Dillon Beach, Part I

August 16 would have been my husband Andrzej’s* 96th birthday. We decided to have a family reunion at Dillon Beach to scatter his ashes into the ocean, where mine will later be scattered. Most of the family will be there, including our daughter Eva and son Jan, my Polish step-daughter Agnieszka, her husband Joseph and their daughters, Luiza and Alicia. We will be staying in a big, beautiful house overlooking the ocean, so different from the little cottages where we used to stay when our children were young. 

Dillon Beach is on the Pacific coast, north of San Francisco. It is part of Tomales Bay, between Marshall and Bodega Bay, south of Jenner. Dillon Beach is a sandy beach.  There is a high rocky wall on the right when you walk down the beach, and huge rocks to climb on. There are rocks jutting out of the sea, as in Acitrezza in Sicily. I always walk barefoot along the water’s edge, playing a game with the waves that wash up the beach. Sometimes they surprise me. 

It all began in 1964 soon after we had moved to Davis from Detroit. The minister of my church, the Unitarian Universalist Church of Davis, suggested that the various families should rent cottages at Dillon Beach each year, to celebrate Thanksgiving. We did that for several years. It was great fun, like living in a small village. When we walked down the narrow streets lined with mostly one-story cottages, people called out, inviting us to stop by and have a glass of beer. The children all played together. A group of older women, including Lois Grau, Bea Reynolds, Winnie Spurr and others, cooked the dinners in the Long House where we ate all together. Afterwards we gathered in a big house at the water’s edge and sang “This land is your land, this land is my land…” That’s where the Crawdad’s first began playing together. It was a joyous celebration every Thanksgiving, until the custom of meeting there was discontinued. I don’t know why.

I remember one day when little Jani was still in diapers, Eva sat on the sofa in one of those cottages, coloring. She was 6 years old. She made many very bold pictures, of people and houses. I framed one of them, which I still have.  

I remember that Andrzej once baked a big, white bread for us without all of the usual utensils, rolling pin, etc.  I was very impressed.

Eva and I took walks around the little village which consisted of three parallel streets on a hillside overlooking the ocean.  There was also a small grocery store on the main street. Eva and I especially liked a mysterious little wooden one-story cottage, which we called “the Goblin House.” It was brown, later purple.  Once we were making pictures of it when it started to rain.  We sat on some steps across from that Goblin House and worked until our pictures were made. I wonder whether that little “Goblin House” still stands there.

We have been back to Dillon Beach many times since those days, with Andrzej, and once with our beautiful dog, Rico. He was a Collie puppy, whose mother belonged to Andrzej’s chairman, Frank Child and family. He was a gift. Once when Andrzej was out of town, I drove the children, with the dog, to Dillon Beach for the day.  We have a picture of all of them playing in the sand dunes. But Rico got car sick on the way home. We finally gave him away because the only person who took care of him was Andrzej, who hadn’t wanted a dog in the first place. We found a good home for him on a farm outside of Davis, where there was another dog and people to take care of them. I was sorry to give him up.  

When I think about Dillon Beach, I always think of Nick’s Cove Restaurant. In the old days it was a very modest fisherman’s hang-out. We always had a meal there when we stayed at Dillon Beach. At one point, someone bought Nick’s Cove and fixed it up. It became a lively, thriving seafood restaurant, which we now enjoy every time we visit Dillon Beach. It is situated on the edge of Tomales Bay, with green hills, turning golden yellow then brown, on the other side of the bay. There is a long, narrow pier built over the water which takes you to a little house where people rent canoes and rowboats, listen to music, and eat their meals. Very cozy. (I always wanted to eat out there, surround by water, but never did.) The last time we had lunch at Nick’s Cove, Andrzej was with us, as well as Agnieszka and her family. Their daughters are now 38 and 41. I was in a very happy mood. I ordered half of a cracked crab. Everyone was laughing and thought it was so funny. The shells had to be cracked open with something like a nutcracker. My granddaughter Alicia prepared each bite for me. She dipped every morsel in melted butter before she spoon-fed it to me. It was a memorable meal!

So now, next week we will honor the memory of Andrzej, who spent many happy days at Dillon Beach with our family. He will be with us in spirit. 

* pronounced AHN-jay