I think the source of my latest move can be quickly accessed by viewing the illustrating image. It’s from my 2007 trip back to the Bay Area to visit with friends.
I think that trip just triggered the inevitable – the longing to go home.
I love Vermont, but at heart, whenever I think of home it’s a warm balmy breeze with a hint of salt, eucalyptus, acacia, and bay laurel. It’s the cathedral vault of towering redwoods, a thick carpet of soft red needles under my feet.
Vermont is truly lush and green about 4-5 months of the year, and that’s a wonderful thing, but the rest of the year it is an exercise in survival.
I don’t mind the golden brown hills of Northern California at all – in fact I think they are beautiful. It’s the cruelness of the human factor that mars the yellow beauty of the California landscape with its billboards, malls, and boring Bauhaus inspired architecture, or worse the factory farms that leach all our water and ruin the fertile soils of the central valley.
When I tell people where I’m going there are is a diversity of reactions from sneering (everyone thinks of Hollywood) to astonishment that I would want to go someplace where “EVERYONE” else is leaving.
Everyone is actually a relative term. For those of us that are native all those folks that arrived from all over to take our jobs, raise our taxes, push up our property values, spread malls and ugly condos all over our once lush hills, and generally make it impossible for this Californian to go home for twenty years are welcome to their exodus. I’m going home to the land where I was born, the land where my father was born, and his father before him. I’ll be happy if I can be a fisherman, a farmer, even to work a simple but meaningful job, or better yet work from home on my computer while take some time to grow some fruit and vegetables. I don’t need a condo, an SUV, a boat, or a fat mortgage.
Oh, but I will be doing a few wine tours this summer. I’ll tell you all about it.