By Suu Zhou

Right now in quarantine it feels like ages ago, and such a faraway place, but whenever I’m home for the holidays my parents and I buckle into the car and drive straight to Malibu Lagoon. We park next to Starbucks, my dad gets a coffee and my mom gets an earl grey, and we start the ten minute walk to the lagoon. I have my camera over my shoulder and I point out the birds in the parking lot, the bluebird in a tree that I am sure is pruned as often as the bird may preen.

We always do our normal routine around the lagoon, where we walk along the boardwalk, then the pathway, and stare out at the island, where I might spot killdeer, or sanderlings (if it’s winter). We see brown pelicans and cormorants and ravens and perhaps one elegant blue heron, with a couple of groupie egrets. Once we get to the beach, I separate from my parents and hug the bright orange mesh fence, straining my eyes to see the well-advertised snowy plovers, whose nests, although I can’t see them, are out there in the forbidden dunes. “Save the snowy plover!” shout the many printed drawings scattered throughout the area and along the fence. Those cheerful children's drawings depicting the plovers and their homes and chicks are more prevalent in the area than the plovers themselves.

One day there were surprisingly many snowy plovers out, and I took my shoes off, pulled up the legs of my pants, and tiptoed my way through a beach river to look at them and take as many pictures as I could. Round rocks greeted my feet, briny water rushed by, and I marveled at these tiny birds, living their best lives on this gorgeous beach.

Someday, I’ll be back there and I’ll quietly appreciate the sand and the sea and how the pelicans soar and plummet. I think I’ll know what I was missing, then.