 John and Friend
John is an Emeritus Professor in Parks, Recreation, and Tourism Studies from California State University, Northridge, and a retired Lecturer from Cal Poly. For thirty-four years he has taught classes in Commercial Recreation, Tourism Planning, Management and Leadership, and Wilderness Survival. He earned his Ph.D. from Claremont Graduate University in Organizational Development and Curriculum Design in Higher Education.
John also served as Lead Evaluator for the SLO Sheriff's Search & Rescue division. He is a current member of the Atascadero Writer's Club and can be contacted by calling 805-440-9529 or by email.
Visit John's Blog at John B's Take
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Where One Lives Matters
by John Bullaro, Ph.D
In Wallace Stegner's book,"Where the Bluebird Sings to the Lemon Springs," he talks of "place." Stegner argues, "If you don't know where you belong, or feel connected, you may not know who you truly are." Stegner suggests your place can influence who you are in a very subtle way. More on this point later.
If you are a "placed" person—one who is happy and influenced by a particular place—you are in the tradition of a Thoreau. Or, says Stegner, you might prefer to move about frequently and that may put you in Daniel Boone category—a roamer with few deep friendships and minimal connection to the land. As the metaphor says, "A rolling stone gathers no moss."
There is almost universal agreement among Central Coast Residents that "we live in "paradise." Stegner might say we are "placed persons." We may disagree politically, and usually do, and have different levels of financial security, and we definitely do as well, but there is one unifying theme among most Central Coast residents, "It's a great place to live."
What is a "displaced" person, then? Often these people feel that anywhere they happen to live is home—one place is as good as any other. They move often, usually work related relocations, and they adjust to any new place quickly. Military families can fit into this group, although not always by choice. Often children of military families like moving about when they become adults.
I grew up in Chicago. I lived in one neighborhood for eighteen years. My world view was bounded by four streets. As a teenager, I moved to Los Angeles after high school with my parents. However, while growing up in Chicago I never felt the city or neighborhood was home. It didn't feel comfortable, like I belonged there. Open spaces and western themes always haunted me, in a good way. I played sports, belonged to clubs, and had a long standing group of friends. Yet, shortly after I arrived Los Angeles (not the LA of today but the now defunct city of the 1950's), a strange sentiment settled over me; I felt connected to the city—a feeling I missed growing up in Chicago, and both places are cities. Later I came to understand that it wasn't Los Angeles per se that made me feel I belonged, but the fact I lived in the west with its mountains, the Mojave Desert, and the Pacific Ocean nearby. From that those early days to today the west has always been "my place."
As I entered mid-life, still living in Los Angeles, a divorce sent me to seek refuge in mountains behind Valencia, California, in a hidden town called Green Valley. I bought a sixty year old mountain home on ten acres surrounded by the Angeles National Forest. The town of Green Valley was founded following the Civil War. From pictures of that era, it hadn't changed all that much. The town's isolation shielded it from the hordes of humanity that eventually conquered Los Angeles.
Green Valley became my place, where I felt safe, grounded, and alive. The people were unpretentious. I chopped wood to heat my home in the winter and had endless hiking trails to explore. My Chicago fantasies came alive in Green Valley. At the same time I earned tenure at California State University, Northridge, and taught, among other courses, Outdoor Recreation. The west had truly become my compass for living.
I came to Cal Poly 1993. My wife and I eventually settled in Atascadero because it reminded us of Green Valley, with amenities. It was in the mountains, hot in summer and freezing in winter. How perfect is that?
For me my "place" is anywhere that suggests simple living with little pretense. Atascadero hosts nature's citizens: coyotes, deer, raccoons, mountain lions, quail, crows, and pick-up trucks. To be sure, these are my requirements. Other people have different requirements for place, such as the blue Pacific, sandy beaches, coastal mountain ranges, and quaint towns (Cayucos, Cambria, Morro Bay, Pismo, etc.).
Today we see a new breed of "displaced" persons: retirees and the unemployed, among others. Folks who chase the sun, jobs and adventure. They travel in motor homes and RV's, pickup trucks, and SUVs. American in the 21st Century is a country on wheels.
What makes a particular place shape our personalities? Osomis. We'll use this process in plants as a metaphor for place impact. As the movement of matter (in plants, think water or sap) where a fluid moves from a dense place (the soil), through a semi-permeable membrane, (the plant cell) to a place that is less dense (leaves and flowers), the cultural values and norms of a place we settle in passes through our senses and impacts our lives in the same subtle ways.
Esteemed nature writer, Wendell Berry, when writing about place, does not mean a map location, or GPS coordinates, or even a street address. He is talking about "the kind of place that seduces the senses, stimulates our memory, and reflects a history of a family or tribe. It is a place where you work in all kinds of weather, survive its catastrophes, have a family and where you raise your family and share with loved ones."
For me these descriptors say the Central Coast, of California. This land is my place.
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