Pine Cone Bend

When a community comes together

Berry Drive is a narrow, sinuous lane that snakes through the hills of Studio City. Although this gloriously verdant hilltop enclave casts a sort of rustic-y vibe, the folks who live in what’s known as the Berry Hilltop Community are anything but rustic.

These people drive Teslas and Range Rovers and all manner of luxury vehicles. Their multi-million dollar homes are obscured behind privacy hedges or mechanized security gates with 24-hour surveillance. The absence of sidewalks and curbside front yards hinders children from freely riding around on bikes and scooters and residents from getting chummy with their neighbors. Perhaps this is why the Hollywood power couple for whom I walk dogs are renovating a home in a far more family-friendly sector of the Valley.

During my mid-day dog walk, I generally cross paths with a smattering of locals out jogging or having a leisurely stroll. Occasionally, I’ll exchange a friendly nod with a housekeeper taking out the trash or wave to the jovial UPS driver making his usual rounds. Like the domestics, gardeners, and delivery drivers, mine is a familiar face in this neighborhood. I’m a part of the human-machine that makes this neighborhood run.

Whenever I’m out walking dogs I always notice things, like when somebody finally takes down their Christmas lights or has a Sun Basket delivery sitting in their driveway or their city-issued rubbish can is in dire need of replacement.

I’ve walked and driven this roughly quarter-mile stretch of Berry Drive so many times I know it like the back of my hand. I know every curve, every dip, every pothole.

So, one afternoon when I neared the blind curve, I immediately noticed that someone had placed some pine cones atop the wooden posts that support the guardrail. As my car crept slowly round the bend, I could see that upon every post sat a pine cone. From end to end there were thirty-six pine cones in all.

I imagined some little kid out walking with mommy or, more likely, nanny, whiling away an afternoon playing with pine cones. An unexpected wave of nostalgia washed over me; for I also had a childhood passion for pine cones.

Someone eventually erected a sign, actually took time and care, sanded a slice of log, neatly inscribed the words Pine Cone Bend, varnished it, and then affixed it to a sturdy branch and planted it securely into the ground in the spot where the two guardrails meet. Additionally, they placed a basket filled with pine cones below the sign.

A cache of emergency pine cones, perhaps?

Whenever a major holiday came round, someone — perhaps the same someone who made the sign — would adorn it with tinsel, Mardi Gras beads, or miniature American flags. The pine cone basket occasionally served as a receptacle bearing small gifts; seashells, a colorful rock, a plastic ring, a pack of novelty pencils. I’ve always enjoyed seeing what new treasures awaited passersby.

Here’s the really wondrous thing, this mysterious manifestation of pine cones first appeared about three years ago, and they’re still standing. Now. Today.

Every now and then, I’ll see that a few pine cones have tumbled from their perches. It never fails though, by the next day, someone makes sure the pine cones are back in their rightful places atop the guardrail.

Sometimes, that someone is me.

Recently, I was out walking my client’s elderly dog. He prefers to take his time, so we were moving at a somewhat glacial pace, inching toward the bend. A woman with earbuds and a determined walk suddenly blew past us. The woman was about twenty-five yards away when she came to a full stop, pulled a one-eighty, walked back five paces, picked up a fallen pine cone, returned it to the guardrail, and then moved on. It was the first time I ever witnessed anyone actually do this and she did it without a shred of self-consciousness.

I, on the other hand, tend to glance around to see if anyone is looking before I retrieve a pine cone and replace it. I don’t know why I care if anyone sees me. It’s silly. I really need to take a page out of that woman’s playbook and devil-may-care.

Twenty minutes later, I was driving down the hill toward Ventura Boulevard and there she was, the woman with the determined walk, heading in the same direction. Thus, I inferred that she, like me, was merely passing through. Neither one of us lives up here and yet both of us are doing our part in keeping Pine Cone Bend going and I know we’re not the only ones.

Pine Cone Bend has endured because the folks living in and around and passing through this neighborhood — for whatever their reasons may be — have felt the somewhat odd inclination to preserve it.

It got me to thinking.

What if we, as a nation, from the get-go, had willingly done our part and wore our masks and social-distanced and exercised patience through stay-at-home orders?

What if we’d cared about each other’s lives and general health and well-being as much as the folks in this hilltop community care about pine cones?

Where might we be now?

Where might we have been six months ago?

Where might we be six months from now?

Covid cases are on the uptick again and Rochelle Walensky, the new director of the CDC, got real during Monday’s White House health briefing and openly expressed her feelings of “impending doom.”

“We have so much to look forward to,” Walensky said. “So much promise and potential of where we are, and so much reason for hope, but right now I’m scared.”

I’m with her.

Several states have lifted restrictions and are rescinding mask mandates and young people, feeling their oats, are congregating, sans masks, as the weather warms. It’s no wonder the numbers are rising and it’s no wonder Rochelle Walensky is experiencing feelings of doom.

Do you think we can maybe hang on just a little bit longer until we get enough people vaccinated in time to thwart this pandemic, or will we succumb to petty partisan politics, collective Covid fatigue, and petulant self-interest and set ourselves back another year?

All of us have a serious stake in this. Aside from the vaccine, we have the power to do something about our situation. As far as I’m concerned, we can choose to be a part of the solution or part of the problem. We can choose to employ a little more patience and self-restraint for the greater good or cleave to our own self-interest.

I put three pine cones back on the guardrail today and wore my mask. I’m choosing to hang in as long as it takes to get us back on track.

What about you? What will you do?