One year ago, we moved to the Santa Ynez Valley from the San Francisco Bay area. After the moving vans rolled away, the garage was so packed we could barely move between rows of boxes.
It had been a long, dispiriting day watching our life’s possessions being handled with the delicacy of airplane baggage handlers, then rudely hauled-off by trucks.
When my husband wearily asked where the towels might be so he could take a shower, I eyed the garage. How would we locate a box labeled “towels”? The movers had placed them haphazardly, most of the labels buried beyond our sight. Finding the right box would have been like winning the lottery.
“I’m going to Bed, Bath and Beyond," my husband announced, grabbing his car keys. “I’ll buy some new towels.”
I’m afraid this was one more thing my high-tech, Silicon Valley husband was going to have to get used to.
At 8 o’clock on a Friday evening, a trip down the pass to Goleta or up Highway 101 to Santa Maria was not going to happen. We didn’t know anyone, or at least anyone well enough to borrow towels from.
I marvel that this happened just one year ago. We now have enough friends to stock an entire linen closet with borrowed towels. More importantly, there is a magic we are discovering in the Santa Ynez Valley that has as much to do with the people as it does with its natural beauty, which makes the inconvenience of having no Bed, Bath and Beyond store, unimportant.
Lest I nauseate anyone with my exuberance, I want to say that I understand we are still in the honeymoon phase of living here. Just like newly falling in love. I admit I don’t yet know enough about this place to see what might be its negative underside. I do have intimations, though. Like anyone we romantically fall in love with and then stick with for the long haul, our new community will eventually show annoying, frustrating and maddening qualities.
But here is something I am observing. There is an interconnected-ness of people that I believe encourages good behavior. When you walk into El Rancho Market (or Nielson’s or New Frontier’s or Albertsons), you will not only inevitably see someone you know shopping, but one of the clerks will be a neighbor or someone from church or someone you exercise with at the “Y”. It is much harder to be rude or grumpy to a person who is an integral part of your daily life.
Of course, this lack of anonymity can have its down sides. Recently I went to a charity event where I observed a phenomenon new to me. The desserts come with a price. Local bakeries donate their best cakes. These are then auctioned to the highest bidder for his or her table. If you’ve been coming to the event for a while, you learn which cakes are particularly fabulous and thus go for a ridiculously high price. The table next to ours successfully bid on the coconut cake frosted with golden coconut, my favorite. As people were leaving, I saw that a nice hunk remained on that table.
I swooped down with my fork, when I heard a voice behind me saying, “Stop! You don’t want that!”
Who ruined that cake for me? It was dear Dr. Lisa, with whom I’d only the week before been discussing my endless battle with weight management. Ah, a valley where your doctor shows up to save you from yourself just as you’re about to blow your diet!
It’s a special place, the Santa Ynez Valley.