Tomorrow, April 7th, is my son Trevor’s 18th birthday and we will head down the coast for a celebratory dinner at Nepenthe with family, a time-honored tradition. Trevor was born on a mountaintop, twelve miles or so south of the restaurant, in a beautiful room overlooking Dolan canyon, on land owned by his paternal grandfather (and passed to him by his grandfather through his father) 3 miles above the highway. Not unlike our own family property, theirs is a land rich with history and lore. Initially bought as a hunting preserve, the land at one time included more than 6000 acres, and extended in some places all the way down to the beach. My children’s great, great grandfather, William G. Hudson, bought the property (along with his law partners) in the early 1900′s, traversing the steep hills by horse, as the old Coast road from Carmel ended just north of where Nepenthe sits today. Trevor’s first six years were on that land, where often led by his dog Chance, he used to scramble up the banks to keep up with his two older brothers, or load firewood from the back of a pick-up; sit proudly side by side his dad on the tractor; or meander, accompanied, out to the “end of the world” to chase the birds, a magical place I walked to daily when I was pregnant with him. 

       It’s been years since I’ve been to the property, but Trevor still loves it there. He is a boy deeply connected to his birthplace; just him and the birds, I imagine, or following after his dog (in spirit), or with his books and drawing tools; thoughts, and ideas. To have such a rich legacy is a gift; to have grandparents that cared deeply about place and the lands they acquired; and that they created a living history to be handed down through the generations is a treasure. That place is in fact so important, so imbedded in who we become, what we think about as we look back in life, and informing us as we set out to go forth in the world.