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As spring crawls into view with the first blooms of the year on our plum tree, I can feel the devastation of the winter chill thawing within my psyche. My garden is a wasteland — so much has died that I’m going to have to start over.
Knowing that my husband, Doug, and I need to spend several weekends clearing out all that death and destruction in the back yard depressed me. So, we did what any Bakersfield resident would do after witnessing a serial killing by Jack-the-Freezer: we pulled up stakes and headed for the beach. Not just any beach, but one that allows two victims of a botanical mass murder to mope around anonymously in a large crowd.
Venice Beach was our best bet, and even though Doug is the designated family photographer, this time we were both armed with cameras. After all, I needed to take my mind off of things as much as he did.
Venice Beach is a living museum...
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