I Fell in Love with Every Place I Went
Dogwoods, Yosemite National Park, May, 2010
I am opinionated. Everyone knows that. And they comment on it. I have never been so proud as when I found out that one of my college professors told a friend, years after university, “Oh, Sue? She was quite a radical, that one.”
One of my most strongly held opinions was that I couldn’t exist apart from California. My family moved here early on both sides – in the 1860s and 1870s, which in some places is practically yesterday, but in California’s timeline is ancient history.
I felt like I was Californian more than American. California, as much as people love to hate it, was in my bones.
I didn’t expect to fall in love with other places. I knew I would visit and like some of them, but sitting here in my rented room among strangers, I feel the pull of the lands I visited and made my temporary home. I realize I have fallen in love with so many of them. A friend’s Instagram picture of dogwoods blooming brought tears to my eyes as I realized I would not see the dogwoods bloom this year. I have only seen them bloom twice in 58 years, but that doesn’t matter. Remembering a lost love, one only remembers the time together, not the years of absence.
I want to be everywhere at once. I want to wake up to the sunrise over the pure sugary dunes of White Sands National Monument. I want to have my hat blown off as I walk along the Mendocino cliffs. I want to smell the piñon burning in Taos under that purple-blue sky. I want to hear the bayou frogs and flip on the radio to hear Cajun music playing. And yes, I want to sit beside a creek and see the dogwoods bloom.
Physicists talk about alternate universes – that our universe may be like one slice of bread in a loaf with similar universes on each side of us. I wonder if my longings are being fulfilled in the universe next door.
My sister used to say that you needed to do crazy stuff in life so that, when you got old, you’d have something to look up at the ceiling and think about. I never knew the opportunity to sit still and think about things would come so soon, but thanks to social distancing, it has.
So please, appreciate the dogwoods for me. I will go down to the harbor and watch the seals for you. And in some alternate universe, let’s all meet again.
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Suebob's Red Stapler 
💕
On Mon, Apr 20, 2020 at 8:03 AM Suebob’s Red Stapler wrote:
> Suebob posted: ” I am opinionated. Everyone knows that. And they comment > on it. I have never been so proud as when I found out that one of my > college professors told a friend, years after university, “Oh, Sue? She was > quite a radical, that one.” One of my most strongly” >
My Dogwoods are blooming. I will sit under them and think of you. Think of me and you at the beach.
Will do. Love you.
I love my home in the West but this time of year I miss the things that bloom in the South. Dogwoods, for sure. And azaleas. And red bud trees. My grandmother could plant a stick and it would become a tree. Her little house was tucked into the side of a hill. Her front yard was a steep slope and her back yard was terraced. A strong and determined little woman, she made every square foot of that yard into something beautiful.
Lovely. My mom also had a plant wizardry. It is wonderful to be around someone with that talent. Thank you for sharing your gran with me.
I feel this ♥️
I have goosebumps. Thank you for this lovely post.
Tucson hit 100 today, under a denim-blue sky. Loads of love from the desert, I’ll think of you as I marvel at the Great Horned owlets that are testing out their wings in the dead tree down the block this evening.
They are every where here. I think the dogwood is the state tree. There was one that caught my eye recently on a dog walk. It was stunning. I almost trespassed into a backyard to get a picture. But I envy every single ocean sunset picture that you post.
nearly everywhere I’ve been holds a piece of me. California holds a bigger piece than a lot of other places. sit on the beach, dig your toes in the sand, and breathe in the ocean air while the sun set for me, and i’ll sit on a log in a damp forest, under a blooming dogwood, and listen to the spring peepers and birdsong for you.