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It was a cool, gray morning when we left the Santa Maria Valley and headed for another girl-named valley, Santa Ynez. The valley, river, and nearby mountains all get their name from Mission Santa Ines (Spanish for Saint Agnes). The teen-aged, virgin Agnes earned her spot among the saints when she chose death over renouncing her religious beliefs. In her honor the mission was founded in 1804 and her name introduced to the area.

Our destination in the valley was the small old-world-style town of Solvang, the Danish capital of America. The name means “sunny field” in Danish and the area must have appealed to the Danish immigrants who founded it in 1911. The town’s architecture was designed to reflect the mother country with half-timbered walls, thatched roofs, and wooden storks on top (storks are considered good luck symbols in Denmark).

We arrived early in the morning which was wise since we had our choice of parking spots and were able to explore Solvang Park without dealing with a crowd. Since we were early we goofed off and took our pictures with the statue of Hans Christian Andersen, Denmark’s most famous author. The park was ringed by flower beds filled with bright blooms; it was very tidy and oh, so European.

Soon we spotted Uncle Russell, Aunt Kathy, and Cousin Jennifer ambling down the sidewalk, so we joined them. It was an enjoyable stroll around town. We let our noses lead us from one tasty bakery to another; Uncle Russell knew exactly where all the best treats were (he seems to have a bit of a sweet tooth…). The bakeries specialized in Danish pastries and cookies. We were even introduced to aebleskiver. The name translates as “little apple slices” which was how they were once made but the golf ball-shaped, pancake-like pastries have long since evolved. They are now lightly dusted with powdered sugar and served with raspberry jam.

We discovered this sign inside the Warren Tavern in Charlestown near Boston. After all our years of working with the public Lance and I found it to be oh so true. I still wonder how old that sign was; some things just never change.

Our journey to the Central Coast of California went quite smoothly. We left the San Diego area rather late at night so that we would drive through El Pueblo de Nuestra Señora la Reina de los Ángeles Del Río de Porciúncula (Los Angeles) when traffic was light. Or as one friend put it—it would just be us and the drunks. Isn’t that a reassuring thought? Other than a few careening, high speed vehicles we made it through LA safely. Personally, I think they should rename the massive city and call it Lost Angels since the angels, if there ever were any, are long gone by now.

Anyway, by early afternoon on Sunday we pulled into our new home for the next week, a small RV park on the north side of Santa Maria. Looks can be deceiving; what appeared to be a small, blue collar community tucked in amongst acres and acres of agricultural fields was actually the largest town in Santa Barbara County.

The Santa Maria Valley bills itself as California’s Sweet Spot since it is one of the few valleys along the coast which run east-west. This transverse topography allows cool ocean breezes to moderate the heat of summer and extend the growing season. As a result the rolling hills to the east are covered with thousands (millions?) of wine grapevines while the ones to the west have fat cows grazing on them, and the valley floor nurtures broccoli, artichokes, and strawberries.

After a bit of exploration we found a farmer’s market where we could buy luscious strawberries and vegetables and a nearby city park to play in. Preisker Park held three treasures for us, the first was a nice disc golf course (Lance hadn’t played in months), the second was a wide variety of birds (many of them were nesting), and the third was huge barbecue pits. The massive structures were nothing like the tiny charcoal grills we’ve seen at other public parks. These monsters took barbecuing to a whole new level. In fact, that was our first introduction to the famous (and copyrighted) Santa Maria Style Barbecue.

When we left off last time we were in search of refreshments after a long day of walking around the San Diego Wild Animal Park. That’s one of the nice things about having friends who live in the area, they know where all the cool stuff is. Brendan led us to Stone Brewery in Escondido for a tour and a tasting of their marvelous beer.

I was already a huge fan of Stone (most especially their potent IPA) having worked at a place in Tucson many years ago that had it on tap. I was a bit less enthusiastic about the tour part because let’s face it most beer is made in roughly the same way and once you’ve seen one brewery you’ve pretty much seen them all. Well, Stone proved me wrong. They must be doing really well because their brewery is huge. The beer crafting part was clean and full of monstrous shiny vats while the rest of the property was divided between an indoor and outdoor eating and drinking establishment.

The outdoor area was really a garden. We grabbed a beer from the bar, wandered out to the garden, found a comfortable bench overlooking the pond, and relaxed. The tour was just the right length and rather fun. We learned about the current hops shortage—which is of great concern for all of us who like yummy beer. Hop growers of the world, please plant more hops! After the tour came the best part, the free tasting. I tried a sip of all the beers from Lance’s glass but kept refilling mine with the IPA. Hey, when you know what you like why mess with it? And thus ended a perfect day.

Thank you to everyone who took a shot at the April 2008 Travel Challenge, which was another in our series of “Count the Ducklings”.

Congratulations to Alison for the most specific guess—she even nailed the exact number of ducklings in the photograph!

This family of Black-bellied Whistling Ducks mystified us because we came across them at Cooper Lake State Park, southeast of Dallas, Texas in October. Here are some neat tidbits about them: both sexes look alike and they pair up for many years, with both mates sharing in the raising of the young (a behavior more consistent with geese and swans). Considered a “Neotropic” species that only enters the southern U.S., the ducks have been successfully expanding their range in recent years.

Note how there were actually 12 ducklings in all, as seen in the last photo of the whole family together. (Click photos for larger versions.)

Original

Revealed

The whole family

I must preface my story about the San Diego Wild Animal Park by asserting that they could have easily named it the San Diego Wild Africa Park since the majority of the park’s 400 plus species of animals are from the huge continent. In fact the location for the park in the San Pasqual Valley was chosen in the late 1960s because the area closely resembled some of the semi-arid regions of Africa. To be sure, I am not complaining and the park does house species from all the other continents except Antarctica, of course.

But let’s start at the beginning. The Wild Animal Park is managed jointly with the San Diego Zoo by the non-profit Zoological Society of San Diego. The Society was started in September 1916 by Dr. Harry Wegeforth who wanted to find a way to permanently care for the exotic animals brought to the city for the 1915-1916 Panama-California International Exposition. Dr. Harry loved animals and it was his vision and dedication that laid the foundation for the world-renowned facilities that San Diego is so proud of today.

The original Zoo had very little in common with its modern day namesake. The motley collection of animals were housed in small cages and fed an assortment of horse meat, white bread, carrots or hay. One of the first animal donations to the Zoo became the catalyst that led to the Zoo’s remarkable open air enclosures. Caesar, a Kodiak bear, was donated by the Captain of the U.S. collier Nanshan. The crew had picked her up as a cub and she was the shipboard pet until she grew too large and unruly. No one at the Zoo knew how to transport her from the ship so they put a collar on her and put her in the front seat of a car. Caesar stopped traffic (both literally and figuratively), and soon the whole town was talking about the bear and the fledgling Zoo.