlands. I know my adopted trail much better now, and I feel completely ready for an afternoon of writing.

Do YOU have a path that leads you to serenity and healing?


Join me on alternate Mondays for reflections on adoption and life. If you are an adoptee or adoptive parent or are planning to adopt, I’ll gladly consider your ADOPTION STORY for publication on my website. Send me an email with your ideas, and I promise to get back to you.~Elaine

Adoptee’s Poetry Monday


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Note from Elaine: Just remembered that November is National Adoption Month! When I was adopted at the tender age of five, I adjusted to a whole

Return to childhood hobby of shell collecting

Seashells remind me of simple pleasures

new paradigm. A load of baggage came with that. My personal silver lining might have been “adaptation” and “resourcefulness.” (I’ve been told that these are some of my best traits.) Like many, I am striving to give the recent election results a positive interpretation. This reflection (by Rabbi Rachel Barenblat) was sent to me by dear friend Joalie, one of the smartest women I know. I’m passing it on to you, dear readers, in the hope it will help you as much as it did me.


Today mourning and celebration commingle.
Jubilation and heartache are juxtaposed
In neighborhoods where lawns proclaimed
Support for different candidates, on Facebook walls
And Twitter streams where clashing viewpoints meet.

Grant us awareness of each others’ hopes and fears
Even across the great divides of red state and blue state,
Urban and rural. Open us to each others’ needs.
Purify our hearts so that those who rejoice do not gloat
And those who grieve do not despair.

Strengthen our ability to be kind to one another
And to ourselves. Awaken in us the yearning
To build a more perfect union. Let us roll up our sleeves
Whether today we feel exultation or sorrow, and together
Shape a nation of welcome and compassion.

Let ours be a land where no one need fear abuse
Or retribution, where every diversity is celebrated,
Where those who are most vulnerable are protected.
May bigotry and violence vanish like smoke.
May compassion prevail from sea to shining sea.

By Rabbi Rachel Barenblat



Join Elaine on alternate Mondays for reflections about adoption, hiking, and life. I’d love your comments. Include your email if you’d like to continue a dialogue. Thank you for reading my blog!

Visiting the ocean at Fernandina/Amelia Island/Florida

Visiting the ocean: Fernandina/Amelia Island/Florida

On Amelia Island~Adopting the Beach

I’ll admit it. Though I love the Southwest, I’ve been secretly starved for the East Coast, the ocean, green grass and humidity. So it is a special privilege to be spending this week in Fernandina Beach, Florida, Amelia Island, visiting my friend Pat and her sister Hannah. I’m amazed at the trees and spend time looking straight up. Towering live oaks, Palmettos, Southern Magnolias. Quite in contrast to Santa Fe’s piñons and junipers. Many of these arboreal giants are festooned with Spanish moss, the stuff of novels (think Gone with the Wind).

A love affair with the Atlantic!

A love affair with the Atlantic!

Fernandina is the major town of Amelia Island, the extreme northeastern part of Florida. It’s 13 and 1/2 miles long and roughly two miles wide.Population of the town is around 11,000, of the island, roughly 25,000.The island has been populated for 4,000 years and throughout its history has flown flags, consecutively, of France, Spain, England, Mexico and the United States Confederacy. Its stormy past contrasts greatly with its present day image as a resort and leisure destination.

The highlight of every day of my vacation is walking along the ocean with Hannah. There’s a lot to keep us busy and yet it is a soothing no-deadline, no quota kind of busy-ness. Collecting shells, admiring the soaring gulls, the swooping pelicans, observing the waves of sanderlings. The sanderlings,with their stiff legged strutting and pecking into the sand, ever searching for food, are the most fun to watch.

We remove our shoes and walk barefooted. The water is icy at first but the longer we stroll, the warmer it seems. In addition to the panorama of nature, there is plenty of people-watching to be done. The beach is open 24/7 and there are the day campers with lawn chairs and coolers, the swimmers who plunge into the incoming tide, the nappers and the fisher folk (who have rods lined up just above the water line). Like us, many folks are strolling. Occasional runners and bikers go by. A parasail passes far overhead, the pilot’s legs dangling into the air from the airborne one-seater. As we reluctantly go back to our car, five people riding beautiful chestnut horses clip-clop their way down to the beach.

Return to childhood hobby of shell collecting

Return to my childhood hobby of shell collecting

Amelia Island has many other attractions. Centre Street, full of lovely Victorian architecture, has a wonderful book store, The Book Loft. By the way, they’ve agreed to host a December 2nd book-signing for my new guidebook Santa Fe on Foot-Exploring the City Different. There are beautiful 19th century mansions and everywhere. Fort Clinch, at the island’s north end,offers a fascinating look at the past. It is the beach, however, that takes me back to my past and keeps me coming back every day.

Join Elaine Mondays for reflections on adoption & life.

Please share YOUR favorite beach experiences!