The Estuary Diaries: Bingo at the wetlands
The wetlands were the backdrop of my life growing up in American Canyon. Nearly every day, I would either walk or be driven past Wetlands Edge Road. I’ve passed it laughing breathlessly with my mom. I’ve ridden by with tears in my eyes, staring out at a cotton-candy-colored horizon. My dog has clawed at my car windows, leaving watery nose marks across the glass as he tried to get a better look at who was walking along the path — and I don’t blame him.
Whenever friends or family came to visit, and we inevitably ended up by the wetlands, I would make the same joke: “You could fill a bingo card with the people who walk by here every day.” If you sat on a bench long enough, I’d explain, you could mark off every square — then come back the next day and do it all over again. I would launch into descriptions of the characters that made up my mental bingo card.
There is a woman who walks with a joyously huge rainbow umbrella, more for shade than for rain. An older gentleman, often dressed as though the day is colder than it actually is, walks at his own unhurried pace with walking sticks and an unrelenting, gentle smile.
There is a woman, always in stylish athleisure, who walks her two fawn-colored French bulldogs with purpose. And at just about the same time each day, you can catch a man — dressed as though the weather is much warmer than it is — emerging from the neighborhood to join the Wetlands Edge path, a fluffy white dog always a few steps ahead of him.
I passed these and similar characters on my way to high school, on visits home from college, on the way to work, and while walking with friends and family. Some things didn’t change. Over the years, I came to expect seeing certain faces.
“Ah, it’s the perfect time of day for the rainbow umbrella,” I would think. Other times, I noticed an absence. “I haven’t seen that smiling man with the walking sticks in a while — I hope he’s doing alright,” only to spot his smile by the wetlands again a couple of days later.
Meanwhile, as things do over time, some things did change. Where I once saw young couples walking hand in hand, I now see families pushing strollers. Where toddlers once shuffled along beside their parents, I now see young adults speeding past on bicycles.
I used to see all these people as coincidences of timing and place. Now, I use them as proof of something steady and rooted — something I can always come home to.
When I sit on the bench where my feet once dangled and swung with excitement, I now sit as a grown woman with my feet firmly planted on the ground, filled with gratitude. But not for long, because it isn’t just me anymore. Now, I walk this path with my son in a stroller, my dad — who could probably use another jacket — and our family’s fluffy white dog leading the way.
Consider us the free square on your bingo card.
