Winter in a Sunny Wonderland: Part I

The first of two parts, because this newsletter was going to be too frickin’ long.

'TIS THE SEASONS
—Sunny and 80 degrees
—Children of Autumn
—Of a Feather

‘TIS THE SEASONS

It’s the snark heard around the world (especially in California): Does Southern California even have seasons? Or weather?!

The answer is simply, yes, we do.

In all seriousness, I think when people ask if Southern California has seasons or weather, they’re referring to our relatively stable, mostly Mediterranean climate — profound shifts in weather patterns or temperatures are rare. We also don’t get the stunning fall foliage you would see in New England. Or snow, unless you’re in the mountains. We are blessed (or cursed, depending on your point-of-view) with a temperate landscape that offers little variation.

Sunny and 80 Degrees

Apparently, there’s so little variation that someone even posted the question online: How do you keep the holiday spirit when it’s sunny and 80 degrees out?

Oh, shove it! I hear some of you say. Get us on the next flight out, and get us a margarita, stat!

I hope those of you enduring too much weather are staying safe and warm and dry. If you need to evacuate, California is ideal. And we may be able to help you get someplace safe.

Not-So-Great Expectations

California, by necessity, has to do the holidays a little differently than most. Because Santa Ana winds prevail this time of year, we eschew anything fiery and obey burn bans. (Well, most of us do. There are those pyros who will light off fireworks for any reason. Dodgers won? BOOM! Johnny learned to wipe his nose? CRACK!)

But we sane folk admire the family Christmas tree through the safe, Energizer glow of AA-operated candles. That cozy fire in the fireplace turns on and off with the flick of a switch. And the strings of lights adorning our roofs and yards? Probably solar-powered.

Snark aside, celebrating autumn and winter in Southern California means noticing and appreciating the nuances — and taking your cue from nature. It also helps if you already enjoy the season.

Children of Autumn

Dale and I were both fall babies. I was born the Wednesday before Thanksgiving of that particular year. Dale was born in early December. Autumn is our native season. Maybe that’s why we happen to love it — even here in “Sun-Drenched Central.”

In Southern California, you can spend the last days of August to the end of December watching the landscape go from green to brown (and sometimes back again, depending on the fog and rain).

You pay more attention to the early sunrises and the even earlier sunsets — ones that paint the hillsides golden, then pink, before the sun plummets below the horizon in a crimson blaze of glory.

Shadows stretch across the pavement like reflections in a funhouse mirror.

At night, the barn owls become more active. They hoo to each other across our roofs and trees. You can hear them when it gets quiet in the late evening hours.

The trees, especially the liquidambar in Judy’s yard, give telltale signs of the coming winter. Right now, only a few of the liquidambar’s leaves have turned orangy-brown and fallen. Most of them are still lush and green. The liquidambar always hedges its bets: I’m good. Winter won’t be here for another few weeks. I think.

Autumn here is also about the sense of relief when the days grow shorter and the nights get longer. The sun loses its relentless, beatdown, “Eye of Sauron” glare. So what if it’s 80 degrees? It’s 80 for only a few hours, not the whole damned day.

On chilly nights, you can cozy up under the winter comforter, or curl up with a book, or with a glass of deep-ruby–colored wine. Maybe a glencairn of Scotch: Islay for him, Highland for me.

From the sports field just below us come the echoes of the high school marching band at practice, the clap of the drum major’s mace, crowds cheering at football games.

But really, autumn in Santa Paula is for the birds.

Of a Feather

Though neither of us is a morning person, we acknowledge that mornings in Santa Paula hold their own magic. Before 9:00 AM on a Saturday or Sunday, the city is still wiping the sleep out of its eyes, shaking off the “drowsies.” The usually constant, muted roar of the 126 freeway is all but silent. There’s maybe the brrr-aaap of a diesel truck downshifting. A neighbor’s dog barking. And the merry chorus of birds.

Our weekend rituals usually include enjoying our coffee while watching the handful of species that visit our backyard feeders throughout the year. There are the finches, sparrows, California and spotted towhees, mourning doves, and the rare and wonderful oriole. If you’re very lucky, you can look up in time to see a red-tailed hawk swoop in and pluck a hapless mouse out of your yard. The hummingbirds, plentiful in August and September before migrating farther south, are scarce this time of year. Even so, get two of them eyeballing one of the feeders, and it’s war!

These last couple of weeks, I pitied the poor sparrows and finches who routinely show up at our back patio for breakfast and “elevensies.” I had to retire their old feeders, as last month’s rains had caused them to clog and mold and sprout their own little green gardens. I hadn’t gotten around to getting new ones. Even so, the birds alighted right on schedule around the feeder poles, waiting for a chance to belly up to the one feeder I had left.

I was rather surprised to see that our avian friends would keep to known sources of food — even when the circumstances had changed. I had expected they would flock elsewhere until I could set out the full buffet.

But then, Dale and I aren’t much different from the birds, I guess. We like to range far and wide during the spring, summer, and early fall — that’s when we do the majority of our traveling (if we do any traveling). Late autumn and early winter, though, have us curling up and turning inward like nestlings. We’d rather stay home, or at least stay within the boundaries of Ventura County. We keep to the familiar and comfortable. There’s something about long shadows and cold nights that makes us more conservative.

These last few weeks we’ve definitely kept to our old favorites. And the warm weather and golden afternoon light have at least made it easy to (want to) get out of the house. Like the sparrows and the finches, we’ll show up to the “feeders” right on schedule and wait to belly up to the bounty.

More to come…

“Winter in a Sunny Wonderland: Part II” will be published today at noon and include reviews of how local bars and restaurants continue to surprise.