When the entire city of Santa Barbara is encased in fog, a gentle mist carries the sound of the fog horn from the end of the breakwater right into my living room. As I soak in the repeating hum, there are two grounding elements around this city that are always visible: The Channel Islands, our captivating front yard, and Mt. Figueroa, our majestic backyard.
In the golden light of a Santa Barbara morning, you can feel a kind of quiet thanks. The soft marine layer rolling in over the city, the stillness of the mountains, the scent of sage in the chaparral, this place reminds you to pause. To notice. To breathe. And in that pause, gratitude finds a foothold.
When the sky opens wide over the Santa Ynez Valley and you’re standing atop Mt. Figueroa with nothing but wind and silence, you remember. You remember that this land holds stories older than any of us. That its stillness has power. That there’s something sacred in simply being present.
Before I was a mother of four daughters, and ever since, there is a knowing that these two vistas, from the channel to the mountain range, are landscapes not to be overlooked. Some of our treasured family traditions have been born from these two very different anchors to our beloved home, Santa Barbara.
From the ridgelines of Los Padres to the sea that carries your gaze toward the horizon, Santa Barbara gives freely, if you’re willing to notice. On clear days, the Channel Islands float in the distance like quiet sentinels. Remote, rugged, and often overlooked, they remind us that some of the most profound beauty lies just beyond reach. Gratitude can be like that, too. Subtle, waiting, just offshore of our busy minds.
The Channel Islands, home to 150 species found nowhere else in the world, are also surrounded by marine sanctuaries; coral spires and vaulted halls of liquid glass that make way for you to marvel at all the beauty that exists beneath this sacred space.
Each spring, Mt. Figueroa is crowned with wildflowers as far as the eye can see. Poppies, lupine, goldfields, Indian paintbrush, baby blue eyes, and silver-blue grasses hush you into awe. The pine and oak trees work together, sending their soul-strengthening breeze in your direction.
In a world that urges us to chase more success, more information, more distraction, our front and backyards say something different: slow down. Look up. Be still. Let the ocean speak. Let the hills hold you. Let yourself breathe in a moment.
We are not owners of this land, but stewards. To live here with gratitude is to live with humility. To protect, preserve, and give back.
Gratitude, after all, isn’t loud. It doesn’t demand attention. It grows, like lupin and poppies on Mt. Figueroa after rain, or like kelp forests swaying unseen beneath the Channel’s surface—quietly, patiently, and resilient.
So today, before you move on, take a moment. For the mountains. For the islands. For the land that connects us. For the extraordinary gift of being here.
Anna Maria Stump is a writer whose work reflects a deep commitment to storytelling, reflection, and creative expression. Through her blog, CatchlightSB, she explores the intersections of observation and insight, capturing the extraordinary within the ordinary. Complementing her written work, Anna Maria is also an avid photographer.