I had thought that by the time I would be sitting down to write about
my summer in Davis, it would start with something like: ‘It is 100 degrees F
outside, I am up on my loft, I can’t move and I’m drowning in a pool of my own
sweat…’ But no. It took my body only a few weeks to adapt to the heat, and now,
here in the quiet little summer town of Davis, I am in fact in the midst of
living the most incredible summer of my life. Once you surrender to the slow
pace and the sweat, this place is a little heaven on earth. For real.
The Domes
Home base this summer are the Domes, the magical fairytale community at
Baggins End, where I’ve moved for these months. Fourteen white geodesic domes
with two people in each, amidst a sea of fruit trees, stone pines, prickly
pears, agaves and aloe vera. The Domes with their huge property, the community
gardens right next door, and the neighborhood
of Village Homes, are all overflowing with ripe fruit, far too much to eat and
preserve up against. What a place of abundance! Even though I know the Domes
well and had good friends who lived there during the school year, I once again felt
that tingling excitement and empowering freedom of moving somewhere new, where
every pathway leads into the unknown. Looking for someone here isn’t from door
to door like in the co-ops, but like looking for someone in a jungle. And I so
appreciate my dome mate, Lucas. Without having to waste any words on it, him
and I have established a cozy little household. I have my chair, he has his,
and we’ve become attuned to each other’s habits and routines. Quietly, he’s become
a friend in a way I appreciate them most: in deed. When I finally, thankfully, found a Burning Man ticket,
four days before the festival was to commence, he got up from his chair, said “Let’s
go” and drove with me, for 11 hours, 450
miles, to Fort Bragg and back, to pick it up. With nothing in it for him,
except perhaps the prospect of seeing the Northern Californian coast for the
first time. When we got there, though, the whole coast was so fogged up we
couldn’t see shit. No big deal, we had dinner and drove back. Such generosity
impresses me greatly.
The secluded, overgrown Domes are a quiet summer refuge from the hectic
Trico-op life, a chance to catch my breath, spend time by myself, and process
and recover from all those intense learnings from the school year. The basic
format of my life these days is simple: get up before it’s too hot, make a dank
egg kale yogurt burrito for breakfast, play guitar on the chair outside my door
on a few steps down on the sidewalk, go downtown for some errands, stop by the
Trico-ops on the way back to hang out with friends, make lunch, eat it outside
with a ginger ale and my guitar beside me, read my book, go to the daily
delicious elaborate dinner that other people have cooked for me, hang out with
the Domies, sleep. I love this slow paced living, where my senses get a
chance to take in all the beauty around me. I feel incredibly blessed, but also over sensitized
from the Trico-ops, and have to keep reminding myself that I need personal space, solitude, time, and
calm right now. But… though there is more privacy, with only one dome mate instead of
15 housemates, I did enter into a new intentional community. Scary at first,
feeling things out, but before you know it you’ve sunk in and a new vibrant
social life is taking shape around you. My calm default day plan quickly filled
up: writing, making longboarding a new mode of transportation, volunteering at
the bike collective, watching Holland’s world cup games with friends, climb
trees, spending a lot of time with the few old friends left in town for summer,
and with new friends amongst the summer Domies, organizing a dance party and the
Domes Summer Festival, lots of fruit
harvesting, baking, drying, canning… This is the life man. Wait! Yes, yes,
personal space and calm, I know… But
there’s so much fun to be had! It was hard to sit quiet this summer, and
frankly I’m happy that I didn’t. I healed and recharged through adventures. And
adventures I’ve had!
The Lost Coast
The Domes and Davis were only base camp for a ton of trips. My favorite possession is my road map of California,
on which I’ve highlighted all the highways I’ve traveled. Man, I’ve been all
over! Yosemite with Joe; Berkeley, Los Angeles, Camarillo, Pasadena with Jess,
Josh, Doug, Lili, and Alex; San Francisco with Derk-Jan; the Lost Coast with
Gordon and Cole; Mendocino with Efren; North Fork with Reggie, Kelsey and Lili;
Fort Bragg with Lucas; Berkeley again with Trevor and Gordon; and now, to top
it all off with the most incredible adventure of all: Burning Man in Black Rock
City, Nevada, with Miles and Gabe! Oh boy… what a summer!
Let me tell you about one trip. A few weeks ago Gordon, Cole (two of my
housemates and friends from Pierce) and I drove out to the Lost Coast in
Humboldt for three days of camping and backpacking in the most incredible untamed
wilderness you can imagine. When they built the famous Highway 1, which runs
along the Pacific Ocean from North to South California, they were forced to
divert the highway land inwards for one section because the forests and cliffs
and mountains were too rugged to slash a highway through. Hence the name, the
Lost Coast of California. We’d saved the biggest chunk of our route for the
last day of backpacking. We are a good 5 hours of hiking into the day, down mountains,
through forests, and out onto and along the shoreline, by the time we come upon
the trailhead of the last leg of our journey. Tired and with quaking knees, we gaze up at Buck Creek Trail, a windy 5 mile long trail disappearing back up into the mountain forests,
infamous for its steep grades along a climb of 3,300 feet. We look at each
other before we start the ascent, “This is gonna be brutal guys.” Little did
we know just how brutal. I quickly slip into a good rhythm. A steady pace,
matched to my breath, an inhale and exhale for every two or four steps. Gordon
follows right behind me, in the slip stream of my rhythm. He calls the water
breaks where we wait for Cole, who proceeds at a slower pace. I am grateful for Gordon, because I don't want to think about breaks, I just want to feel my
breath and stay in the pace. We keep this up for hours. But as we near the top
of the ascent, I notice I’m starting to lose Gordon. Suddenly, I see Cole and
Gordon drop their packs and sit down behind me on the trail. Alright, I guess
we’re taking a break.. I wait for them, a little ways up, to get up again.
Laboriously, they eventually do. I turn back to my rhythm and push on till I
reach the top of the climb. I can’t feel my tiredness, I feel good. I feel like
at this pace, I could keep going for hours more, because time falls away in it.
Then I turn around. Gordon is no longer behind me. In fact, he nor Cole are
nowhere to be seen. I wait. A few minutes later, Gordon appears from around the
bend. He gait is faltering. Then, I see him stop and stoop over, leaning on his
knees. Uh oh. He gets up again, catches up with me, drops his pack on the
ground, lays down and falls asleep instantly. Cole reaches us and follows suit.
Damn it, I’d hoped we could kill this last part in one go. Well, a break it is
I guess. I let them sleep for 15 minutes. It is 6pm. “OK boys… let’s get going…”,
I try. “Just a little longer Stephanie, just a little…” Cole looks like he can’t
be moved, so I wait. At this point, I still think it’s funny, this skinny girl striding
up the hill with two heaving guys behind her. A little while later, I carefully
give it another try. “You know, I really think we’re very close, and I want to
try to be back at the car before it gets dark. We’re really almost there.” I
hope it’s true. “You know I hear you Stephanie, and I feel that. But I’m just
completely zapped of energy right now.” I begin to realize it’s more serious
than I thought. Surely we can’t stay the night here, without food or water… We
have to get to that car. Cole asks for his flannel, then his sweater. He’s
cooling off. I tell him to put on his long pants too. Gordon is still pretty much
unresponsive. I get the stove out and cook up the very last bit of pasta, all
the food we have left. Gordon wakes up, and suggest to make chai tea with our
last teabag and the pasta water, and to finish our last beer. I give them the
pasta, repack our packs, give the lighter one to Cole and my walking stick to
Gordon. Finally, they get up. We fall in line, and I steadily start up the
trail again, much slower this time, and glancing back repeatedly to see if we’re
not losing anyone. Then the image comes to me of a rope of light. I grab one
end with both fists in front of my stomach, and pull Gordon and Cole right on
through to the end of the trail, which, thank God, is only half a mile away. We
get to the sign post and hug, “Thank you for saving the crew Stef!” “Thank you.” The last mile back to the
car we regain our spirit and talk about hamburgers and giant dinners. We
reached the car safely, thankful for our bodies, our minds that tell us to just
keep going, and for friends. Man, that was an experience. The pasta, the tea,
the beer, the rope… It amazes me how resourceful people can get when in need. But
I’m very happy we steered clear of danger this time. I think of my friends here
who have a Wilderness First Responder certification. How good must it feel to
not feel useless in emergency situations…
The next morning, back in Davis, I get up early and clomp down the
stairs of my dome’s loft. My legs are sore, but I feel great. Young, strong, alive! I sit down behind my computer and crack
down on an online traffic rules practice test for 40 minutes. Then I bust out of
my dome and race over to the Davis Department of Motor Vehicles. Barely passing
the test, I leave the building with a brand new learner’s permit in my pocket.
$33 later, a whopping 1% of what it would cost me in the Netherlands, I can now
drive a car with a co-driver until I feel ready to take the driver’s test for free. Finally, at 23, I’m all set to learn to drive. My mother’s favorite ‘lesson’
that she very explicitly tried to get into my brain was what she called ‘the
art of deferred desire’. She taught me well. I am so ready for this now! I feel so grateful
for this now! This is a great first step in becoming more equipped to help
out friends in need. Just last night I was wishing I could drive us all back
home again. I bike home feeling bad ass, blasting all versions of “I’m
feeling good” on my iPod. I swerve around the corner of G Street to the Food
Co-op and treat myself to my favorite food in town. On the terrace where it feels
like an eternal summer vacation in southern France, I chomp down on a bomb ass Food
Co-op sandwich, marble rye bread, brimming with fresh veggies and pesto mayo
sauce. Man, taking charge of your life feels f*cking GOOD.
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