I’ve lived in Orange County, California my entire life. What makes Orange County strange is the weird mix of urban and rural settings. On my walk or bike to school every morning, I am witness to a number of awe inspiring things: a waddle of ducks in the nearby Willow Park, the miracles of biology – phototropism in action; trees reaching over man-made walls like hands in prayer, or the sun poking its fingers through their branches and leaves – scenes you expect to see in a painting. I also see all of the miniature horrors committed in progress’ name: the mini-van and pick-up truck, the many varieties of weed-whacker or leaf-blower (Why is it so unreasonable to walk on leaves? The answer still eludes me.), or the numerous commercial tree-trimmers I pass on the not-so-aptly named Orange Avenue. My mom once called them butchers, and I’d have to agree. I remember the time I told my friend what made my peaceful walk at times unpleasant: the sound that obscures my perception of the chirping birds and whistling wind: the cars. She responded, “If you think about it, they sound a lot like waves!” I admire her positivity, but there’s just something about them that irks me.
Nevertheless, I appreciate fully what I have here. I discovered this summer something of infinite value to me – a direct path to the beach, called Coyote Creek, that at first winds through industrial ‘parks’ and weed-filled empty lots, but slowly develops, like a backwards funnel, into a peaceful tributary bordered by trees and inhabited by all kinds of sea fowl. Which isn’t surprising when you consider that the murky green water that runs from the various behemoth power plants eventually empties into the ocean at Seal Beach, yet another reminder of my close connection to the planet. I owe a lot to that trail: a newfound passion for the outdoors, the chance to spend the day with a friend – traveling down the river like Huck Finn (Although I think in his case he drifted. I biked.), and too many sunburns to count.
It was a gradual process, but Coyote Creek helped me to realize that there is always more than meets the eye to whatever situation I might find myself in. I may not know where I’ll end up, but Orange County has taught me that there are always bigger and better things out there for me, wherever I may be geographically – all I have to do is look in my backyard. Although the general public considers Orange County to be highly socially, culturally, and ideologically homogenous, my hometown has imbued me with a sense of individuality and confidence. No, I do not have illusions of grandeur, but I dream of finding beauty in all I see. I dream of making many small, positive impacts. I dream of carving my own path. Southern California might seem like the archetype representation of conformity, but I feel anything but.
(Image courtesy of DDOI)
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