This morning around 9 a.m., our dear friends Ken and Jenny Carloni and Diana Pace packed up and headed for the airport to return home. It was sad to see our time in Cabo Pulmo come to an end, but we couldn’t have asked for a better time together.
Janice and I plan to begin our journey north on Tuesday, aiming to be back home around April 20.
Today was quiet. We took the Boys on a few walks, letting them stretch their legs and take in the calm. Janice, unfortunately, came down with a bout of food poisoning from the restaurant we visited yesterday, so she rested and took it easy. I rode my bike out to the pickleball courts to check the wind. We've had steady northern winds of 10–15 mph, but as I suspected, the courts are somewhat shielded by the mountains to the north. We might try playing tomorrow morning.
Janice, Lincoln, Tad, Comet and I all took a couple of siestas today. We have been quite busy over the last week with our friends and now that we are back to our original traveling troupe, I think we all needed some downtime before starting our long trek home.
Later, we took a swim in the pool. I wore my baseball cap in and accidentally stepped past the white line into the deep section—10 feet down—and went under, cap and all. Janice couldn’t stop laughing.
Afterward, we came back, played a few rounds of Spite and Malice, listened to music, and had a quiet dinner together.
Even here in paradise, our hearts are with the people back home. We’ve been following the national protests closely, and like tens of millions across the country, we’re dismayed by the current administration’s relentless dismantling of environmental protections, purging of federal workers, and the chaos being unleashed. It creates a heavy sense of anxiety, even amidst beauty. Janice said she wishes we were home to stand with our friends and neighbors who are rising up to defend democracy.
Last night, I woke up troubled and turned to my “thinking buddy,” Sage (ChatGPT), to co-create a meditation that brought me clarity and peace:
A Reflection for the Road Home
As we turn northward and the Baja sun softens behind us, we carry more than souvenirs and stories—we carry renewal. For weeks, we have lived closer to the rhythms of the Earth: salt on our skin, the hush of waves, the laughter of dogs on the wind. In this space, we remembered what it means to breathe fully, to trust the moment, and to feel alive.
And now, we return—not to the chaos, but to the calling.
We know the world is troubled. As environmentalists, naturalists, and humanists, we see it clearly. But clarity need not bring despair. What we’ve just experienced reminds us: there is still wonder. Still connection. Still hope.
So as we cross the long miles home, let us carry with us this intention:
To be informed, but not consumed.
To speak truth, but not lose our joy.
To feel sorrow, but not forget gratitude.
To resist, but also to create.
To act, and to love.
We are not here to fix the whole world alone. But we are here to hold a lantern, to plant something beautiful, to teach, to sing, to laugh with friends, and to walk gently with our planet.
And so we return—not diminished by what we must face, but replenished by what we now know to be possible. Let us live like the desert after rain: quietly blooming, defiantly alive.
