Dreaming California

The first time I ventured on my own into Oakland, California, I was given a ticket and told that I should leave.

Granted, the ticket was for blowing through a stop sign in a nervous frenzy as I unwittingly rolled through a rougher part of town while looking for reasonably-priced housing.  I imagine the police officer intended well; he made a judgement call and told me that "this place is too dangerous for you" when he saw the Wisconsin plates, the Subaru Legacy station wagon full of soft-hearted bumper stickers, and the look of panic in my eyes as I realized that a Craigslist search for cheaper apartments had not fully disclosed the trade-offs inherent in finding sub-$800/ month rentals in one of the most crime-ridden (yet expensive) cities in California.  Heck, at that point I was almost relieved to get pulled over so that I could ask the man-in-blue for directions, as my primary navigational challenges for the previous year and a half involved nature trails and open water, and West Oakland was a whole different beast.

My relief and gratitude for having survived an adventure into a wilder side of civilization for a mere $84 fee slowly subsided and morphed into good old mid-western resentment.  Who was he to decide that I couldn't cut it?  Didn't he know what it means to come from the Badger State?  We're a people that are at least as stubborn as we are good-natured.  We're explorers and ambassadors...  innovators and industrialists... underdogs and over-achievers.  We are a people that survive at least 4 (but as many as 10) months of annual weather that legitimately tries to kill us.  And although we are on the whole an unassuming and warm people, we can be fierce when cornered (or when someone tries to take our cheese and beer).  I found an apartment and moved in with the few possessions that littered my unladen station wagon several weeks later.


So began my elementary education into urban living.  I got a taste for some of the negatives that inevitably come when you jam a lot of people into one area, and too many of them have too few resources: 2 cars stolen, 1 additional car break-in, 1 homicide in the park next to my home, and too many helicopter wake-ups for drug busts and police raids.  My first few years of this almost drove me away too soon.  I felt alien, out of place, and far too mid-western to belong in a place so rich in high-volume attitude.  But I didn't leave, and my hors d'oeuvres sampling of urban blight was overwhelmed by a big heaping meal of positive urban synergy.  Jamming a lot of people into one area can give birth to the easy flow of ideas, wild innovative growth, and unrelenting exposure to new ways of being.  The people that gravitate to Oakland are incredibly creative, open, and in touch with the natural cycles of the Earth, and they helped me learn more about the natural world than I could have imagined learning in an urban area.  No matter how much concrete we put between ourselves and the dirt that lies under each city, the geophagic draw is there, and humans (translating to "of the dirt or earth") in the Bay Area find a way to honor that connection. 

Last week, nearly 7 years after starting this learning journey,  I rolled out of "The Town," heading back to Wisconsin with a 26-foot moving truck jam-packed with possessions, a beautiful blue-eyed life partner sitting next to me, pockets full of memories, and a heart heavy with the mixed emotions of leaving.  The friends that saw us off and filled our days and months and years in California are the real deal.  They're the bear-hugging, plant-tending, beer-brewing, outdoor-loving, game-playing, campfire-singing, mountain-hiking, wine-tasting, poker-playing, slow-food-making, adventure-having best, and why would anyone leave that?  It sit heavy on my chest and stomach and shoulders, and it planted the seed of a feeling that grew as I went.  

I felt it driving over the granite peaks of the Sierras, through the salt flats of Utah, up and around the majestic Rockies, and over the rolling big-sky plains.  I felt it as the plains changed to big burr oaks savannahs and the air filled with the smell of soil and moisture, and the sun filtered through mountainous clouds from the west where my friends remained.  I feel it today, sitting outside my parents home in lake country, as a deer wanders through the yard before noticing the gig is up and bounding off with a huff.

The feeling is thankful (Obrigado, amgios).  The feeling is bittersweet.  The feeling is a nostalgic dream of California, that I keep replaying in bits and pieces... as with my first solo trip to Oakland.  The feeling is the realization that although my roots started to form in this midwestern soil, I grew UP with you in the West.


Thank you, my California compadres.  I hope we can dream together again down the road or across the ocean, or wherever we find ourselves dreaming next.