I will miss everything golden (Goodbye, California)
I am preparing to move from Chico, California to Oregon...boxes are being packed and I am letting go of many things. I have lived in Oregon before, and in fact it is where I birthed my baby so many years ago. There is comfort in returning somewhere you've been before.
In a sense, I am returning to some kind of home. And yet, I am leaving another home. Home has always been what defines me, and moving to another state, over mountains, is not a small endeavor.
Of course, I cannot leave by beloved NorCal without writing about it! Here is an ode to what I will miss about my time here in California—the people, the place, the things I did here, and the person I became here:
What I will miss
I will miss the Avenues alleyways, especially when they are laden with fruit: cherry trees and peach trees, hidden fig trees, one hundred blooming pomegranate trees.
I will miss the gold country and my fiery friends there, I will miss the winding drive from county to county, I will miss the fragrant trees and rushing river.
I will miss the rice paddies on Mathews lane in every season. I will miss the flocks of birds that stay there after the rice has been harvested.
I will miss the cows in February on the side of highway 99, when everything is green.
I will miss the water rolling down the rocks at Upper Park at the end of winter, promising purification in all things.
I will miss the hot days and hot nights, the breathless heat, the slowest summers where no one moves and when clothes are a hassle.
I will miss the days by the pools with my friends.
I will miss the sweet season of sugar snap peas.
I will miss the sunflower sprouts at the market, and the baskets of berries.
I will miss the perfect summers in Paradise, the crystal veins in Oroville, the smooth bark of manzanita and madrone.
I will miss the creeks and rivers, the canyons and rocks, the wild oat grass in the wind, first green and then forever golden.
I will miss everything golden.
I will miss the sunsets that spread like electric watercolors.
I will miss the smell of driving past acres of peach trees on a hot night in August.
I will miss the thousands of memories I have buried here, in the earth and trees and in my heart.
I will miss cheladas in a can at the creek, I will miss the farm stands on the way to everywhere.
I will miss the mimosa tree in my yard, the irises on the corner, the friends on my porch.
I will miss Rock Creek.
I will miss the granite boulders.
I will miss who I was when I arrived here, and the tiny 5 year-old I arrived here with.
With all of this I hold up my palms, full of miracles and memories,
and pour it all
into the dirt at my feet.
I'll see you in the next chapter. Thank you, California.