I decamped from the Hudson Valley this month for a bit of time in my home state of California. Turns out, I landed in the middle of a historic March heat wave. The temperatures in Northern California have been the hottest on record. It feels like summer in March. Trees are rapidly unfurling their leaves, the wisteria is in bloom and the smell of jasmine permeates the streets.
This, to me, is of course a welcome turn of events. There is, perhaps, nothing more perfect than California when the sky is an eternal sea of blue and the warm breeze is soft and dry on your skin. It’s physically sensual for me, evoking memories of languorous childhood summers. I sink into the heat and the familiar smell of the land. I am transported.
I love California. I will never not love it, as I will never not be a Californian. I love the Pacific Ocean, the Sierra Nevada mountains, the vast agricultural valleys that are at the center of the state’s economic contribution to the larger world. I am proud to be from a state with a history of progressiveness, both social and environmental, that is a model for the rest of the country. And I am so happy to have been born here, in a place of such natural beauty, where the sea meets the land.
The question is: do you ever really leave a place?
I have spent a good portion of this month thinking about my past and future here. What it means to be an intergenerational Californian. And how it feels to now live in another place, and on a property with its own, even longer history stretching back to the 17th century.
I don't think you ever leave a place. Places become a part of you, pieces of collective experience that inform who you are and how you look at and move through the world. Some places can have a powerful hold. They never let you go.
The truth is, I hold two places in my heart. And while I may not be able to be in two places at once, I can hold both simultaneously, as part of the grand experience that is life. As I write this, I can't wait to get home to the Hudson Valley. To the farm and its' many responsibilities. To a spring that will unfurl itself in May, and to a season of growing beautiful produce and flowers, gathering with friends, and all that promises.
