We had heard about the
ranunculus in that area which had just come into bloom. In the horticultural universe
they were a world famous destination. In Carlsbad they were unknown. We drove
around the town stopping along the way to ask people where these acres and
acres of ranunculus were. Not a single person ever heard of them.
I had recalled Carlsbad to
be a sleepy town with several first class hotels or motels. Unaccustomed as I
was to last minute getaways I had failed to make a reservation. Every one we
passed had the no vacancy sign posted. It must have been those ranunculus,
which nobody living there knew about, that drew all these visitors. Finally we
settled for the last room this side of Yuma.
It was called the Ebbtide
Motel and well into its ebbing. I’m not sure if all the neon letters were lit
but the L could have been preceding
by an HEL. If the outdoor temperature
hovered in the high nineties it must have been over a hundred in the room. Our
deluxe suite came with a refrigerator as if someone might endure more than one
night within these walls. It was a torrid affair but we kept the refrigerator
door open in the hope to cool down.
If this were a movie it
wouldn’t have starred Fred and Ginger or even Tracy and Hepburn but more like
Desi and Lucy. We drove out of town shouting, Fuck the Ranunculus. It was only later that we discovered Carlsbad
extended east of the San Diego Freeway as well. We were west of it where locals
might live their entire lives ignorant of these magnificent bulbs bursting in
the full spectrum of colors.
In fact there are fifty
acres of flowers with a mirror like sheen on their petals designed to attract
bees. They aren’t indigenous to Southern California but they seem to have
accommodated quite well to their new habitat. They are at least as bright as
roses with a characteristic black center as if the sun itself is beaming from
out of a core of dark matter. There could be a poem in that image referring to
our naughty tryst … if one thought metaphorically but I would never resort to
such an objective correlative.
It took another two spring
seasons of bulb-pushing up through the soil for me to finally answer the call of
the sun. Peggy and I have since visited those flowering bulbs in Carlsbad with
their perfect rows of petals. My guess is it’s no longer a secret even to those
folks west of freeway. As for the Ebbtide Motel, we recently drove through the
town looking for it, gave up, parked the car and there it was, almost forty
years later, an historical monument in our eyes.