It was my 50^th birthday, September 16, 2002.  I was thinking what a great life I have:  I'm profitably self-employed in work that allows me be outdoors at least part of the year, I live in a comfortable house I've recently remodeled in the suburbs of Los Angeles, and I have two big beautiful dogs and more friends, good friends, than I could ever want.  Life is good, I told myself, but part of me wasn't convinced.  Sure, my business was more successful than I'd ever imagined when I'd started it 7 years ago.  But whenever I worked on a Caltrans project, their engineers tried to make me the scapegoat whenever something went wrong.  And cash flow had been the pits this year.  Finally, although I loved the fieldwork, I had to attend public meetings more frequently, with not-in-my-backyard types protesting even 2-acre developments.  I noticed people were becoming more angry and strident as bit by bit, southern California is swallowed up by concrete, mortar and asphalt, and as the population continues to skyrocket. 

I thought about how, since I worked out of my home, it was difficult to get away entirely from all the stresses of my work.  A spontaneous image appeared in my mind, not something I even attempted to think up.  I saw myself sitting in a house, not my current house, surrounded by an incredible feeling of peace and happiness.  I felt as if my cares and concerns were hundreds of miles away.  A futon with a Mexican blanket stretched across the far wall, a small charming kitchen occupied the southwest corner, and a beautiful bright light permeated the room through its many windows.  I didn't give the image much credence, but as I shared it with friends over the next few days, it became more compelling. I realized I simply had to find out where that house was, if it existed.

I sensed from the light in the room that it wasn't in the mountains, since there were no shadows cast by forest trees, nor was it on the Pacific coast with its fog and haze.  It had to be somewhere in the deserts of southwest North America, not hard to imagine since deserts are my favorite solace.  The deserts had been a primary force, along with my work, behind my continued residence in southern California with its crowds and traffic.  Nowhere I'd visited in the country or the world rivaled the rugged beauty of our deserts.  I thought about the many beautiful places I'd traveled in the southwest:  the boulder fields and wildflower carpets of the Mojave desert, the saguaro-stitched Sonoran desert, the wide plateaus hugging the Grand Canyon, the ruins and mesas of Navajo country, and the richly red arches and canyons of Utah.  Nothing seemed to click with my image.

Where was this place?  I tried to put myself back into the image, and when I succeeded, I looked out the window for a clue.  I saw ocean, but it was pale aqua in color, not the deep dark blue of the Pacific, and a gentle morning sun hovered over it.  That's when I knew this place, if it existed, had to be on the Sea of Cortez.

I'd fallen in love with the Sea of Cortez during past trips to Bahia de Los Angeles and Loreto.  Friends have a place near Loreto, but they take two days to get there, and even Bahia de Los Angeles was a long drive. I hoped the place I'd imagined was about the same amount of time seven or eight hours to get to my friend Jeans in June Lake, where I spend several weekends a year, cross-country skiing in the winters, and hiking and kayaking in the summers.

I took out my Baja maps and saw that San Felipe was the closest town on the east coast.  I'd been to San Felipe several times, but my most prominent memory was of a Thanksgiving weekend camping on the beach.  My then-husband and I had been surrounded by hordes of other American campers, troops of ATVs roared up and down the beach all day and raucous parties continued late into the night.  That wasn't my idea of a peaceful get-away.  My Long Beach house is across the street from a park, which is generally quiet except for weekend soccer games, so if the place I'd imagined was in San Felipe, I doubted I'd visit much, opting to stay home rather than drive 300 miles for a noise fest.

The map and my Auto Club guide of Baja showed that options north of San Felipe were few, except for scattered resort beaches geared toward attracting typical American tourists.  I noticed that Puertecitos was the next town south of San Felipe, and that several campos existed between the two towns.  I calculated the mileage, allowed for longer driving times after reading about road conditions, and figured I could get to one of the campos in 7 or 8 hours.  I assumed custody from the divorce (ha!) of a book of topographic maps for the entire Baja peninsula, and I looked closer at the coastline between San Felipe and Puertecitos.  It looked remote, unspoiled, and sparsely developed, in short, very inviting.  A perfect location!

I logged on to the Internet and looked up San Felipe.  When I got to the website for the town, I clicked on Real Estate. I sent a few emails asking about small beach houses between San Felipe and Puertecitos. The next day I had a phone number for Juanita and Bill, who own the Wash Tub in San Felipe.  I called and spoke to Juanita and was delighted by her affable nature.  They'd recently placed their Campo Coloradito house on the market, since the 50-minute drive to their son's high school and to their new Laundromat in San Felipe was getting too tedious.  When she told me it was a 2-bedroom house and began describing its many other amenities, I was disappointed -surely this couldnt be the house I'd imagined.  The image had seemed of a small one-room place, and I was hoping for something simple so that I could afford it with my current savings and a small loan. I didn't want yet another mortgage.  Fortunately, some of the inside of the house is unfinished, so when Juanita told me the price, I thought, I can do this!  I also reconsidered my desire for a small place after all, I may retire there, and it would be great to have space for friends to visit.  I told Juanita Id be down to look at it soon.

Not sure it was my house, I continued searching the Internet and found the Cowpatty Chronicles, an online newsletter by Patti Haynes, who helped Richard open Cowpattys in Puertecitos and has a place there.  I emailed Patti and asked if she knew of any campo houses for sale.  She emailed back and told me to call Juanita.  It was nice to learn about the closely-knit nature of the community, despite the fact it extends for 100 km between the two towns. 

I decided to visit the area and check out the house the weekend Cowpattys was having its first winter get-together so I could meet some of the residents and spread the word that I was looking for a place.  I drove down on Friday October 4 and camped in San Felipe (never again!!)  I was awakened repeatedly with campers arriving right and left, until I found a dirt road south of town where the dogs and I slept in the bed of my truck).  I met Juanita at the Wash Tub Saturday morning and she gave me directions to the house, and told me Bill was there to meet me.  Fortunately, she'd received few other calls from potential buyers. 

I found the road south of San Felipe in much better condition than I'd anticipated from the horror stories I'd read about it, except for the last 16 km, which seemed to stretch on and on since I was wild with anticipation.  When I finally turned left at km 49 and drove the dusty road down toward the house, I saw the incredible view of the beach, and my love for the Sea of Cortez washed over me.  When I walked in to the living room, there it was!!  Well, the futon wasn't on the north wall as I'd imagined (it will be!), but the kitchen on my left, the dazzling light coming in from the windows, and the gorgeous view of the sea matched the image that had formed in my mind on my birthday.  After gawking at the star-filled sky that night and at the next mornings sunrise, when low tide created countless golden pools of light, I was head over heels. I'd found that feeling of peace and the place of beauty I'd imagined.  So, of course, I bought the house!! 

by Kathy Keane

November 2002