One thing that has been consistent in my journey across America, is the response I have received from 99% of the people I have met about my destination. "You couldn't pay me to live there." I found it interesting that they never said, "I don't like California," or "It's not for me," or "I've heard bad things about it." It was always, "You couldn't pay me..." It seemed odd because most people (especially those who said this) couldn't be paid enough to afford to live here. Maybe that's what they meant.
Most of California is more beautiful than most other states combined. There are dramatic rocky mountains, beautiful oceans, fertile farms, deep woods, crystal rivers flowing past pastures of happy cows. Having now driven the whole length of California, I can say this with first hand experience. That is not to say that all California is beautiful, but I keep thinking of the negative impression all these people have. One person, when pressed, finally muttered something about loose morals.
Loose morals?
I don't get it. Having been born and raised in California, I wanted to ask, "Did I cut you when I walked up to talk to you? Did I try to mug you? Did I try to drown your child and kick your dog? Did I slap your grandma and pee on your bible?"
In fact, I find Californians to be warm, welcoming, friendly, considerate. I can say this, because I have driven the length of it with Indiana license plates.
That doesn't mean they are all good. Please allow me to digress a moment.
Leaving the Monterrey Bay area on Monday, I lamented we hadn't seen any sea mammals on our trip. In the past, I have seen otters munching on urchins by the pier, sea lions lounging in the sun under the restaurants, dolphins and whales jumping out of the ocean for the pure pleasure of it just on the horizon. What I hoped to see were the elephant seals. Sure enough, as we coasted down Highway 1, there to the right were little beaches covered in the hulking masses of sleeping bodies. Pulling off to look, we learned they are all males, beaching for the month while they molt, before returning to the water to feed and mate. Sometimes they work up and yelled at each other, made displays, but mostly they huddled together and threw sand on their backs.
With pleasure at our success, we continued down the coast to the Santa Barbara area. We decided to stay a night on the beach before finishing the last 125 miles of my long, long trip.
The beach was lovely, the waves a beautiful lullaby. That night, I had a strange dream.
In my dream, the trailer became a part of the ocean floor. I could hear the waves all around, and was sleeping comfortably on the silty bottom. My fingers scratched at the silt, revealing glowing stripes of phosphorescent diatoms, and I was content to do that all night. Someone started knocking on the door. When I looked, I knew it was someone who wanted to buy the trailer, but I didn't answer and went back to bed. Children of the potential buyer rushed in and began running around me as I scratched the silt. They threw the door open, and my cat ran out. I jumped to chase her, in time to see her run into the street and be run over by a truck.
Here is where a blog is tricky. Is it literature, or is it real life? Because in literature, this would be foreshadowing, a premonition. In real life, it would be a coincidence.
I woke up early, not interested in returning to that nasty dream, made some coffee, and went out to watch the waves. The night before, there had been a little sea lion at one end of the park. He had been practically tame because the campers had been feeding him. I was worried about him, but also sort of wanted to take his picture. Looking down the beach, I saw a sea lion sitting on the beach. When we went over to him, we could see it was a different one. And when we got close, we were horrified to see what had happened to it.
He was three feet long, with a golden brown coat, and impossibly large eyes. He looked like he was wearing a leash, but it was a fishing net that had opened his beautiful skin like a zipper. He struggled to stay standing, to stay above the line of rising water, and to keep an eye on the people who watched him. Cell phones all around were calling every number they could find, getting the same responses when they got people, but mostly getting answering machines. "There aren't enough people to be able to send someone out." Flashing in my head were all the newspapers I have been seeing... "Schwarzenegger cuts funding to state parks." That would include rangers and wildlife rescue workers. I looked at the juvenile lion, and knew who I wanted to blame.
We called until we finally found (three different people) someone who said they would send someone sometime today. We had to defend the poor creature from the man who wanted to wrestle him with wire cutters to try to free him of the net. His intentions were good, but I didn't think the animal's shocked system could take the strain.
After a while, the little lion stopped trying to stand upright. He laid down, rolling on his back to keep the wound out of the sand or to show us what we had done. He would lift his head if the water came up, but mostly, he laid still with his eyes closed. I kept expecting to see his breathing to stop, but it didn't. Every now and then, he would shudder, but his big eyes would open and look at me as I took his picture.
There was a young woman waiting with us. I finally said we had to go, and asked her to call me if she had any news. I got a text message from her an hour later. "The rescue guys just got here." I wrote back, "Do they think he'll make it?" "Ya."
I know times are tough, the economy is bad. No one's job is safe. I understand. California made some bad fiscal decisions and the belt is being tightened. But should she sacrifice everything that is great about her? Throw the baby out with the bath water? Destroy everything that she is legend for (so we are the last to see it), in order to keep taxes down, to keep driving Hummers to the super market?
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