This Place in Yosemite is Close to Whatever Water Remains
...And really, that's about all you can ask for in the West rn
We're supposed to go to Disneyland this weekend.
This decision was made in headier times (late April) when isolation had completely melted our brains and few factors were different:
• Everyone in my immediate family sphere had received the vaccine, and privileged California was trending toward about 80% vaccinated by the end of June.
• There was a Disney ticket "lottery" for California residents only. They were only to open at 10% capacity with various protocols, including mask and social distancing mandates in place.
• My little cohort (again, fully vaxxed) had just completed an overnighter to Santa Barbara to officially leave our home as a unit for the first time in 14 months. The little Hyatt on the Santa Barbara waterfront had big Hotel California energy, long hallways, and ghosts everywhere. The pool was just us. Literally, nobody else. And Santa Barbara itself had discovered in a very Parisian way that choking off parts of State Street to traffic created a way for restaurants to operate for limited service outside, but, more importantly, it was the first time I'd been through a Southern California town's main drag when the pedestrians and cyclists (and skateboarders) outnumbered the SUVs crawling along or double-parked dropping off/picking up.
That's all to say, it was magic and, well, I think I got a little cocky.
California "opened up" on Tuesday, which hasn't affected me at all thus far; other than that, by doing so on cue, a climate-affected heatwave state-wide took that as a cue to unstrap its mask.
Here on the coast—where lines of cars idling to escape the heat coming into town greeted me in my daily run to the post office—the mercury topped out at a balmy 78 yesterday.
Still, it was hot enough for my son to remark during our morning tennis at the park that he wished he could drink water and play at the same time, because his body was "drying out like a leaf."
As for Disneyland, well, that's not so simple anymore either. While they're not staffed to come close to capacity, the park has opened up additional spots for visitors. And while there are still mandates and distancing regulations in place, the mask thing is on the honor system, which is too bad, seeing as honor is the one thing we're fresh out of in this country.
I think people looked better in masks anyway, and I'm not the only one. My son told me yesterday was easier for folks not to have to see the crumbs in my beard. But also, isn't that the truth? For almost 18 months, we got to not have to see people shove dead animals in their mouths or breathe out whatever garbage is swilling around in their sentient landfills—such luxury.
The hotel btw is in the heart of Garden Grove—the most cursed version of what used to be citrus trees and tiny ranch homes—directly across the street from a Del Taco, a Roscoe's House of Chicken ‘n Waffles, and a Coco's (the Midcentury kind with the holdover dark interiors, the old sign, and the palm trees out front) which is THE actual holy trinity of Southern California dining.
So if all else fails, find me masked up with my thrift store copy of Judy Blume's Forever noshing on a green burrito or piece of Key Lime pie by the pool.
Sadly, it won't be empty this time around, and I'm going to have to watch people stuff sliders into their maws... and traffic, apparently is back and worse than ever—but that's the price we pay for pretending everything's back to normal.
8029 Woodpecker Way Wawona, CA 93623
Speaking of vacations, whenever a place in Yosemite's little community called The Redwoods opens up, I just can't get it out of my head.
The tiny mountain town enclave is a 20-minute drive into the Valley floor to spend the day under the gaze of Half Dome and El Cap, or backpedal five minutes to explore the Mariposa Grove, a stand of more than 500 mature trees that have survived more than 3,000 years.
Catch them all this summer before (while?) they burn.
Properties don't go up for sale much in Wawona. The post-war development just inside the south entrance of Yosemite National Park came to be in the middle of the last century and have been home to generational retreats for a handful of lucky California families since then.
Just a quick stroll through the encampment en route to the Chilnualna Falls trailhead reveals the wood-carved surnames of those who own these snow-proof lean-tos that haven't been swapped out much in three generations.
This place, a little two-bedroom less than a hundred yards from the Pine Tree market, apparently hasn't changed hands in a half-century. It's also just two rock skips from the banks of the Merced River—the beneficiary of the region's hydrologic miracle: its Mediterranean climate—cold, wet winters, followed by long dry summers—that guarantees (or used to) a steady flow year-round.
Most Yosemite precipitation falls from the snow accumulated over 6,000 feet during the winter, creating a natural reservoir. The snowpack slowly releases meltwater in spring and summer, and the plant and animal life is nourished year-round.
Half of California's total water supply is sourced right here. But a rapidly warming climate is changing this ecosystem fast. Northern California is predicted to warm 5-11°F (3-6°C) by the year 2100.
With an increase of 11°F, the new snow line will rise from 5,700 feet to 9,020 feet. The change will lower annual snowpack volume and cause earlier melting, resulting in longer, drier summers with less water in rivers, streams, and aquifers.
While this is terrible news for anyone living in the rest of the West—read all about it in today's NYT—I suppose (barring this place becoming a charred marshmallow (a very distinct possibility over the next few months to half-decade) you and your new two-bedroom wood-paneled fever dream with the river rock fireplace built from stones around the way—are at the source of whatever water is left in this part of the continent; no other selling point really matters, though the front deck complete with custom-carved screen door is rather nice.