Big Sur: Memories Good and Bad

I’ve written several posts about childhood trips to visit my grandparents in Pacific Grove, California. And, I’ve been back to the Monterey Peninsula many times as an adult. One of the spots we frequented during my adult visits is Big Sur.

Big Sur is a rugged stretch of the Pacific Coastal region south of Carmel and north of San Simeon, California. Highway 1 runs along the cliffs above the ocean offering spectacular views, and there are several state parks and beaches where people can stop to hike the hills above the sea, walk on the beach, and picnic. We have done all of these.

My husband and I took a couple of hikes in Big Sur on various visits. I was always struck by the variety of terrain and the amazing vistas of ocean and hills.

Here are some photos of one hike:

And here are pictures of another hike:

My parents and I walked to McWay Falls one year. A short, very pleasant walk with the treat of a view of the waterfall and beach at the end.

On another visit, we ate at the Rocky Point restaurant and watched whales spout in the ocean beyond the window.

But I have a very unfortunate memory of my first visit to Big Sur. My grandparents took my brother and me for a picnic with some of their friends in the summer of 1963 or ’64. I think my mother was there as well, which would mean it was 1963.

The day was hot and dusty, not the balmy Pacific weather I most associate with that region of California. After we ate, some of the other children and I were walking along a trail in the park. I don’t remember what we were looking for. The trail was narrow and lined with brush.

My hand rubbed along some of the leaves of the bushes, and shortly thereafter the back of my hand began to sting. It hurt. I found my grandmother and told her my hand hurt.

“Nettles,” she said. “You’ve rubbed up against some nettles. Nothing we can do about it.”

I whined and cried a bit. Someone recommended calamine lotion, but no one had any. I whined and fussed some more.

When we got back home, I demanded my grandmother find me some calamine lotion. She did have some in her bathroom cupboard, and she applied it. It didn’t help much. So I demanded more.

My normally cheerful grandmother got a bit peeved with me. As an adult, I can sympathize with her. She was hot after a day in the sun, just like I was, and wanted a bath. But she had this whining child on her hands. Even grandmothers can get testy when they’re tired.

The incident passed, my hand healed after a couple of days, and I’ve been very careful of nettles ever since. But I did have very bad memories of Big Sur for decades. Only in my 21st-century trips have I been able to see the beauty instead of the prickles.

What places were marred for you by childhood traumas?