Leave It to Beaver
By Mark D. Crantz
A Trilogy-Part One
It was an oft-heard Laguna story. A family moves from somewhere else and relocates to Laguna Beach. The time was the 1960s. The job was retail lumber. And leave it to the Beaver family to jump at the chance. The Beaver family took to many highways to get here. Before the road trip of their lifetimes, the Beavers took a big, toothy photo of themselves and sent the picture to their new address on Blue Bird Canyon. The Beavers were excited to see whether the picture of themselves or their real selves got to Laguna Beach first.
While the Beavers poured over the glove box travel maps en route, a small group of artists started an art festival in a five-acre grove of eucalyptus trees. They dreamed of becoming great artists in many different mediums. They knew their dreams took time, but their landlords did not share the time dreams take and insisted on rent due on the first of the month. The money raised at the art festival would fulfill the landlord’s dream while theirs continued to percolate.
Meanwhile, the Beaver family had nine different state maps to contend with. Not one of the state maps could ever be refolded back to its original position. The 1960s were pre-Google Maps, and folding was necessary. The paper maps frustrated the Beavers, who, in a frenzy, tore the maps to smithereens. Seven days in and 90 miles along their way, the Beavers stopped and resupplied themselves with new paper maps.
Back in Laguna Beach, the artists couldn’t agree on the name of their new festival. The group of 16 budding artists offered up different festival names. “Let’s call it, The Greatest Show on Earth.” The other artists shook their heads no. “That’s the name of a circus. We don’t work with animals, remember?” Another artist piped up with, “Beach Ball Pictures.” The artists gasped. “Beach Balls? That’s probably the only object we all haven’t painted, sculpted or made glass out of it. We need a more encompassing name.” Silence endured while the thinking caps were pulled tighter. A pre-schooler of one of the artists shouted, “Sandy Pants.” The others looked at one another, shrugged, “That’s pretty good.” The pre-schooler said, “No, it’s not. You wouldn’t say that if you had sand in your pants.”
By some miracle, the Beaver family got to Laguna Beach on their 100 and 20th set of road maps. They just needed a little help to find Bluebird Canyon road. They saw a group of people in a eucalyptus grove and pulled over to get directions. The Beavers pulled up in front of the shouting group of people and opened their doors to stretch their legs and ask for help. Out poured the remains of all those road maps at the feet of the arguing artists. “Sawdust?” The Beavers answered, “No. Road maps.” The artists jumped for joy and praised the Beavers. “You did it. You brought us the new name. We’ll call it the Sawdust Festival.”
Crantz tells the Indy the Beavers were given directions to their new home on Bluebird Canyon. They had beaten the picture of themselves. Unfortunately, a picture of squatters had arrived before them, so they are building a dam on the property to keep them out. “Oh, darn.”
