Wavecrest Woodie Meet

An Essay:  Wavecrest Woodie Meet

They sat about together or stood in nearby clusters, discussing a prized possession or a remembrance of how it used to be.  The grayed haired men, most sporting glasses leaned in as their hearing wasn’t what it once was as they described an event or a function of their hobbies or fascinations.  Their eyes twinkled with by-gone youth as they savored the moment.  It’s the camaraderie that was clear, as each one had a different take on the same subject. 

The sparse crowds walking through the exhibit seemed mostly middle-aged or older; the occasional youngster held his grandfather’s hand as the wisdom of time tried to explain to the child exactly what he was looking at.  Fascinated by the lines, the style, the color, the grace, and the beauty are all in the eye of the beholder.  If only the child had time and insight to savor what was in front of him.

Some walked by quickly; others slowed a bit, stopped, and reminisced about a memory of the bygone era.  It was all in front of them, built to last, solid, marvels at what man can engineer.  But other than the exhibitors, proud of their possessions, all pushed along past the past then back into the present as they moved on to deal with what they have today.

And the old men stayed, guarding their prized antiques, polishing, shinning, and making sure everything was just right so others could enjoy their goods.  The group of exhibitors had shrunk; there were extra spaces where before someone would be set up, maybe because of lingering COVID concerns or perhaps some of the old guys had passed on or lost interest.  

The men talked about past members of the club, where so-in-so had moved, what had happened to his family, questioning why he didn’t show up to display his prized possession.  Maybe he sold it, maybe the family doesn’t want it, or maybe no one showed an interest in his collection or hobby.   After all, it was his hobby.

So, the Wavecrest Woodie Meet car show in Encinitas, CA this past weekend was more than a club meet or a social event where they gathered with spouses and friends.  It was a time to reflect, to pause, to mark off another year of existence.  Nothing much had changed with their old antique cars: maybe another coat of wax, a tuned engine, or new tires, as the old ones were brittle with age – much like the owners.

But there they were, proudly answering questions of the passer-byers: “What year is this Woodie?”  (A small placard in each windshield supplied the make, year, and model, but some seemed not to notice.)  Or the owner talked details of his restoration with another owner.  One guy has some old parts that he didn’t need anymore; another wanted to sell his car.  Times are getting tough.

But the most apparent was the lack of young owners and not many young spectators.  A couple of skateboarders took advantage of the paved parking lot as they whizzed through; several surfers cut through the display headed to the beach: “Oh, cool.”  “Man that’s rad.”  “Dude… I want one, “was overheard as the young guys passed on by.

The new generation isn’t much interested in car ownership; they are way too expensive to own, a tank of gas costs more than they earn, and many put off getting their driver’s license, opting for ride-sharing to get about.  The Z’s and X’rs use computers and joysticks, not wrenches and screwdrivers.  Most have never changed the oil, let alone changed a tire.  So, the art and knowledge of maintaining an antique car isn’t in their wheelhouse.

Now, the old-timers sat about, with pride in ownership of a gleaming artifact, a symbol of a vital part of their past.  The Woodie struck a chord in their memory; it was more than a cool vehicle to carry a surfboard on top with Beach Boy tunes played on a tinny radio.  It reminded them of the life’s transition:  they couldn’t wait to get a driver’s license – that magical point between youth and manhood, to enjoy the freedom and independence of cruising, and to show off their pride in a machine which turned a head or two. 

But the owners think about the future:  what will they do with their cherished heirloom.  Is there anyone in the family willing to carry on and value the tradition, or is it destined to be like all old artifacts that fade away, only to be remembered occasionally over time.  Maybe the gracious way is to enjoy it in the moment and let the heirs worry about the eventual disposal, after all most don’t value the family heirlooms:  One man’s treasure is another’s junk. 

Through it all, it’s still hard to image a Wavecrest EV (electric vehicle) Meet in the future, showing off an old Tesla, Chevy Bolt, or whatever was the latest fad in EVs during the 2022s.   As it’s currently going, there won’t be any gas available to drive an old Woodie to a Wavecrest Meet!  

 

 

Bouquet and Sunset

Lonely as a sentinel it stood, atop a weathered post overlooking the Pacific Ocean but guarding nothing.   A small, clear, plastic bottle with a narrow white band near the opening was the placeholder for an array of weeds and dainty, purple flowers soaking in life-sustaining water. 

A cool breeze skimmed the surface of the ocean nearby, racing up the bluff and fluttering the small delicate petals of the Calandrinia and waving the Foxtail which were arranged in the no-label bottle.  And in the background, out over the horizon the yellow paintball of a setting sun seemed to touch the blades of the Foxtail on its way to nightfall.

Remember back when you were a child and you spotted a blooming weed (maybe a dandelion or Yellow Woodsorrel mixed among clover) and you lovingly plucked it from the earth and with pride took it home to your mother.  She was so excited to receive the gift and always found a container, maybe a widemouthed Mason jar or a favorite cup, and carefully arranged the weed bouquet till it wilted away.  Both of you were happy!

And here, a primitive bouquet of wildflowers, so to speak waited.  But how did it get there?  Who carefully plucked this bouquet, found the small plastic bottle, filled it with water, and carefully arranged the bunch?  Was it a present for a lover?  Was it a gift from a child?  Was it in remembrance of a friend? Or just maybe it was to honor the day and add to the mystery of the disappearing sun. 

But it was left in a lonely place, not seen by many.  Maybe that was the plan, after all.  A quiet and peaceful offering.  Or maybe because it was a bouquet of quickly plucked flowers and weeds it did not make the cut for the journey home.  For whatever the reason it was left, other than prompting dreamy speculation, it brought me a moment of pleasure to contemplate its beauty being kissed by the setting sun.

 

A Bit Unusual

Are you always looking around you... looking for the unusual?  If not, you may be missing something nearby.  I was photographing surfers at Beacons, a local surf spot in Leucadia, a beach community located in the coastal city of Encinitas, California, when I saw a large lump of something down the beach.  So I moved down along the beach and saw this large female sea lion enjoying the spring summer warmth and sunshine.  The sea lion are sea mammals characterized by external ear flaps,  long fore-flippers, the ability to walk on all fours, and short, thick hair.

Soon, she became the object of the curious.  As surfers emerged from the water, they couldn't help but check her out.  One young lady decided to lay down and emulate the movements of the large beast.  I noticed that when a male passed by she would rear up and "bark."  Not so with the female human; she tended to ignore them.

So eventually, after taking lots of pictures because I've never seen a sea lion up in this area, I ignored her and hoped she would find peace among the humans sharing her natural habitat.