Sometimes I wonder what the world will look like through the eyes of future generations. Will they know the seasons as they exist today? Will they see multi-colored leaves in fall and enjoy the succession of wildflowers in upper Bidwell Park? Will the summers be so hot that even a jump in Sycamore Pool will do nothing to cool the ache of heat in their bones? Or will everyone walk around with faded skin, because they live in a temperature-controlled cocoon from June to October?
If I was a younger me, I might consider a move to Canada, where ice in far Northern landscapes will make way for wide-open opportunities, like farming. Someday, Americans will try to cross the border, only to be beaten back by Canadian Mounties riding electric-powered ATVs. The Disney Corporation will build a new Disneyworld in Juneau.
Those of us who have lived on this beautiful planet for more than a few decades may romanticize the weather of our youth. I grew up in the San Francisco Bay Area. It’s easy to remember when summers were bearable and fog drifted most mornings in winter, turning my wavy hair into an embarrassing frizzle. These days it’s rare that I drive through tule fog driving near the river. The past decade has had so many drought years I was beginning to think crisp winter days with no rain is the new normal.
However, if the children of today don’t know any better, they may not notice when seasons don’t quite feel the same.
I’ll never be able to understand what it was like for my great-grandmother, who was nearly 8 years old when the San Francisco earthquake changed lives. She fled the city on a ferry and the displaced people sat in an open field and watched the city burn across the water. They were too shocked in that moment to worry about the future. Her future turned out quite fine.
Sometimes when I visit San Francisco I squint my eyes and try to imagine what the Bay looked like before houses and bridges and planes buzzing overhead. What a beautiful place to be a Native American.
This week we welcomed 19 international teachers from 16 countries to Chico, as part of our International Training Programs. As we traveled north that first day, Northern California was at its most beautiful. “The sky is so blue,” they said. “The grass is so green.” Thank you rain, which washed away the dust and perked up the native plants. Water glistened in shallow pools along Highway 99. I was proud of where I choose to call home. We spent some time at the Gray Lodge Wildlife Area near Gridley. At one point, as happens often, about 1,000 snow geese decided to fly around in a circle. “Look, they are doing that just for us,” one kind teacher said.
Spring is amazing in Northern California. I can’t wait for them to see the tulip magnolia tree in bloom outside of Tehama Hall and the pink almond blossoms.
Divya, of India, was pleasantly vocal with her appreciation. When people gasp and exclaim when they see beauty in the world, it’s a reminder to all within earshot to look that way. “What are those trees?” she asked excitedly. Now, when I see Italian Cypresses I smile, remembering the sound of delight in her voice.
And then it rained. It will rain some more. We’ve been spoiled the past few years when the Fulbright teachers are in town. In 2020, ‘21 and ‘22 there was no fog when we walked across the Golden Gate Bridge. I’m OK with less than beautiful. This group will experience California rain, and we need it.
Welcome rain! Please remain. Someday I may be telling a future generation about when the grass was green and fog rolled off the river into towns like Yuba City and Gridley. Rain brightens the yellow wild mustard and makes for crazy orange splashes of California poppies. I hope a few more generations of our children will be able to say that they remember when …
