Who Lives Here?
I often name my latest running trail as my all time favorite, but this one just might stick for a bit. I am running in Golden Gate Park in San Francisco.
Wonderful trails wind through this narrow strip of land, leading me down through a central part of San Fran, miles and miles until I reach the beach. Twisted large evergr
eens line the path. Every bit or so, there seems to be some unique feature that has been stuffed awkwardly in the corners and spurs of the park. No doubt, there was great debate, great compromise on how to best utilize this incredible bit of land. Everything seems to be miniature version of what it should be. A miniature atrium. A golf course that cannot be 18 holes. And a Japanese garden is tucked right off the major strip. Then there is the beach, with the predicted surfers playing “California Dreaming.” And the unpredicted buffalo ranch and the mounted police riding stables that seems to make no sense at all, but both make me smile.
Roads packed with cars act as the unfortunate shortcut for busy commuters crossing the city. But that does not stop the hordes of people who have come here to escape. Walkers, runners, cyclists and Japanese women doing calisthenics invade the park as their personal sanctuary. They all live strategically within striking distance of the park, the closer and the more insanely expensive the houses become. A small house will be no less than half million.
The scene leaves me with such curiousity: who lives here? And how can they possibly even afford to buy a house? How on earth do they possibly make a living?
A day later, my husband and I are driving through South Eastern Idaho. We drive by Fort Hayes Indian Reservation, a name that in itself seems quite ridiculous given the likelihood of Hayes being an Indian seems at best remote. It’s not too far past Massacre Rock State Park, which is a cliff of rocks in an otherwise rolling plains landscape. And just a bit before the “TV and Pioneer Museum” which can only make me shake my head and wonder what would be showcased at such a place. We are in striking distance of Yellowstone National Park; a few more hours of driving and I will be gliding on freshly waxed skis at a pace that will make me wish I had done a bit more running over the past 6 months.
But now, now there are endless acres of grassy highlands, littered with an occasional house and barn. There seems to be little purpose to these farms; they are not the large-scale midwest farms boasting agri-technology. Instead, these seem to be remnants of pioneers who came here during the great gold rush and simply forgot to continue on their journey to California. Useless land is of great abundance here, mainly covered by dead grass, an indication that som
e other time in the year there is a rainy season.
The scene leaves me with such curiosity; who lives here? How on earth do they possibly make a living? And why do they live here?
The similarity and the differences between the two places amuse me. San Francisco and the Golden Gate Park vs. Fort Hayes Indian Reservation. Honestly, I could never live in either; but I am happy that both seem to amuse me on my travels.
eens line the path. Every bit or so, there seems to be some unique feature that has been stuffed awkwardly in the corners and spurs of the park. No doubt, there was great debate, great compromise on how to best utilize this incredible bit of land. Everything seems to be miniature version of what it should be. A miniature atrium. A golf course that cannot be 18 holes. And a Japanese garden is tucked right off the major strip. Then there is the beach, with the predicted surfers playing “California Dreaming.” And the unpredicted buffalo ranch and the mounted police riding stables that seems to make no sense at all, but both make me smile.Roads packed with cars act as the unfortunate shortcut for busy commuters crossing the city. But that does not stop the hordes of people who have come here to escape. Walkers, runners, cyclists and Japanese women doing calisthenics invade the park as their personal sanctuary. They all live strategically within striking distance of the park, the closer and the more insanely expensive the houses become. A small house will be no less than half million.
The scene leaves me with such curiousity: who lives here? And how can they possibly even afford to buy a house? How on earth do they possibly make a living?
A day later, my husband and I are driving through South Eastern Idaho. We drive by Fort Hayes Indian Reservation, a name that in itself seems quite ridiculous given the likelihood of Hayes being an Indian seems at best remote. It’s not too far past Massacre Rock State Park, which is a cliff of rocks in an otherwise rolling plains landscape. And just a bit before the “TV and Pioneer Museum” which can only make me shake my head and wonder what would be showcased at such a place. We are in striking distance of Yellowstone National Park; a few more hours of driving and I will be gliding on freshly waxed skis at a pace that will make me wish I had done a bit more running over the past 6 months.
But now, now there are endless acres of grassy highlands, littered with an occasional house and barn. There seems to be little purpose to these farms; they are not the large-scale midwest farms boasting agri-technology. Instead, these seem to be remnants of pioneers who came here during the great gold rush and simply forgot to continue on their journey to California. Useless land is of great abundance here, mainly covered by dead grass, an indication that som
e other time in the year there is a rainy season.The scene leaves me with such curiosity; who lives here? How on earth do they possibly make a living? And why do they live here?
The similarity and the differences between the two places amuse me. San Francisco and the Golden Gate Park vs. Fort Hayes Indian Reservation. Honestly, I could never live in either; but I am happy that both seem to amuse me on my travels.
I am sure when people from either place drive through my own home town of Bend, that they ponder the same questions: who lives here? How on earth do they possibly make a living? And why do they live here?
