30 Days to Life in Crystal Cove Cottages

“Don’t write anything mean about us!”

I hadn’t planned to and still don’t, but Sally Martin’s words took off some skin as I left her Crystal Cove beachfront cottage in midafternoon. Had she picked up something in my questions--a hint of pettiness, perhaps--that made her suspicious?

Was it because, as we talked, I got a glimpse of her bedroom and realized that when she sits upright in it she can gaze at the incredible beauty of the Pacific Ocean a couple hundred feet away?

That fact alone makes it hard for me to consider Cove residents, who hold leases on this 3.25-mile stretch of state park coastline, as underdogs in their long-running hopes of staying in their rustic cottages until hell freezes over, or the darn things just disintegrate in the salty air.

Oh, it’s not even fair to say Martin wants sympathy. Nor does she consider herself or her neighbors martyrs. It’s just that they feel they’re part of something special while living in these coastline cottages, and they want the public to see them that way.

I’m too petty for that, but I agree with the residents that the upscale resort once planned for the Cove was a bad idea. It’s now off the boards, meaning that, for a moment or so, it looked like the tenants had once again survived a challenge to their beautiful life.

And that’s what has always struck me about them: how they always seem to make it through another season, another year, despite talk that something or other ought to be done to relocate them.

Now another threat looms.

The residents, about 40 of them, have been given eviction notices. The terms of their leases stipulate they have 30 days to leave. However, they’ve sued the state, hoping to stall the ouster.

With their luck, they’ll probably win.

Notice of Eviction? Yes. Gone? Not Yet.

Martin and her husband have leased a cottage for 15 years. I dropped in on her, and she took no time in disabusing me of my suggestion that living on a state park overlooking the ocean was a pretty idyllic way to go.

Sure, she said, the view is great, but everyone rents, no one builds any equity and they all have to handle their own repairs and maintenance in the 1920s-vintage cottages. Besides, the units are small and have no insulation. Everything rusts and erodes and is in various states of disrepair, and residents have to provide their own heat. Plus, the septic tanks need upgrading.

People who think of life at the Cove as luxury living are flat wrong, she says. A lot of people wouldn’t even attempt to put up with it. She’s right; this isn’t Newport Beach chic; it’s more like Newport Beach, pioneer style.

At least, that’s how the residents see it. Their units range from under 500 square feet to just under 2,000. Rents range from about $800 a month to $1,400, according to a state parks official.

Most tenants probably see themselves, as Martin does, as dedicated caretakers of a part of California’s past.

“I have a love, a passion for the land,” Martin says. “We are the custodians of this property. When you drive down here, it’s like you’re going back in time.”

The state says it learned a lesson with the ill-fated resort plan, supervising park ranger Mike Eaton says. “We plan to go to the public again, doing it the right way this time, and ask what they’d like to see done with the cottages.”

Martin knows of no scenario under which tenants would stay. At this stage, she’d just like the public to know that, beachfront or no beachfront, the residents have not just been living large by staying at the park.

I still say they’re incredibly lucky. For that reason, I’m not willing to bet they’ll ever have to leave.

Especially if people like Michelle Sheid of Los Angeles are around. She was with a group of artists Thursday afternoon painting landscapes and seascapes on the sand beneath the cottages.

“I’m glad there are some people who can live this way,” she said of the Cove residents. “They’re awfully nice people. Why ruin a good thing?”

But it’s a state park, I said.

“So what?” Sheid said. “Some people ought to get a break. Just because other people are miserable doesn’t mean everyone should be.”

Dana Parsons’ column appears Wednesday, Friday and Sunday. Readers may reach Parsons by calling (714) 966-7821; by writing to him at The Times’ Orange County edition, 1375 Sunflower Ave., Costa Mesa, CA 92626; or by e-mail at dana.parsons@latimes.com.