The Southwest Voice

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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 fraught with human quirkiness. California’s most bohemian, avant-garde citizens crawl from the depths of humanity’s subconscious to populate this beach. From pantomimes, painters and sand sculptors to jewelry makers, herbalists and general freaks of wonder, Venice is a sociologist’s wonderland. It is both creatively stimulating and downright frightening. At one point, a quarrel at an arts-and-crafts booth along the boardwalk escalated to the point where the police patrolling the beach had to be called in. Yes, they assign law enforcement to meander around and keep the riff raff under control. If you go, you’ll be glad—take my word for this; there are transients and the like milling around under the influence. A certain percentage of folks selling their wares along the beach are probably trying to keep their illegal habits going, too. Peer into their squinty, blood-shot eyes and see the signs of something other than the glare of the Venice sun.

There are non-drug abusing souls in attendance, too. From the guy who jumps on broken glass (can you really do that sober?) to another who dressed like a tree from Lord of the Rings: Return of the King (remember the trees that rose up to join the colossal war?), there is an audience for everybody.

Closer to the waves, a cement wall doubles as a canvas for graffiti art. Normally lurking around neighborhoods and subway stations, Venice teens raise graffiti to the level of fine art. Several wall murals along the boardwalk are standouts, too, if you’re looking for stuff on the cutting edge of the California art scene.

We eventually joined the people lazing around the large expanse of grass and lunched on jumbo slices of pepperoni pizza and cheese quesadillas. If even for an afternoon, thoughts of the disaster in our yard were sufficiently blotted out by the wondrous garden of oddballs, misfits, and beach bums that are the hallmark of Venice Beach.