I really like fields.
One of my favorite places in Mountain View, CA is a large field next to Cuesta Park. Some time ago, years before the bedlamite bloating of real estate prices in the area, developers were rubbing their hands and licking their chops, fantasizing about all the tract houses they would be able to build and sell. Instead, and I'm not sure of the circumstances, the city decided to let the land lay fallow. Now it's one of the most valuable community resources in the area: open land. People jog and walk along the unmaintained footpaths. Dog owner take their pooches out for leashed jaunts. It's not the kind of place you'd want to have a picnic in. That's right next door. It's a place to get away from the monotony of houses and lawns and streets and cars and strip malls. It's a place where you can wade through early morning mist. Ghostly driveway entrances dent the sidewalk along one side of the field, leading to a little Twilight Zone of dirt and grass.
Where I grew up, there was a huge field that tractors still tilled. Every year, a new crop of beans would sprout and flourish. Although easily a mile square and plopped right in the middle of multi-story condo complexes, apartments, and shopping malls, it would sneak up on you as you drove north. You'd cross an intersection and then your gaze would stretch out into blessedly blank distance and perspective. For me, it was always like drawing a deep breath of fresh air after being in a closed room. You didn't realize how stale and musty the air was in the room until you went outside. I would forget how the highways and high-rises pressed on my soul until I saw that field. I can't imagine what it must've been like for my dad. He grew up in the same area. Tract houses, condos, and shopping malls stand where there used to be nothing but bean fields and a Quonset hut or two. Six-lane boulevards were two-lane raised country roads, perfect for drag racing. He and his friends used to hunt rabbits on bluffs that are now crowded with posh mansions. Time marches on. The shrinking minority of Tracy natives can probably say the same thing about their area. As the rich farmland is graded for Home Depots and Taco Bells, jobs and business opportunities serving the bedroom community abound. The coffers of local government bulge with tax revenue and developers' fees. It sure feels like progress. I approach the situation with my family's black humor: the dark, fertile land is perfect for growing houses.
Right now, I'm fortunate to have a couple of vast fields near my house. Here in the Valley, they are as anomalous as a KKK Imperial Wizard at a black Baptist service. The largest field is three or four times as large as the field near my hometown. An old farmhouse slumps on one end, held up by a ring of trees. One tiny corner hosts the best damned pumpkin patch in Santa Clara county. How could any city or landowner resist the temptation? What sort of law, or conviction, or force is keeping this dirt from being transmuted into gold? It's such a mystery, like a UFO or Sasquatch, that my wife and I feel compelled to take photos of it so we can keep a record. We can point to it in the future: "See! Where the Mega-Walmart is today used to be a field!"
Of course, veins of hypocrisy run strongly through this whole article. If someone hadn't bulldozed a field, I wouldn't have the tract house roof I have over my head right now. If I really wanted open space, I'd move to the Central Valley, or Oklahoma, or South Dakota. The truth is, I like where I am now. I like having a Home Depot around the corner and an Albertsons right next to that. I like having a roof over my head and neighbors down the street on both sides who are a lot like us. I'm sure things will change. Time marches on. In the meantime, I'll appreciate the fields while they last.
Pakeha