We Californians have an interesting climate. Like west coasts on many countries (the west coasts of South Africa, Australia, and Chile; the Mediterranean basin), we have what is called a ‘Mediterranean hot-summer climate’, which features dry summers and mild, wet winters. The influence of the ocean tempers things a lot with regard to temperatures, and we have very low humidity most of the year, which keeps things pleasant for humans. The plants that have evolved to live here are summer-dormant; they shut down in the warm months and burst into bloom in the colder months. For native plants, January is spring, and July is basically winter, to put it in terms anyone else would understand. If you do what I do, which is grow things year-round, you can see that I have to manipulate my environment, which isn’t all that great a thing to do. It requires work and water. The rage ten years ago (and frankly maybe it should still be the rage; it’s certainly the responsible thing to do) is to plant with only shrubs and flowers that would follow this pattern, i.e. native. I do have a lot of native plants in my yard, because I think it’s important from an ecological and historical perspective (I want to support the creatures that evolved with these plants), but I also include things from other places, since I’m watering for the vegetables anyway. This is probably not sustainable in the long run, and it’s something I’m thinking deeply about, and need to find a solution to, with regards to growing food.

However, I didn’t come here today to talk about anything as serious and pressing as climate change. I just wanted to note that the eyes of Californians are simply starved for green by the time January rolls around.

Over the holiday break, Tom was great about taking walks every day, and I joined him on several occasions, and have vowed to get in the hills as often as possible before my classes start up again. What we have noticed is how our moods change instantly when we get up to a place where we can fill our eyes with green. Local farmers are grazing their cows there, and I spent an entranced fifteen minutes watching them find the new grass with their lips, tear it out, and chew slowly as they made their way to the next verdant patch. I swear I wished that I could eat the grass, too, somehow get that beautiful green goodness into my body. We Californians have been looking at brown hills (golden, my ass) since May. Some of them were charred black from fires. It’s a cliche, but the green is a rebirth and a promise. I imagine this is how folks in other climates feel when the first crocus pokes its head over the snow. Our promise just happens to come in winter rather than spring. Where others might have eyes hungry for pink or purple or yellow, ours are starved for green.

We’ve had very little rain this winter, and I’m running the drip system right now as I write. Who knows if we will get a deluge in the next few months? I’m hoping so, but if not, I’m trying to fill my eyes and my soul with green right now, to store up for the dry months.