JD and I leave for San Felipe, eager for the arrival of daughter Anika, her husband Erik, their children Ember (7) and Colter (4), and Erik’s parents, Lori and John. Lee and Kathy stay behind at the beach house, cleaning up and giving us some time to reunite with the family alone. After completing some errands in town the day before, we wake early Saturday morning in our hotel room, and head to our favorite restaurant on the Malecón for breakfast: huevos y machaca (JD’s favorite), and huevos poblanos, which is essentially eggs and a dark brown, savory-sweet, rich mole sauce made from roasted poblano peppers and chocolate – one of my all-time favorite Mexican foods that I have yet to master in my kitchen. After breakfast we walk back to our hotel, grab the truck and head out to finish our errands: the bank for pesos, the propane supplier, then to the grocery store to stock up for our two weeks with family. Other errands complete, JD stays with the truck at the Calimex grocery store as I shop. On my third and final trip into the store, I am intently focused on tracking down the remaining items on my shop list, when a petite female walks up to me, calling me by name. Lori! Erik’s mom. They’re finally here!! We laugh at my surprise. We leave the store together, heading for Anika and Erik’s mini van, which Lori and John drove down from Bozeman, Montana, to Palm Springs, California, where they reunited with Anika, Erik and the kids, who flew in for the drive across the border. It’s always so exciting to have friends and family visit us down here, and arrive safely! It is especially momentous this time, being John and Lori’s first time across the border into Baja together, and their first time at our beach house.

After several rounds of hugs in the Calimex parking lot, we head for the Malecón, informing them all that there is a motorcycle festival in town, and the streets are extra busy. Colter, who loves motorcycles, is pretty excited about this! We park back at our hotel, and walk toward the barricades cordoning off the street, reserving it instead for motorcycles and pedestrians. After purchasing fresh pineapple drinks for the kids from a street vendor – a delicacy made by coring the center from a pineapple, and blending it with sweetened condensed milk – we head for a quick lunch at the Taco Factory, our favorite lunch spot. With tables sitting high above the sidewalk, it offers a panoramic view of the street and the ocean. We order a round of tacos, guacamole, beers, and margaritas, and struggle to carry on a conversation over the music blaring from a stage that has been erected in the street just outside the restaurant, for the annual motorcycle rally. It’s clear that the kids are eager to get to the beach, longing for toes in the water. The adults are ready, too. We quickly finish our lunch, get back in the cars, and head for Punta Bufeo.

The first time that JD and I had any of our grandkids down in Baja was nearly 8 years ago, when daughter Kara and her husband Nate came down at Christmas with their first-born child, Avery, who was then just barely 7 months old. Needing a break, our caravan stopped at an abandoned cement building just north of San Felipe along MX-5. The building, coated with a palette of spray paint and graffiti, was in the middle of nowhere, a remnant of someone’s long-ago faded dream. As we walked about, Kara placed daughter Avery atop one of the building’s window openings, while ducking down behind her, out of sight. We snapped a picture of Avery, seated like a Buddha child sitting atop the window sill, infant legs bent in a semi-lotus stance, eyes nearly closed – in reality, likely from the glare of the sun, but in the picture, seemingly deep in a meditative trance. It remains one of my all-time favorite pictures, of Avery, and of Baja.

Our family continued to use this building as a photo stop for the next several years; but this year on our initial drive down, JD and I found the artistic, colorful graffiti painted over with a large, boring business advertisement. What was a tapestry of color and graphic art is now reduced to a phone number for a bail bondsman! Saddened, we drove on, lamenting the loss of a tradition. However, south of San Felipe we spied a suitable surrogate: another abandoned concrete structure, this one coated in fresh, pink paint and an artistic rendering of a spiritual figure of some sort, forefingers and thumbs touching, held out to the sides, in a meditative posture. Perfect! JD and I made note of the mileage, and cajoled Anika and family to stop for some pictures on the way down.

Our group arrives at our house well before sunset. The cars are scarcely parked before Ember and Colter have changed into their swimsuits, and are running out the front door, across the sand, and down to the waves! The adults all delight in their enthusiasm, while shivering at the thought – the weather is still chilly, and most of us are in long sleeves! We enjoy a round of cocktails up on the deck at sunset, welcoming our family despite the cooler than expected temperatures, and everyone begins to settle in. Erik and his parents are staying for a week; Anika and the kids will remain here with us one week more, before also flying home to Bozeman.

Throughout their first week, it rained more than I have ever experienced here in Baja. So much so that we spent most of our time indoors, reading, cooking, eating, watching movies. JD and I, worried that our guests weren’t getting the beach experience they had been hoping for, suggested an outing to the Pacific coast, perhaps in search of whales, or just to get out of the weather. After a short discussion, we opted to stay put and savor some rare family time even if it meant more time indoors than any of us wanted. Ember and Colter, unfazed, continued to play in the water.

Meanwhile, talk of a new virus, first documented in Wuhan, China was beginning to dominate our news feeds. Back in the US, health officials and hospitals were beginning to sound the alarm about its extraordinarily high rate of spread, and a lack of capacity, in terms of hospital beds and equipment. Officials were beginning to talk of postponing elective surgeries, closing schools, and postponing or canceling large events.

Despite the doomsday predictions, which most of the time seemed just too dire to believe, we dined on fresh seafood; made pizzas, cinnamon rolls, and strawberry ice cream from scratch; played Balderdash, listened to the waves and the rain on the roof; celebrated Lori and my birthdays with a chocolate cake; and enjoyed each others’ company. Those precious few days when the sun did come out, we mobilized quickly, finding a lounge chair or simply a spot on the warm concrete to soak up its rays. We hung, and lounged in, a new hammock that we purchased in San Felipe. When they weren’t playing in the water, Ember and Colter took turns riding a mini-quad, purchased from our friends Vicki and Larry a few years ago. The last time Colter was down here, two years ago, Colter had a close call, in which he couldn’t figure out how to let off the throttle. He was headed straight for my parked car when his mom Anika, ever-vigilant despite recovering from a broken collarbone, snatched him off of the seat (with her good arm!) just in time, bringing the quad to an abrupt halt. Ever since that day, Colter has refused to ride the quad. But to our delight, this time Colter jumped on it without hesitation, riding in the sand behind our house until his thumb was too sore to push the throttle anymore. Meanwhile, his sister Ember perfected her figure-eights on the make-shift obstacle course set up by her Papa J.

One morning, with a break in the rain, we ventured to breakfast at Papa Fernandez, a small stretch of beach with a smaller cantina, named after a short-statured man, who looms tall in local legends. Papa Fernandez is also the grandfather of the children who own our stretch of beach at Punta Bufeo. Actor John Wayne was among the Hollywood elite who frequented Baja, making many movies here. As the story goes, after visiting for many years, John Wayne finally met Papa, and learned (from Papa) that one of John’s local friends and host was engaged in a legal battle, spending considerable money trying to take Papa’s land for himself. Upon learning this, John pledged his allegiance to Papa, and stopped financing his friend’s efforts. A photograph of Papa and John Wayne hangs prominently in the cantina on Papa Fernendez’ beach.

The chile rellenos at Papa Fernandez are also legendary, so our group ordered five plates, along with two orders of huevos rancheros, one order of huevos y machaca [check spelling], and cheese quesadillas for the kids. As we sat outside at the picnic table waiting for our food, I overheard what sounded like a hand-held blender through the kitchen window, which was open. I had been reading chile relleno recipes online for days, and most appeared to involve dipping the peppers in whipped egg whites. But I’d never done this, and was eager to learn. After some encouragement from JD, I walked inside, and hovered on the other side of the curtain separating the restaurant from the kitchen. I could hear three women’s voices, although I could only see one young girl standing over the large gas stove, frying matchaca and potatoes. Finally, working up my nerve, I approached the curtain, and asked in my most polite Spanish if I could watch them, and learn how to make chile rellenos. The apparent matriarch of the kitchen smiled, and welcomed me in without hesitation. She was already beating egg whites, while the roasted poblano peppers were sitting off to the side, slit open and filled generously with cheese. She looked at me, as she carefully (speaking only in Spanish) performed the steps. First, whip the egg whites until stiff, adding generous amounts of salt and pepper 3/4 of the way through. Then, fold in some egg yolks, and whip some more. Once reaching the desired consistency, gently ladle a pepper atop of the whipped egg mixture, and generously spoon the mixture on top and sides of the pepper. Transfer pepper to a skillet with several inches of hot oil, using two hands, one to hold the pepper by the stem, the other using a spoon to transfer the fully-coated pepper to the skillet. Once the pepper is gently placed into the oil, immediately flick the hot oil onto the sides and top of the pepper, setting up the batter. Viola! They made it look easy, and I was thrilled. I thanked them profusely, and nearly ran back to the table to describe the process to JD, Anika and the others. When the food arrived, the rellenos were a huge hit, as was everything else. I was positively giddy for the experience of learning in a Mexican kitchen, with Mexican women, how to prepare this food – a universal language of love.

One afternoon, just after the rain, Erik and his Dad wanted to take our Razor (a side-by-side, four-seater OHV) out for a spin in the desert. They loaded up and strapped in the grandkids and themselves, donned their helmets and goggles, and took off – headed for the nearby sand dunes and playa, which are (unfortunately) criss-crossed by dozens of one- and two-track roads from decades of being traversed by fat cat motorcycles, quads, and sides-by-sides. They returned a few hours later, just before sunset, the Razor – and all its occupants – coated in mud! Clumps of mud from the desert’s playa was clinging to every surface of the wheels, wheel wells, doors, roll bars, and roof – as well as the rain jackets and shirts of all passengers. We all had a good laugh as Anika, Erik, and the grandkids gave it, and themselves, a much-needed bath.

Harbormaster JD took the family out sight-seeing and fishing, spotting porpoise and fin whales the first trip out on the water, and touring the sea lion rookery at Isla Lobos, an obligatory stop that never ceases to impress. One day, when the boys were headed out, Anika approached JD to ask if she too could come along. Of course! She out-fished the men that day; on the whole the boat caught several grouper, and yellowtail, the start of a good fishing season.

With the weather still holding up, we venture out to a nearby onyx mine, now abandoned, but once active enough to have supplied the onyx for Marilyn Monroe’s bathtub. Anika, Erik and the kids load up in the beach house truck (a 1993 Toyota Tacoma); JD and I take John and Lori, in our Razor, Lee and Kathy come along in theirs. We park the rigs, and begin a short hike up a drainage toward a spring that serves as a watering hole for local wildlife, including bighorn sheep. JD reminds the group that bees are also attracted to the water, so we need to proceed cautiously. As we approach, we hear the sound of bees swarming; Lee and Erik move up cautiously to investigate. Ember, who is hiking with her mom, grows fearful, telling her mother that she wants to turn back. JD and I pause behind them, allowing Anika to help Ember summon her nerve. I watch silently, in amazement, as Anika works with gentle strength to coach Ember, reminding her that she has done this hike before, to trust in her ability to face whatever may come, and finally, to take a few breaths, gather her courage, and take the next step. Slowly at first, Ember’s fear begins to subside, her shoulders straighten up, and she begins to move forward. Our hiking route leads up to a pool of water at the bottom of a tunnel in the rock, long ago carved by the water. We walk up to where the water has eroded a tunnel through the surrounding mudstone, crouching and bent over on all fours, to get through a small opening to where the water has pooled. Once through, it opens up on the other side, showing that the overhanging cliff that the tunnel goes through is only feet thick at the bottom and 40 feet at the top. Its a place you don’t want to linger. We climb up the drainage on the far side, observing lots of bighorn sheep droppings, and crevices holding sparse grasses. Ember begins enthusiastically leading the group up the rock scramble, a route that she now remembers well.

Back at the beach house, Anika, Erik, Ember and Colter wander out to the reef that is accessible from our house at extremely low tides. I always love tide pooling with Anika, whose has her father’s jubilant curiosity for nature, and knows far more than I do about sea creatures. JD and I go with, delighting in finding and sharing every sea urchin, sea cucumber, brittle and sea stars, hermit and other crabs, sea slugs and various unknown (to us, at least) types of isopods. My heart melts as I watch Erik savoring this quality time with his wife and kids, knowing how rare an opportunity it is for him, a working dad who works long hours to give this family the financial security and freedom to enjoy moments just like this. Another evening at low tide, Ember shows us all how she finds sand dollars. You just have to look for a dimple in the sand, she says. Before long, we are all experts!

Our internet at the beach house is subject to a monthly data usage cap, which helped to keep us all off of our devices and tuned into each other. But, as the week came to a close, our collective thoughts began to shift to the world that Erik and his parents would be returning to. The nightly news was increasingly focused on the virus now globally known as COVID-19; schools and businesses were closing; governors were urging people to stay at home; international travel advisories were ratcheting up. Anika began to wonder if she and the kids should return with Erik, who was expected to report to work. It was becoming clear that this virus was changing life as we knew it before. Ultimately, Anika decided to keep her plans to stay with us another week, while Erik and his parents drove out. It was a hard decision, but one that we all supported, selfishly, in JD and my case, because it meant we didn’t have to say goodbye to them, yet.

John, Lori, and Erik drove out Saturday morning, making it across the border in good time, with no issues. Erik stayed overnight in Las Vegas, sequestered in his hotel room, and his plane to Bozeman was nearly empty. Lori and John made the long drive back to Bozeman in the mini van. Meanwhile, Lee, Kathy, JD, Anika, Ember, Colter and I remained at the beach house, savoring sunsets and sunrises, and the gradually warming temperatures. That evening, after saying goodbye to part of our family, Anika and Ember beckoned me to the deck. I could hear Anika telling Ember to tell me she had something to show me. I eagerly complied, and ventured to the roof, where Ember pointed at the shore. A single, black crowned night heron stood utterly still at the water’s edge, silently looking out at sea.