Farms not freeways

It's probably impossible for the mind to wrap itself around the whole road not taken concept, but when I was listening to this KALW special last night about how West Marin has maintained itself as an agricultural region despite its proximity to San Francisco and the forces of sprawl, I realized how rare it is to have the 20/20 vision be in the fore not the hind. It's strange to think of a farm as the absence of a strip mall, but I saw most of the Long Island potato farms of my childhood become strip malls, subdivisions or corporate headquarters and it's really depressing there. At the same time, people have to live somewhere and one of things that bothers me about Marin is that as a corollary to these incredible preservation measures (really, there was a plan to send a freeway out to Point Reyes?), they rejected BART. Maybe I'm conflating two separate issues; I haven't checked the dates on this. I'm glad that West Marin exists as it does and not trapped beneath asphalt, but the lack of diversity in the county as a whole is ridiculous (and that was the fear with BART, right?).

Anyway, a long tangent. If we weren't so soft, I'd throw it all away to go live on the pacific plate and make artisan cheeses, but we are, and so we settled for bringing all of our friends and family out there to watch us seal the deal, and if you all got nothing from the weekend, at least you got to see some incredible geography. If only the train still ran.

So I recommend the show. It's on again on Sunday--can't find the link right now.

Market to me.

Other than the near daily supply of J. Crew catalogs that land in our mailbox, I don't think of our little family as very market-to-able. It's not that I think we're so unique that we defy categorization. Around these parts, we are so unoriginal that we might as well not have brains--we could stand in for one of the many thousands of ergo-wearing, plastics-avoiding, biofueling berkeley bowl shoppers who roam the bay. But, the thing is, we're not as freecycly as we mean to be; we purchase, we have impulses, and we'd probably conform to our demographic fate even more readily if some capitalist offered us the opportunity. Just wrap the dream in a reused paper bag. I visited the Thomas Kinkade backed? inspired? subdivision northeast of here a few years ago. It was eerie, very eerie, but if that was your vibe, you would have cried with joy.

I used to imagine myself inhabiting some old, foundation-lacking, fixer-upper in an underthegentrification radar neighborhood, but who's going to peel all of that lead paint away? Why can't some developer realize that there are priced-out people like us just waiting to persuaded by some brownfield eco-division with solar panels and gardening space?

Could we inhabit some latter day conservation utopia like this: tryon farm? You see, apparently it's a trend: here's planetizen on the new definition of a farmhouse and, really, I'm even linking to the WSJ. They'll be registering zip codes soon enough. Just wait.

Camp Meeker

I had a vague memory of passing through Camp Meeker several years ago, and after West Marin, the whole Bohemian Highway setting is one of my favorite NorCal destinations. I've never been very drawn to the Russian River, but that whole zone between Olema, Point Reyes Station, Marshall, Tomales, Bodega and inland to that wonderful bakery at the crossroads and up to Occidental, well that is a really nice sub-region. Back when I expected to write a dissertation, I imagined renting a cabin up there somewhat near the sea and being all sequestered and thoughtful. Now I'm drawn there again, this time for different reasons, but it still feels ideal...which brings me back to Camp Meeker.

Not much history to be found. It's a former logging settlement. Lots of old cabins. I wonder if the little cabin community might mimic the catskills back in the day? or at the very least, can it be a small town proxy? and how close is it to that great bakery?

Post-weekend

A wonderful weekend in the mountains, but I realize that if we should ever procure a spot in the country, the drive is as important as the destination. My ideal weekend travel experience is, of course, a lot like the NY-Williamstown drive, a little bit of free(high)way to break out of town, a bit of meandering on country roads, an opportunity to happen upon thrift stores and/or a swimming hole, outlet store, pie shop, fruit stand all the while keeping in the 100-200 mile range (3-ish hours).

Other thoughts: trying to reconcile old (those historic wood floors are so nice) vs. new (clean and shiny) habitats and how that fits with the green. Something about returning to our poorly insulated, ant-haven Edwardian complete with stopped up sinks makes me want to live somewhere new and clean. I respect ants. Yes, yes, ecosystems and all, but maybe some new prefab could be plunked down in a beautiful spot and appropriately protected from the elements. How synthetic is the whole prefab thing anyway?

Sort of related: greenpads.com. This new development in W. Berkeley looks interesting. This is the kind of newness I can get behind, but hard to get a sense of it all from the limited pictures.

the geographic standard.

The geography standards put forward from the National Council of Geographic Education remind me where my obsession with things place-based originated:

People's lives are grounded in particular places. We come from a place, we live in a place, and we preserve and exhibit fierce pride over places. Our sense of self is intimately entwined with that of place. Who we are is often inseparable from where we are. Places are human creations and the geographically informed person must understand the genesis, evolution, and meaning of places.

Where we're from is so fundamental that sometimes it's hard for me to focus in on the "small" picture and just live. In some ways, the stage is already set for the little girl. We've made a Californian, a San Franciscan, no less, and that basic fact will always be a part of her, but when she's older and she writes stories and draws pictures, I want her internal dialogue to be rich and productive. I want her surroundings to inspire creativity, not just opposition. She doesn't need a rose-colored filter on her microscope, but I do hope she has an understanding that places are unique (even in this age of the Internets).

sewing like it's 1976.

It's been a while because I've been busy making the above (and below) for T. The pattern is Simplicity 7630, a classic from 1976, the year I was born. This was a serious stretch for my marginal sewing abilities. Brought back a lot of memories from "Home and Careers" when my failure to stay on course was met with the reply: "Imagine you were driving a car and you ran a stop sign. As a result of running the stop sign, you hit a small child. What would you do?" I had no idea my attempt to sew a stuffed turtle was such a life or death situation, but I must have remembered some of Mrs. G's advice, because I am really really pleased with how the jumpsuit turned out.

It's hard to see from the photos but the fabric is a fine-whaled corduroy. I haven't tried it on her yet, but I'm hoping it will fit by the time fall rolls around.

I really like the pockets--also hard to see, but the whales are reversed on the pockets--and the purple zipper.

I'm also quite please with my new snap gizmo. Really satisfying.