Welcome to Lafferty Park

#61, February 7, 2001

Al caught me in the hall outside the system test lab. "So, you are the person I must ask about Lafferty," he said, his voice rich with east Indian melody. "How many hours do you have?" I replied, laughing. "Really, why do you ask?" "I am taking my team there for picnic lunch tomorrow, to celebrate making our target dates," he said. "Are you sure it's Lafferty", I asked, knowing that a cloud still hangs over its future. "Yes, I took a walk there last week, after a very stressful meeting. It was most refreshing."

He wasn't kidding, so I borrowed Denny's car and made the short drive from the business park to the Lafferty gate. I was more than shocked when I cleared the last hill and looked down into the broad benchland that forms the lower third of the property. The gate was still there, but it was open. About half a dozen cars were parked in a small crushed rock lot bounded by a ring of old utility pole stubs.

I pulled into the lot, and got out. The "Lafferty Park" sign was beautiful, a low monument of mortared native fieldstone. Embedded at the base were brass plates bearing the names of those who donated materials, money, and labor to help build the park. This was even more of a shock: it was a who's who in Petaluma: ag, telecom, and downtown business, service clubs, and people from across the political spectrum.

A kiosk made from old weathered redwood held a big map behind Plexiglas, along with a list of rules and the usual warnings about ticks and snakes. I pushed a fiver into the donation box, and took one of the small brochures from a plastic pouch: "Welcome to Lafferty Park!"

All of this, strange as it was, seemed so familiar. The brochure described several trails; Sky Meadow Trail must be the old "tour" trail: "Clear days offer views of the Pacific Ocean, the City and Bay, and an array of peaks: St. Helena, Olampali, Tamalpais, Loma Prieta and Hamilton (flanking the Silicon Valley 100 miles south), and Diablo. Alas, Sky Meadow and Adobe Creek Canyon trails were "under construction", so I chose the Pond Meadow Trail.

This clearly was a strolling trail, a level and smooth bed of tan quarry fines three feet wide ("meets ADA requirements for handicapped access", said the brochure.) It traveled the long lower meadow, skirting the wetlands to the right and the "Devil's Garden" (cactus/blackberry/poison oak patch) on the left. After crossing a small bridge ("made from recycled plastic/sawdust composites"), it traversed around an acre of meadow where some preschoolers played catch with oak apples. Facing the marsh was a long bench with a pleasantly inclined back ("built from what used to be the bridge decking.") Just the place to enjoy the meadowlark and red-winged blackbird symphony, the sun in your face, the westerly breeze rustling your hair.

The barbed wire and boards were gone from the old spring box. Boulders had been artfully arranged to create a series of small waterfalls and pools. A short spur trail here led to the Pond Benches, where some gifted masons had built stone steps and seats that blended seamlessly with the natural outcroppings around the base of a large California Bay. Very Zen.

The trail looped around the pond and headed west along the woodland bordering the stone ruins of the Lafferty homestead. As I approached a down-and-dried-out bay tree, a dozen quail exploded into flight. I passed a deer skull, six pointer with gaping jaw, looking up from the short grass like a hollow eyed harbinger from the underworld. The trail cut a few long switchbacks on its way up to the point. I exchanged smiles with mom and babe in stroller, who rested on a bench at one of the corners.

The sky was fresh washed by a February storm, and my memory of this spot fuzzy; I was totally unprepared for what I saw as I reached the crest of the promontory and looked westward… (to be continued)