An American Summer, part 1
A little fountain
creates peace in the city.
Rejuvenation.
note: this post is not based around science and technology; it is a memoir of a journey.
The adventure began Monday. Following an 11 hour train north, I slept long and hard to recover and prepare for the week ahead. The morning was marked by my lack of sleep as my usual methods for dozing off failed until about 1:00 in the morning though I had turned in at 11 the previous night.
I awoke at 6, as my internal calculator is adherent to a strict regimen. By 6:30, the newsletters in my inbox were assessed, processed, and deleted. I was free.
A car arrived at 11 to take me downtown. This drive took me through the northern parts of the city of Oakland, past a couple dozen murals with a variety of purposes. Some celebrated heroes of the community: professionals and martyrs. Others were declarations, statements against those who can’t or refuse to listen to the struggles of the people. Current events have only increased the density and frustration of the artists. All too familiar faces were depicted in fresh paint along the road.
The car dropped me at a coffee shop, as I am a self-diagnosed caffeine addict. It’s just pure fuel and vital on some days of heightened production. Aside from this, I fast.
The streets of the city are relatively empty; the few people out and about were either wandering aimlessly (as many young people are wont to do during this global catastrophe) or professionals picking up a box of bagels or donuts for the crew they would work with that day. I hike through the city towards my destination: Lake Merritt. The lake sits in the edge of “the city”, which I only deem such due to the density of high-rises I walked through.
Approaching the lake, I stopped to appreciate an overgrown patch of reeds surrounding a sculpture. A strange piece, it depicts a fictional beast, a mythical aquatic monster with a body which is a mixture of those creatures native to the water: the Makkewek. Cormorants, bat rays, and sand sharks are amply represented. It is hard to believe the existent of these (or any) native species in this lake today, though. The water is murky, the runoff apparent; a stench of stale oxygen fills the air around much of Merritt. This body of water has suffered greatly at the hands of Man, and the water’s wildlife bore the brunt of the onslaught of progress.
I start my walking tour by heading northeast, towards my only real destination for the day: the Botanical Gardens at Lake Merritt. There dwells a collection of plant life the likes of which I’ve rarely had an opportunity to visit.
A gazebo appeared, though the term hardly does it justice. 8 wide, chiseled, stone pillars rose from a quick elevation marked by stone stairs. 8 sharp corners poked out of the roof in far-eastern fashion, curving upwards from their origin. The temple was etched in graffiti and the mosaic filling the ground inside covered in litter. A lone man sat there, behind a table on which rested a closed sketchbook. An attempt at conversation was rebutted with hand gestures indicating that my new friend was a mute.
”Am I near the gardens?”
A smile and a nod
”Are you an artist?” I gesture at the notebook.
Eyes widen as an enthusiastic grin fills his face and he nods quickly.
Despite the enthusiasm at the recognition of another artist, he seems reluctant to share any of his work with a stranger. I smile, thank the man, and continue on my way.
I gain entrance to the garden, and begin my hunt for the bonsai collection. The garden is vast, and as I begin roam I slow down. Discovery of the unknown has, for the moment, taken an advantage over my pilgrimage to the bonsai collection.
The Garden
My first encounter within the garden is the beekeeper’s build. A freestanding wall of shelves holding a variety of honeycomb shaped stands hidden between rows of vegetables. The constructor included the clever caption: “Air Bee-n-Bee”. The Bay Area reputation has certainly spilled over to the horticulture community. The culture of technology has reached into the garden’s landscape.
I spy an arch, not curved as that one in St. Louis, but rather similar to those shared across the Pacific: right angles supporting the top beam, and its corners curve to point skyward. Through this gateway lies a disorganized collection of larger junipers, the miniatures of which make up a staple of the bonsai community. Concrete lanterns line the path, their shape reflective of the arch which afforded me entrance. The garden is empty, though. It’s just me. Does no one appreciate this facet of nature?
With no direction, I wandered through another gate and encountered a carefully designed landscape. This area houses a mid-sized bonsai collection which surrounds an oblong pond spanned by a concrete footbridge. The sound of running water fills the air and the scent of juniper mixes with the California oak. An unusual gazebo sits at one side of the landscape, with benches lining the walls and spiderwebs lining the benches. This gazebo is a rectangle, unusual in the world of typically octagonal gazebos. I sit and stay awhile to write.
My next stop of discovery is at the Mediterranean garden, which I wander into unexpectedly. On a center dais rests a fountain, bone dry and with its polished tile cracking. Cherubs have been carved into the columns, and an inscription above:
Ad fontem vobis obviam veniet laeta multitudo sitientes venite.
One that thirsteth, come ye to the source. A multitude of happy will come to meet you.
The Mediterranean garden is connected directly to a palm garden. This area is much more densely overgrown than the Grecian zone with palms filling the canopy and bamboo the fence.
From the palm garden I reach my destination: the Bonsai Gardens at Lake Merritt. My pilgrimage is nearly at a close.
The Bonsai Garden
Though the object of my pilgrimage, I write little about the bonsai garden. My admiration for these plants is too great to be explained here. Instead, a photo set:
San Jose Juniper
juniperis chinensis, cv ‘San Jose’
Cascade style
California Juniper
juniperis californican
Slanting style
Daimyo Oak
quercus dentata
Informal upright style
Fun fact! This is a significant plant. It was presented to Anson Burlingame by the Emperor of Japan in 1863. Anson, then Secretary of State, was sent by President Lincoln on a mission of diplomacy.
An American Summer, part 1
The statue beckons.
Inquiry approaches and
a mourner departs.
The next part of my journey is not a happy one. It must be prefaced by an explanation of a Book which has been in my arsenal this year in my mission for perspective. Like this blog post it is a memoir, but unlike this post it is a story about love and death in Chicago. It recounts the story of a city which has failed to protect its most vulnerable citizens, the youth in the abandoned neighborhoods and their helpless descent into crime. It is a tale of illogical violence, sudden and swift revenge, mourning families, and a bleak picture of generations of young men turning to gangs and violence. Like I said, my journey into perspective is not a happy one. Though I limit myself to a chapter a day, this book is impossible to read without a well of tears forming behind my eyes.
Having left the bonsai garden I was confronted by a statue, a large rectangular block with the figures of 3 children atop. An inscription denotes that it is a monument to children who have been victims of violence in this city. The list of names covering it goes on and on and overwhelms me. I pay my respects, and depart.
The Loop
I set off northeast towards the far end of the lake. I judged that it would take me upwards of an hour to circumnavigate. I first encountered a boathouse in deterioration. The activities which this place sponsors are group activities, and those are eschewed today in a world of quarantine and social-distance. Lines slap against masts, water laps at hulls, and a family of seagulls has declared the dock as their territory. My walking path runs right up against the water, and a wide grassy slope separates me from the road.
This close to the water, I can sense when I’m approaching a drain pipe: the smell is obvious. The lake is shallow and debris, human debris, litters the bottom. This end of the lake, opposite the concrete mountains towering over Oakland, is in distress.
I round the NE corner and soon the footpath runs parallel to the road. A sign appears: “Lakeshore”. The name is familiar and I immediately know why. A song, a favorite actually, bears the same name: Lake Shore Drive. In desperate need of some positive mentality after my visit to the monument, I quickly popped in earbuds and my pace livened as I wound down Lakeshore.
The street this side of the lake is lined by apartments, the path lined by vendors, and the lake lined by benches. This activity is heartening: people out enjoying the summer. As I continue into town this scene changes to a camp of tents in a tennis court, a camp of tents in an old parking lot, a camp of tents in a small park. The community is in distress; homelessness runs rampant.
A dramatic change is witnessed as I turn west, and cross a bridge back towards Oakland. My view is now dominated by the product of capitalism: towering structures of iron and stone. Their pale spires reach into the smoky sky, some disappearing before the structure is complete. I turn to look back and realize that what I just walked by is their by-product, the other side of capitalism. These towers of Oakland stand in mockery of the masses filling a tennis court, a parking lot, a park, across the water. Man of more fortunate circumstances built and executed the ability to raise above his fellows. He only needs complete a loop of Lake Merritt to greet this reality.
Back in the city, my loop is complete and I stop for lunch. A late lunch of vegetables and wine is taken at the Lake Merritt Rowing Club’s boathouse, a boathouse being one of few places I can consistently call home in my travels.
It was at this point that I realized that I had previously been along Lakeshore Avenue, and my enthusiasm for the song was misplaced. Happily, this begins a new mission for me: find Lakeshore Drive from that song.
The Fast
This late lunch (3:30pm) represents the end of a fast, one which started for me the previous day on the train. I haven’t eaten anything since being north of San Luis Obispo which I passed at 1:30pm the previous day. The only thing to break this fast was the coffee this morning, and I have no doubt that I would have bonked without it.
This fast is important to me as it represents a time to dwell in reality. Since many of my days are spent with my brain designing and building things in a digital world, I cling to the days when I can spend them immersed in the physical. The colors, sensations, ease of access, and efficiency of the AR world takes its toll; migraines are now just a part of daily life, a suffering willingly borne as I see humanity retreat into the computer world, a world I get to be a part of building.
Aside from the touted health benefits, a fast brings rejuvenation. It forces a reminder of what matters and what doesn’t. It compels a look inward and a reassessment of priorities. Periodic fasts represent the peaks of my quest for perspective and understanding, the troughs filled with books and study. These peaks reveal something unique each time, but they also reaffirm a single thought: that this fast is a privilege. My ability to freely choose the days on which I starve myself is a unique privilege.
What better way to remind you of the challenges complicit with dwelling in a physical reality? What better way to even attempt an understanding of the struggles which had manifested in the personal reality of those who I passed along Lakeshore Avenue? Understanding is the catalyst of society; pride its downfall. The reality which we live in is full of pain, the digital world not so much. This is the one we call home, though, and for all its pain there is an abundance of beauty. That, then, is a worthy pursuit.
An end to the fast,
the spiritual envy.
Then replaced by hope.
