Road closure for humans.

Safe crossing for the rest of the ecosystem.

Last weekend, we had (yet) another rainstorm traverse through the canyon. Once again, we activated our trusted wood-burning stove, Calcifer, to warm up the house. It was cozy, and we all felt at home.

In March, excessive rainfall caused a major landslide in our canyon, blocking the main corridor that crosscuts the canyon from the valley to the beach. Our house is a block away from the main blvd, so we are used to hearing motorcycles going too fast at midnight and the steady muff of morning and evening commuters. Crossing the boulevard on foot to visit our friend’s house is a major operation. But ever since the road closure, the canyon has been quiet, reminding me of how rural Japan felt when I was growing up.

It’s most certainly inconvenient. Some of our kids’ activities are taking us much longer to get to because we need to drive an alternate route to cross the canyon. The freeways around us are extra congested in unexpected locations because the cars that used to cut through the canyon are now diverging to different ways to get to the rest of Los Angeles.

The part of the boulevard currently closed to traffic is probably the most gorgeous part of the scenic road. It’s a narrow two-way pathway that twists and turns, following the contour of the Santa Monica Mountains. One side of the road is a steep, almost 90-degree towering hill; the other side is a drop-down cliff to Topanga Creek. We can watch a seasonal waterfall cascading in the distance from the road and native plants in full bloom. Since the road is still open for pedestrians, last Friday, my friend Susan and I took the kids to walk the closed section of the boulevard for the first time. It was breathtaking, so full of wildlife and quietness. We even found natural chalk to draw and write messages on the road. (you know, our kids get tons of joy doing things like this:)

Walking through the closed road made me wonder what would happen to our inner system when a major corridor closes. It could be the way we operate our lives, how we move through the day, or the everyday tools we use. What happens if “the one thing” we rely on stops working? It will probably bring major havoc in a short-term timeframe. But when the initial frustration and chaos settle down, will the absence of “the one thing” generate a safe crossing for the rest of the ecosystem?

I am forever so grateful for this canyon. Spending time here feels like being in the belly of the earth - nurtured in a tender container. When I walk with Mango, I feel safe and can relax; it has been such a gift.

We have no idea when the road is going to open up again. At this point, it could be months… and while the road is still closed, I am going to enjoy the safe crossing fully.