August 24, 2010
“Where You At?”
I can be staring at the Potomac River within minutes. And if I time it right, the drive from the D.C. area to the ocean takes less than four hours. I’m there now. Rehoboth, Dewey, Bethany in Delaware, or Ocean City in Maryland, it makes no difference to me. All that matters is the big water.
Do you have a place where you can feel difference within seconds? Like taking a deep breath for the first time in weeks. Or feeling the fist in your stomach unclench.
comments
Leave a Reply
west texas works. and as I get older sitting at the ocean, regardless of where. I also love the red river and bits and chunks of nature hidden around Dallas I have found over the years can work as well.
There’s a dark, dense forest a few hundred yards from my house. I go there, especially in the steam of an awful humid southern Ontario summer, and run, and it centres me.
I’ve often thought of posting pictures here at the flock from there – the lush greens are amazing, and there’s this strand of ferns that defines verdant. But dragging a camera along on a run is pain in the ass, frankly. Maybe one day I’ll just walk…
Short list:
Princeton, NJ
The Adirondacks in Upstate NY
Santa Paula, CA
The long list might devalue the sentiment, however true it may be for me.
Crete does this, I can’t drive there easily, but, it is only a 4 hour flight. Things make a lot of sense when I’m there and it helps change my perspective of where I live – win-win!
Desert places do it for me. Alas, there are no deserts in the Driftless Region nor even anywhere near.
A dozen or so years ago I thought that I would be living in Borrego Springs, California, which lies within the confines of the enormous Anza-Borrego State Park. I think of it as my spiritual home. It appears from where I stand now that I will never live there, but when the time comes, it is where I want to die.
Ocean City, MD does it for me every time.
I get out on the beach the first time, preferably early morning or late evening, and it feels like I am reborn in the moment with no worry.
The sound of breeze and water wooshing slowly, looking out into forever…I often wish I could have been there 500 years ago before anything else was.
Rockport, MA. Little coastal town in Massachusetts. The ocean is within view of my aunt’s house, but what I really like is sitting in the back room talking with my aunt as she smokes and looks out at the willow tree in the backyard.
Also, when dusk hits, in any location, I get a feeling of excitement. It feels like something is beginning.
The ocean. Lake tahoe. Any number of isolated roads, me on my bike.
Andrew, Santa Paula? I went to school with a girl from there. I think that means i know 50% of the town.
My garden–although this is not in the spirit of the question. As far as driving away to a place, Marfa does it for me. When I was a kid I wanted deep woods; now I like to see a long way. I like to see rain in the distance, approaching. Oceans don’t have a very strong pull on me, but I have seen the Pacific from rocky shores and would love to see it again. The waves seemed so alive, deep blue going to green in great troughs and feathered tops. One of the best cities I know of for taking a short walk and suddenly being in an absolutely different world is Vancouver. A few blocks from downtown to the island (is it Stanton Island?) and you are in a deep forest muffled in moss and dripping moisture. It’s amazing. I would go there most days if I lived there.
Carole, I am so grateful to you for posting this. For years now, I’ve expressed my “neighborhood pride” and love for San Francisco as being locations that nurture a side of myself that my vanity would otherwise forget.
I’ve only been home for two weeks, but I spent one of those weeks isolated in Petaluma, California, for my grad school retreat. Of the few days I’ve actually been back, I’ve taken hikes in the Aldea woods behind UCSF, up and down around Twin Peaks and Laguna Honda, runs through Golden Gate Park, and rabbit trips to the Panhandle, but the location I consider to be most restoring is the simplest and easiest to get to. It’s a hill called Tank Hill because it’s the former site of a water tower. It’s about six blocks from my apartment and provides a view of the city that’s nearly as perfect as it can be on the top of Twin Peaks, beneath Sutro Tower. Two days ago it occurred to me just how much these locations are more than neighborhood pride. That by living surrounded by these opportunities to connect with nature — a fundamental tranquility in nature — I am myself. I find myself. I know myself.
So, what I’m saying is, this question on the heels of exploring my country and Canada, it further clarifies this idea I’m toying with that could change my relationship to my home. I feel that much more committed to this place than I ever did before.
A few years ago I had a summer share on Fire Island. To get there from NYC, you have to take a crowded, crazy rush hour train out to Sayville. Then you had to race lots of other people to a van taxi, of which there were never enough. The cab took you to the ferry dock, where you boarded a boat for the island, upon which there were no cars besides the occasional emergency vehicle. I think the arduousness of the journey added to the sweet release I always used to feel when that ferry first floated free from the dock. In the split second, before the reverse engines actually engaged but we were no longer tied to the dock, I felt all my tension and stress slid out my elbows as I contemplated the next 72 hours on the island. The double stoli and cran I picked up at the bar at the dock before boarding didn’t hurt either.
We used to say it must be a miserable thing to live in Sayville. We left so much of our angst and tension and stress on that dock, it just had to bleed into the town in some unfortunate way.
I love this question. For many years now, I have noticed that the moment I turn off of I-35 onto 8th Street in Austin, Texas–headed toward South Congress Avenue–I feel a wave of calm come over me. It’s as if I can feel my blood pressure going down.
I have a similar feeling of calm while driving on Route 67 in West Texas.
And Daryl, yes–Marfa, TX and Vancouver, BC. I believe you are thinking of Stanley Park in Vancouver. Northern New Mexico and Marathon, TX also bring me a sense of peace.
Kelsey: I had an out-of-body experience visiting San Francisco a couple of years ago. Not the city itself but north. I did not know such existed in the United States — the Muir Woods, the Muir Beach Overlook, hiking the Point Reyes National Seashore. I would ask: “Is this real? Am I alive?” The Iowan: “I am never taking you to California again, you are stranger here than usual and that is saying something.” The visit was too short. I had no idea. I really have to get back now that I know.
gorc, I’m in O.C. now. I love every inch of Merland. My husband collects travel points and we stay in the Hilton on the beach. It’s quiet here and he likes that. I don’t care as long as I can see the big water, as Kate says, “sweet release.”
“You are stranger here than usual and that is saying something.”
The Iowan is a bird.
Walt, I would like to see photos of those lush greens.
Daryl, the garden is absolutely a proper response. We moved this summer so I am forced to rebuild mine. I am feeling very discombobulated.
Phil, I know, re Crete. I hope to get back someday. I bet it doesn’t change much.
Shelia: That is putting it mildly. This morning at breakfast, the Iowan said, “I am resolved to relax for the rest of this beach vacation, which blissfully ends tomorrow.”
Deadpan midwestern humor.
Carole–did you get a space with good light for your new garden? Every time we consider a house we might someday want to move to, I always look for patches of full sun! There can also be the problem of too much sun: I like to sit under a tree when I look at the garden. The iced tea tastes better there. My dream is a garden of about 50 by 30 feet. Enough for some long rows of some things and some patches of other things–and walking paths through it to make harvesting easier.
Not only is he a bird, but a mess and a piece of work. Last night he told another one on himself. The Iowan had an old car he wouldn’t get rid of, to pass safety inspection he had “a person” — like the salon you need, Shelia. He said his Chicago niece and nephew remind him of the time they visited. And he was driving them around on a burning hot day and said, “okay, we’ll need to turn off the air conditioning to make it up this hill.”
And he thinks I’m quirky…
Oh yes, Daryl, that was not only a consideration for me, but for my husband. Who does not garden. But he knew I wouldn’t be happy without that. Plenty of big old trees and shade, for the hosta/rock/water feature garden. But also more than adequate patches for “real” gardening in the sun. There is a back fence, which my husband kept saying we should take down. And I kept saying, no no no, that is my trellis row! And finally he understood.
And, guess what? A greenhouse window in the kitchen. To get me through the mean winters here. Perfect.
CAC, If you are Downy Oshun, you’re not that far from here. An hour away, tops.
Ann-BR, we just got back to NoVA! Can’t believe you were just up the road. Thankfully we are not here chasing potus, scotus, rox and rand. I oniting but will shoot you msg in am. So gld u gave me a shout! Luv to Grge. CC