Would You Like Some Totes? - A California Miniseries

Steam puffed from the teapot, stretched out in a white vertical line by the morning breeze. The paper tag hanging from my cup skittered across my fingers. I caught and lifted the string, watching the brown color seep out of the Earl Grey teabag. Around us, the sky was a hazy peach. Seagulls danced on rocky spires. Water-rounded stones clattered musically as the waves rolled over them. I slipped a hand into Tyler’s. It was a perfect morning. 

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Featured photos: https://photos.google.com/share/AF1QipMtemnf8_LYWagHX1cJd4HggPTjmKK0vq0NUEF2pHI33PtvU9hRjpmlZYNaogM06Q?key=TW9FTkp5RUZuVkhGbkR2d1BsamRuMzlPTGE3NTd3

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April 6th, 2025 - Channel Islands Day 3

Tyler and I sat side by side on an ocean-worn log. My camp mug warmed my fingers with the heat of my tea. Tyler’s hot chocolate steamed between his palms. A few other couples chatted quietly on the beach. Once again, I appreciated the courtesy of the other island campers. Unlike the day visitors to Channel Islands, it seemed the campers followed a different code of conduct. Almost universally, the campers on Channel Islands were relatively quiet, friendly, and courteous of each other. Accustomed to the hustle and bustle of more-populated national parks, Tyler and I found it a refreshing change of pace. Almost dolefully, I glanced at the long dock suspended over the ocean. It was washed in the pleasant orange glow of sunrise. The first boat of noisy day visitors was due to arrive at 9 AM. At noon, a different boat would be taking us back to the mainland. I was reluctant to leave the island. A pile of work paperwork and housecleaning awaited me at home. After the peaceful isolation of the rolling hills and blue skies, I found myself feeling a little sad about giving it all up. 

My pastor was fond of using the phrase “sucking the marrow out of the bones of life.” In the spirit of sucking every ounce of marrow out of our island experience, I spent the morning chasing island foxes with my camera. A bedraggled fox was making her rounds around our campground. I tailed her from camp to camp, flattening myself in the eucalyptus bark mulch to avoid spooking the small animal. Spooking her wasn’t much of an issue. She occasionally shot me an morose look, but otherwise ignored the weird photographer scuttling around in the dirt. She was a funny-looking little fox. Her ears were crinkled, as if they had been frost-bitten early in life. Frost didn’t seem like an issue on the warm island, but I couldn’t discern what else would have caused her deformity. Birth defect? Either way, it gave her character, and I delighted in capturing it. 

When the sun grew warm and high in the sky, I finally tucked away my camera. We hauled our gear back to the dock, reveling in its decreased weight after we had eaten our food supplies. Hordes of day visitors clogged up the dock, streaming up the ramp from a boat that had just unloaded. Their chatter overwhelmed the splash of waves and squawks of seabirds. We watched them from a bench on the dock, getting sleepy and sunburnt in the sun. I was still sad. We hadn’t even left the island, and I was already missing the solitude of our little tent in the campground. Our boat ride back to the mainland distracted me from my despondency, however. As our boat was passing between two oil rigs, the rumble of the boat’s engine slowed. Its constant roar left our ears ringing in the sudden absence of noise. We scooted to the edge of our bench seat. What had the captain seen? A crackly voice over the loudspeaker answered our question. A humpback whale! Every passenger on the boat rushed to the railings in delight. We were rewarded with a burst of water exploding up from the waves. A second later, a dark, gleaming back crested above water. We held our breath. Sure enough, the tail followed, elegantly streaming water as it unfurled from the water like a flower opening its petals. We all gasped and clapped. A second whale repeated the show for us a few minutes later. The whales glided slowly near our boat, so our pilot followed them, narrating their movements from his vantage point in the wheelhouse. Even after our boat resumed its track to the mainland, we continued to see whales. Spouts of water and curled tails emerged on either side of us, captivating all. We counted eight whales in total! Nearer to shore, our boat slowed again near a huge flock of seabirds flapping close to the water. This, we learned, was an indicator of dolphin activity. When dolphins are fishing, they will “herd” fish into a tight cluster and pin them against the water’s surface. There, they will eat their fill, easier than shooting fish in a barrel. Seabirds, not oblivious to the happenings beneath the water, cluster when fish are pinned, scooping up their own dinners from the dolphin’s hard work. Leaning over the boat rails, we strained our eyes to see between the flapping wings and churning water. Suddenly, a flash of silver burst out of the water. Then another, and another! The dolphins were everywhere, leaping into the air, darting under the waves, and dashing towards our boat. We collectively squealed. The dolphins were magnificent! They shot under our boat, silver and white bodies shining like bullets. They bounced over the waves as if they were jumping rope. When our boat sped back up, the dolphins raced right with us. I had always heard the dolphins were playful, but I hadn’t expected the vigor and excitement they displayed. They reminded me of kids, dancing and laughing and playing just for the sake of it. They were nautical exemplars of pure joy. They were a blessing to witness!

Our arrival to shore was as chaotic as the island was peaceful. As Tyler was navigating through California traffic, I found the glinting windshields and unpredictable drivers mildly overwhelming. We once read a book about a man who had hiked the entire Appalachian Trail. In his narrative, he spoke about becoming overstimulated and anxious whenever he returned to modernity. Despite the difficulty of the long hike, he longed for it whenever he left the trail. Now fully engulfed in the noise of California, I sympathized with the man. I longed to return to our quiet island! 

After a hearty lunch at The Black Bear Diner (the best restaurant meal I’ve had in a long time!), we journeyed to our hotel. There, we learned that the hotel had mistakenly cancelled our reservation. I briefly considered the wild notion of pitching our tent on the sidewalk and camping for one more night. Thankfully, the hotel found an open room for us, so we had a real bed instead! An Indiana Jones movie became our background noise while we unpacked our camping totes and shoved our gear back into suitcases. When finished, we stepped back to survey our handiwork.

”What are we going to do with those totes now?”

Our freshly-purchased plastic totes stood dejectedly empty in the midst of scattered suitcases. Now devoid of the camping materials we had stored in them, they seemed purposeless and sad. We had no way to bring them home with us, but it seemed like a shame to just leave them. What if they just got thrown away? What a waste.

Unsure how to solve our problem, we resolved to think about it over dinner. We had decided we wanted frozen yogurt for supper. Don’t ask. Now craving a cool, sweet treat, we hurried to leave our hotel. Our progress was stalled, however, when a familiar array of colors caught our eye in the parking lot.

”Hey look, an Ohio license plate!” 

An Ohio license plate in California was remarkable coincidence. More remarkable was the fact that the owner of the truck was standing next to his vehicle, door open. Suddenly, a genius idea struck us. An Ohio license plate meant he had driven to California. Driving to California was a long road trip. Who doesn’t need some extra organization on a long road trip? After quickly conferring amongst ourselves, we started up a conversation with the young man. 

“Hey there! How are you?”

The young man had been leaning into the front seat of his truck, moving some things around inside. Upon hearing us, he leaned around the door and looked at us quizzically. He looked like he was scared of being murdered. 

“I’m… fine, thanks?”

”Oh good!” An awkward silence followed. I was cringing. We should have rehearsed this conversation.

”So… uh... we noticed your Ohio license plates! We’re from Ohio too- where are you from?”

The poor young guy, still very confused, briefly explained. He was from Ohio, but was in California visiting his fiancée’s family. Following the visit, he was embarking on a long road trip to Idaho for construction jobs while finishing his nursing degree. Eventually, his journey would carry him back to Ohio, where he and his future wife would subsequently live. 

We responded with the appropriate exclamations. Then, without preamble, we blurted, “Would you like some totes?”

I was cringing so hard. The weirdness of the situation was killing me. I rushed to clarify our situation. “Sorry, let me explain! We just went camping at Channel Islands National Park. We have a whole bunch of camping gear that we couldn’t haul out in suitcases, so we bought some Rubbermaid totes to put everything in. We fly home tomorrow and don’t have a good use for the totes now. Could you use them? We really don’t want them to go to waste!” 

The man looked baffled and intrigued. After a second, thankfully, his body relaxed. He was likely disarmed by the weird Midwestern courtesy we were trying to extend. He accepted our offering. Relieved, we retrieved the containers from our room, loaded them in his truck, and exchanged a proper, long, Midwest goodbye. 

It never really got unawkward.

At least the totes didn’t go to waste.

We recovered from the embarrassment with our frozen yogurt supper, as planned. As the evening cooled, we wandered the colorful streets of Santa Barbara. It was busy, urban, and pretty. I missed the island, but there was nothing we could do about that now. We were just enjoying where we were, minus a few extraneous totes.

With that, we were content.