When I first arrived there, it was the ocean that called to me. Montana de Oro, in certain coves, has undulating deep green waves, brimming with life’s energy – conveyed when back-lit by the sun.
In the early 90’s, this was a place for a new beginning.
Having come from the Central Valley and stints in the Bay Area, it was a place away from growing crime and competitive bustle – effects of “progress” once fruit-bearing orchards were bulldozed to make room for block-to-block repeat malls and technology’s “advancement.”
For a few brief years, there was a chance for reevaluation of one’s life, and space for one to invest in their future creatively while sustaining financially. I promoted my own businesses, advocated for community, raised my children, and we delighted in established and migratory nature.
But something happened when entering the mid-90’s that imposed shadows over light and was felt worldwide. It was as if the earth opened up and claimed the rivers – and many human souls in the process – leaving the survivors victim to a steadily encroaching desert where laughter became rare and real struggle began taking hold.
I held ground until 2018, and then fled what I’d considered my small Utopia, barely escaping the hell-bent drying pond now inhabited by too many fat catfish imported from the big cities who, in their greed for more, raised the housing prices so high my family could no longer compete to survive there.
Long before this, good families had observed housing prices rising and took advantage of this by “selling out,” embarking on their own quests to find where other families had gone eastward in their searches for better futures.
I was one of the caring stragglers, witnessing the beauty of an untamed land bled dry with aspects only preserved for “presentable” parody – reflections of a now empty shell – reminding me of times in a place that once held my heart, called Home.
Candid Corvid Productions 