Ideal Spaces

Every now and again I get memory flashes. Many are from the deep past, you know, when you were a kid. Most of these recalls involve feelings of space I was then living in. One such is the Mojave Desert in southern California. We lived there for nearly three years on a Navy base. It was after the Second World War and the base was used to test weapon systems in development. Rocket engines were experimented with for thrust; so, too, propulsion systems for torpedoes.

The desert was a memorable place. Hot, yes, in the seasons. But winter I recall as cool nights and warm days unless the rare cloud cover robbed us of the warming sun. Quiet was the primary memory. The desert is very quiet. In those days not even planes flew overhead. A rocket test burst the quiet at times, but mostly I remember the sound of air or wind rustling past my ears. Otherwise the sound of silence was broken only by the sensation of my heart beating in my ears. Now that’s silence!

In those early days (1943 to 1954) we lived in Altadena, California, a foothill community to the north of Pasadena. The weather was stellar. Warm air, sunny skies, waving palm trees, blue skies and enough moisture in the air to avoid dry skin. It was embracing, the climate. You felt held in soft arms of love and comfort.

I also became aware of a larger world. At first it was wondering where the long, straight road went and ended up? We took long drives in those days and eventually learned where the roads went. The really exciting ones went up and up into the mountains, curving every which way until we arrived at a point very high above the throbbing cities and towns below. On clear days we could see the ocean and on even rarer days we could see Santa Catalina Island. As years passed by smog grew worse and those sights became even rarer.

California had been discovered by the masses and the inflow of population surged continually year after year. Before despoiling what once was soft and gentle, we lived a charmed life of exploration and discovery.

I felt safe. I felt protected and free to discover what now I see as boundaries. But then? It was a world filled with opportunity and delight.

Then we moved to a new home built in an orange and lemon grove in Glendora. The terrain then was rougher and more mountainous. Cliffs and steep inclines parked at our backyard. We looked up to Mount Baldy and gauged winter storms by the snows that remained after our rains below. Also we watched the progress of brush and forest fires during the summer, wondering if or when they might reach our neighborhood. But they didn’t, at least not then. Of course those fires denuded foothills of their flora that absorbed winter rains, so mud slides were the burden of winter months. We experienced those but not anywhere near our home. I remember Dad telling us of slow commutes following road graders as they cleared the streets of mud into Pasadena.

Before I could gain more experience with such odd events we moved to New England where four seasons ruled the weather forecasts and provided an entirely new view of life. Hills and green, no deserts, but no true mountains, either, gave us spicy, aromatic air filled with new experiences and realms of discovery. Of course that was the beginning of junior high and high school for us kids so exploration was the course of education. Sputnik had been launched and the nation was deep into math, science and engineering education. The public became obsessed with education and we were provided the fruits of this interest.

With this era we met the Cold War full on as kids and we were sobered by the challenges. So safety and warm fuzzy embraces were not the norm. besides there was 18 inches of snow outdoors. And we were still learning how to shovel the stuff off the driveway so Dad could get the car into and out of the garage. I recall the icy feel of snow down my socks and inside my mittens. I couldn’t believe weather could be so painful!

I do recall the soft wonder of spring and summer in New England. I was in the bicycle stage of life then and explored the paths and lanes of rural enclaves of woods, lakes and streams. It was peaceful and embracing in an entirely different manner than Southern California. Thus did climate differences become real to me. They were acclimated in daily routines and expected. Inured and ignored, too.

I remember being asked to write a paper for English class once. The assignment was to describe our ideal place, one we could revisit from time to time and why it was special. My essay focused on the place in my mind that recalled all the places I had lived and remembered as special. And that I could revisit those places at will by thinking about them. She didn’t like my work, gave it a C. I was disappointed with the grade but not with the concept. The teacher didn’t get it but I did and have kept those places special for my life long.

Huh!

February 9, 2015