
Warmer. Burning. Epidemic-Challenged. Expensive. The California Dream Is Over. - bookofjoe
https://www.washingtonpost.com/national/wildfires-california-dream-compromise/2020/09/12/780e80da-f465-11ea-a852-eb7526c580f4_story.html
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onecommentman
Take anything written by local media about other regions of the USA (anything
outside of a 100 mile radius of their HQ) with half a pound of salt. Including
(especially?) the Washington Post and the New York Times. They’re just as
parochial as the Peoria Journal Star in their own way.

If anyone is bothered, make a note to send a box of oranges to the WaPo
editors during the next blizzard in DC. That was the standard response in the
1900s.

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chmaynard
This is a classic "new journalism" puff piece. The author(s) probably never
left their desk to do any serious investigative work. I wasted 10 minutes
reading it.

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bookofjoe
[https://archive.vn/9rXBq](https://archive.vn/9rXBq)

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bookofjoe
I just received this email re: this article from a friend who lives in Foster
City (S.F. Bay Area):

>This article is completely true in everything it so sadly illustrates. Many
are leaving and have been for while, and it’s not atypical for so many of us
to consider where we might go. But there is also the reality that while the
average guy leaves, for a “better” quality of life, the wealthy are still
coming. The weather is still the weather here and if you can afford it,
well... you do.

OK, I admit, the issue of climate change and its attendant disasters are
tugging at the consciousness of everyone, but even the Loma Prieta and
Northridge earthquakes were eventually forgotten. The smoke is frightening,
but for most people on the coast, it’s an inconvenience that passes as the
season passes.

In my little burb of Foster City, we are breaking ground in a few weeks on a
project to raise our levee, in anticipation of a potential hundred-year storm.
It’s disconcerting, thinking about living in a bowl surrounded by bay. It’s
also sad, as they are closing portions of my bike trail for the next three
years and the noise and dust will make life less livable.

I’ve thought about leaving. The smoke is choking and having had two
spontaneous pneumothoraxes, I’m particularly protective of my lungs.

I live in a paid-for house that needs work. The roof is old, the foundation
possibly crumbling, the windows need replacing, and we can hear every sound
through the walls. It was built of matchsticks in 1966, and is now worth much
more than it’s cheap construction should warrant. I have thought about selling
it and moving to Texas, where I could buy a sprawling ranch, or Sante Fe where
I could have breathtaking vistas or Oregon, where I could buy a historic
Victorian and decorate it until I die.

My parents have passed, my family history less pulling. I have a brother in
Fresno where the temp regularly reaches 110 now, another nearby who actually
hates the liberal politics here. He wants to leave too. My kids are college
age, they would return to any nest I build, but the California coast still has
the weather. The mansions I could buy elsewhere would trap me in their climate
controlled paradise. Some days, as I’m flying along the water on my trike,
breathing the normally fresh air and feeling the cool breeze on a sunny day, I
think how lucky I am to be here.

Who knows, that may change. One really strong temblor, or fire seasons that
stretch into winter, or that hundred-year flood might send me to San Antonio
or Tucson or West Virginia or even Vermont. But I don’t really like change and
while the idea of a fresh start might have been exhilarating even a decade
ago, the reality of packing up the detritus of a long life is totally
unappealing now. More likely, I will just continue to peruse those beautiful
listings on Zillow and stay in what I’ve come to feel is the center of the
universe, waiting for the smoke to clear.

