Last week Maggie and I spent three nights in a small house on a very lonely section of the northern Californian coast.   We'd started our trip in Seattle, been to the Puget Sound, spent a night outside of Portland (after paying homage to Powell's Bookstore and Fabulous Jackpot Records), and after driving a bunch of hours along the foggy Pacific on Highway 1 finally reached our cottage in the middle of nowhere.  The ocean in front of us, redwood forests and vineyards behind us, and more stars than we'd seen in a long time above us.  Not a bad way to spend a few days.

Our friend Sheri, an Indiana-native we met in North Carolina 10 years ago, lives with her husband and young son just a few miles down Highway 1 from our cottage.  Sherri and family are self-proclaimed hippies- that's their home in the photo, complete with beautiful hand-carved redwood panelling.  They park their home at the Lord's Land, a former commune for burned-out hippies, artists, and street kids.  At some point the leaders of the commune found Jesus... hence, the Lord's Land.

We met up with Sheri and son on a beautifully clear day and shared a picnic lunch on the lawn beside the bus.  After telling some stories and catching up, Sheri mentioned that they'd be driving the bus into San Francisco that weekend for a gathering in Golden Gate Park.  "It's the 40th anniversary of the summer of love," she said.  "You know?"

Actually, I didn't know.  Though I suppose the Rolling Stone cover a couple months back should have tipped me off.

After a few days on the coast we had a day in San Francisco before driving inland to visit Grandma.  Having been reminded of it's anniversary, we decided to pay tribute to the summer of love by driving slowly along Haight Street, pausing briefly at it's infamous intersection with Ashbury.  Hardly reverent I know, but we were in a hurry to visit Golden Gate Park before dark.  Even at 10 miles per hour, it was clear the summer of love's ground zero had been Disney-fied.  Lot's of gaudy shops advertising all things psychedelic.  Marijuana leaves as storefront decor.  And lots of people who may or may not have made it for the original summer of love but who'd at least been alive in 1967.  Perhaps the lyrics to Scott McKenzie's classic 40 years later should be changed to,  "If you're going to San Francisco, be sure to wear a camera 'round your neck."

While watching The U.S. vs. John Lennon a few weeks ago I was transported to the time of McKenzie's song.  According to the documentary, it was a time when ideas mattered.  When the battle of good vs. evil felt incredibly present.  When love was tangible, dangerous, and seemingly at odds with those leading the country.  I suppose in hindsight we would have to say that it was also a time of confusion, destruction, and ideology taken to sad conclusions.  But despite Haight Ashbury's current status as a tourist destination, we can look back at it's history and see people who knew there were some things worth believing passionately.

Our friend Sheri and family remember that time even though they, like me, weren't alive in 1967.  And like their predecessors, they believe passionately that life is worth living.  That love still matters and can be acted upon for the good of our world.  And because that seems worth remembering, indulge me while I say, "Happy birthday summer of love."

All for now.

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