Golden

 

Why do I always feel like I have to defend California? I’m pretty sure it’s doing just fine without my two cents of support, I haven’t lived there in over 30 years, and nobody cares what I think about it, anyway. But for some reason I find it impossible to resist confronting the easy platitudinous putdowns of this complex and remarkable state. And every time I return–usually to visit my son who came back here for college and never left–my sense of California loyalty is reinvigorated.

We moved from North San Diego County to Bend, Oregon, in 1990 to provide our growing sons with opportunities we could not afford or find in Southern California: clean air, open spaces, woods to explore. Bend was small and quiet and beautiful, smoke curling from chimneys of homes near Drake Park as the January snow fell when we first visited in 1985. Along Riverside Drive, children bundled in bright parkas and toting Care Bears lunch pails thrust out their tongues to catch stray flakes. Every vulnerable, nostalgic cell in my body was activated. I wanted this idyll for my sons.

The property we chose to buy, on Glen Vista Rd off OB Riley, had over 2 acres of level fields–perfect for baseball or campouts, a private well with delicious, ice-cold water, a cozy fireplace. Our boys quickly discovered a nice family with boys near their ages just down the street. We settled in for our 1950s future.

Of course, not so much. The week we moved into our new home the Awbrey Hall fire choked out the sun, and ash rained down apocalyptically for days; the pump meant to draw water from our well stopped functioning; our septic tank backed up; the nice Christian neighbor boy informed Colin that he was doomed to hell for his Catholic background and for believing that dinosaurs existed; my 2nd grader learned the word “fuck” from a classmate, and my 4th grader came home with pencil lead embedded in his arm after being attacked by a fellow bus-rider; our nearest neighbor complained loudly and scolded the boys whenever they stepped onto her weedy field to retrieve a ball or made too much noise on a Saturday afternoon. Geez.

Meanwhile, in classrooms where I substituted, in staff rooms at the local high schools where I began working my way toward full employment, in grocery stores and at social gatherings, I kept getting the same kind of reaction whenever I mentioned coming from California. Everyone agreed: California is awful; it’s too crowded, it’s polluted, it’s crime-ridden; people there are mean/selfish/stupid/lazy/rich/entitled/crazy. I was lucky to have escaped. (Or, in some cases, I was a pariah and should not have come to wonderful Oregon to Californicate its purity.) The shorthand for everything and everyone bad seemed to be “California.” Bad drivers? Probably from California. Rising crime rates? Californians. Homosexuality? Definitely California. I found it infuriating, ignorant, insulting.

Because, actually, California is ineffable. It is far too vast and multifarious to reduce to these stupid stereotypes. Its people are diverse (duh) and complex. In the long run and all things considered, California is amazing. Golden rolling hills, dotted with scrub oak and occasional windmills led me to my Pinnacles National Park campsite, where condors soared on high air currents over dramatic cliffs and wild turkeys scooted around the sage-covered grounds. In King City, south of Salinas on Hwy 101, I strolled a quaint, tidy downtown with mostly Hispanic-Latino residents who greeted me and my dogs warmly. Miles of vineyards rolled over hills and across valleys, separating long stretches of orchards and farms and ranches, producing for the nation (including Oregon’s California haters) our nuts and fruits and vegetables, our cotton and meat, our wine. The coastline, with rugged cliffs and rocky outcroppings, wide sandy beaches, and forests bent by onshore winds was stunning. We stopped in Goleta (just north of Santa Barbara) to walk through a eucalyptus grove teeming with butterflies and down to a long stretch of nearly vacant beach–70º, light breeze, crystal-clear sky.

Yes, but what about Los Angeles? Its mess of freeways, its terrible traffic, its sprawl and smog? Well, even here, I defy those simplistic views. Yes, Los Angeles is big–469 square miles–with a population of almost 4,000,000. To accommodate this massive number of people (plus the 50,000,000 tourists who come here yearly), there are roads and freeways, parking lots and other car-related businesses everywhere. It can be overwhelming to confront the pace and intensity of LA freeways. But it can also be inspiring. All of these cars managing to get from here to there every day, cooperating, complying, even collaborating for the greater good? It’s democracy in action! Angelenos’ willingness to address the air pollution caused by this car culture has resulted in higher gasoline prices, yes, but lower pollution levels in the city. In fact, largely because of Los Angeles’s response to smog, California leads the nation in working to limit air pollution, steadily reducing toxic levels since the 1970s, and now pushing for stricter standards that will force auto makers to improve air quality, not just for LA and California, but for all. That’s democracy in action! And where are all those people who are speeding along the freeways or stuck in gridlock going? To work! I’m guessing that the haters who deride Los Angeles enjoy the fruits of the laborers here–music and movies, television, video games, fashion, sports, technology, etc. One in six Los Angelenos is employed in the creative industry; in fact, “there are more artists, writers, filmmakers, actors, dancers and musicians living and working in Los Angeles today than in any other city at any other time in history.” Michael Franklin’s “What did you make today” might well be the unofficial question of this remarkable city. Moreover, in any given section of Los Angeles you’ll find unique, small town appeal and fierce neighborhood loyalties. From my son’s apartment in Los Feliz, I can walk up to the Griffith park trails or down to coffee shops and stores, a cat shelter, an Indian market, a 9-hole public golf course. I can stroll the pedestrian path along the Los Angeles River or get a bespoke fruit cup, made on the spot by a friendly sidewalk vendor. People here come in a variety of ages, ethnicities, political persuasions, religions, backgrounds. And they are neighbors who know each other–each one benefitting from the other’s influence.

Of course Los Angeles and California have problems. So does Oregon. So does wherever you live. But before we label an entire state (or region or city) with its most problematic feature, maybe it would be wise to learn more about it, to take into consideration and appreciate all that it is.