Sandy

One of the goals for the San Francisco trip was to get some photos of the current sock.  We tried going out and finding something with the bridge in the background (we’re tourists, we’re allowed), but it wasn’t quite working out.  So I stuffed the socks in my purse as we headed out on our last day in town.  We were going to Point Reyes for a bit of beach storming, and I thought there might possibly be the odd bit of pretty we could use for sock pictures.

Yup, that will do.

That too.

We stomped our way out to Kehoe beach (it’s only a bit over half a mile from the parking to the beach, but a good part of that half mile is hilly and on loose sand, which I always find searingly painful to walk on).  Rocks were clambered over, pants were soaked, sand was introduced to places not accustomed to its presence.  A good time was had by all, including the sock, who proved once again that wool is magic.  I was standing in sopping wet sand (as in, you could see a puddle around my footprint when I lifted my foot), but my feet were dry.  No idea how that works, but I’m impressed.  The sock is modestly pleased with himself and happy to have been of service.