A Place Out of Time (On Nostalgia)

When I was young my family moved into the Los Feliz area of Los Angeles. Our neighborhood was one of some notoriety due its being home having to several  unique attractions; such as Walt Disney's first studio, a stately convent built from the stones of a castle once located in Europe, as well as the LaBianca home where one of the Manson Family murders took place (a house subsequently purchased by my great uncle Dikran).

Our neighborhood was quaint, relatively quiet and with few children living nearby. As a result my brother and I were forced into each others company quite often, seeking out local adventure in the form of exploration. We were, of course, too young to cross streets, and thus were relegated to the homes and apartments that ran along our block.

Fortunately, our block was considerably long.  

During one of our explorations we pushed farther up the block than we had previously traveled, finding a house and driveway that piqued our interest. We wandered down the path and found toward the back a short wall which we instinctively climbed over, finding on the other side  s beautifully maintained courtyard.

The area was secluded, hidden deep behind one of the many buildings that lined Rowena Avenue. Along the interior the walls were covered with ivy that stretched onto the house itself. The floor was lined with red brick and stone, creating a circular pattern the swirled to an exposed center out  of which grew a large tangerine tree with branches covering the area of the courtyard and keeping it shaded with its leaves. And sitting alone underneath the tree was antique bench for one to relax in.

I recall the smell, sweet and green.

As children we were unaware we were trespassing, nor were we aware of the theft we partook in when we began to pick and eat the tangerines. We sat on the bench and peeled away, delighting in the taste of the fruit and the success of our adventure. And after a short time of enjoying the environment, we grabbed some of the fruit, climbed back over that wall and headed home with the certainty that we were soon to return. 

A few days later we tried.

Arriving at where we believed our entry point to the courtyard had been, we found nothing instead. Our subsequent search of the houses along the street failed to produce any result. The courtyard had disappeared.   

Thirty years later and I still think back to that place. I do not know why were unable to find our way back and our failure to do so has always confounded me. 

When I think of it now it is as a mystical place not of this world. A place we accidentally stumbled upon and allowed to briefly visit. We ate its fruit and drank in its beauty. And then it was gone, becoming a memory I visit rarely, something precious that gives me peace.