I'm standing on Cannery Row looking across the huge expanse of water towards Santa Cruz. I can hear the bark of sea lions in the dark, the incessant call of the gulls, the gentle surge of water to and fro breaking on the rocky bottom that famously lines the Row.
The ocean is so alive here.
Although the canneries and fishing fleet, the men and the fishmonger wives, the smell and trains and all the rest are all gone, and so much has changed, I can still feel what Steinbeck felt, and the sea is unchanged.
My brother's reply:
"Some things never change. Men will always find a way to eek out a living. Then, as now, often on the fringes of legality."
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