Love Letters

Butterfly Beach // Art by Leigh Sparks

This summer I moved to Santa Barbara, a little beach town that runs along the Pacific Coast shoreline. It’s maybe 12 miles across from end to end and sits between the Pacific & the Santa Ynez Mountains. Since moving, I’ve been flooded with all kinds of nostalgia, and even though I can’t really say that I’ve ever “lived” here before, it feels like I’ve come home.

Both of my parents spent most of their childhoods and their twenties here in this town, and a little over 24 years ago, and about 10 miles away from my new front door, my mother gave birth to me. Around the time I had turned the age of four, my family had decided to move to Mesa, Arizona. So I never liked saying Santa Barbara was my “hometown”, but it has always called to me, and whenever I had the chance to visit in my youth, I always had the feeling I belonged.

Phoenix is the city I will forever consider as my hometown; I got a lot of love for that place and all the homies I have out there, but there’s no ecaping that summer heat! I l lived there for twenty of ‘em.. never got used to it. Plus, there’s something to be said about the value of moving out of your hometown in your early twenties. Not to mention the righteous feeling of returning to the land you came from - your borntown. I always talked about moving back and living out here as an adult, and this year I had the opportunity to do just that, so I pulled the trigger.

It didn’t come without sacrifice, but I’m here, less than a mile from the ocean, which has always fascinated me. I have spent years of my Life dreaming of learning to surf, so as expected, I’ve been spending a lot of time there for the past few weeks. Observing the behavior of the wave & swell patterns, and coming to understand the magnitude of their energy and the distance it all travels. I have to acknowledge its power, and I’m always willing to give it the respect it deserves. Truly, I could listen to the waves crash all day & night with no complaints, but somehow I am even more mesmerized by the hills & the mountains. Uncertain as to why, but I am, they have my heart.

I could be driving down PCH with the beach only a couple hundred feet away, close enough to feel the mist on my skin, and I will still turn my head inland to witness the hills roll by instead. I’m drawn to their colors, their layers, their faces, their mysteries, and their treasures; I’m captivated by them. Plus, I long for the perspective they offer at their rims & summits. I love the feeling of being above the clouds. The viewpoints they have of the horizon feed me in so many ways. The energy & the air within mountain ranges makes my senses feel like they go so much further. Unlike in the city where everything is much more congested, it’s way easier to find my still up there & hum steady.

Every single time I look at them, I’m confounded with the truth. As I gaze through the hillsides, I’ll visualize a time-lapse of their formation and ruminate on the forces that intertwine to erect such a rich & beautiful landscape. I become lost in my admiration.

What’s even more serendipitous for me is that even my surname, Lobenberg, alludes to my love for the mountains. It’s of German origin, and though I’m not absolutely sure what the proper translation is, I do know that Loben, means “praise”, and berg means “mountain”.

I got a lot of love for the ocean, but the hills have my heart. At the present moment, it’s surfing season, and it costs me less to bike/walk to the beach than making the trek to the Santa Ynez mountains. I’m invested in learning to ride waves, but when this season comes to an end, I will be exploring & backpacking all throughout that whole mountain range, one peak at a time.

Loose hangs & happy trails,

— T