Por la Mar

Its hard to think that West Africa could ever be as extremely awesome and incredibly hip as 440 Por La Mar was.

Also, does anyone have any advice for teaching English? I'm trying to come up with an arsenal of ideas right now.

the beginning of the beginning

A week after graduating from Westmont, I am back where I was seventeen years ago - my family's home in Don Pedro, California. Don't bother looking for it on a map, because you will be met with failure. I suggest looking for Lake Don Pedro Reservoir. You may just get lucky.


Coming home from Santa Barbara always entails a five-plus hour drive, much of which is through Central Valley farm land. The drive, when done alone, almost always includes a chunk of time spent scanning through the various radio stations. Inevitably, I will stop at a country station and listen in for about an hour or so. And inevitably, as I cruise along in one of our family's Ford Escorts, whizzing past strawberry fields and dairies and family diners, I start getting sappy and patriotic at the thought of small-town America. This is probably a good exercise for me. As someone who often (and rightfully) feels the pull towards national self-criticism, it is good to step back once and a while and see the beauty. Many so-called traditional American values are rooted in agricultural backgrounds, and so many images of traditional America are beautiful and tender. I'm talking about the values of hard work, of being a good neighbor, and of honesty. Porch swings, family dogs, fresh eggs, going barefoot, bait fishing, sitting down to dinner and throwing back a cold one after putting in a day's work; these are all things that I associate with going home, especially in the summer. They are also all things that are romantically celebrated as American. And I love them all.

So as I make my way up the 99, increasingly nostalgic and sentimental with every mile, I also inevitably begin to see that the farm lands I'm driving past have no farm house nearby. They are huge plots of cash crops, probably pesticized and fertilized with a vengence. The generic valley towns, which I have no loyalty towards, push their fingers out further and further into farmland. Eventually I remember that much of what I love about small town, semi-rural U.S. culture is constantly threatened. And at this point it is tempting to jump up on a soapbox to belabor this point, but frankly, it all goes without saying. At this point in my thought process, I usually switch the radio station and make a mental note to read something by Wendell Berry when I get the chance.

What does all this have to do with me getting ready to go to West Africa for two years? Probably not too much, except that I think it is important to remember that I love my home. I love my state, I love my country, and I love all the paradoxes and complexities that go along being both proud and ashamed of the places I come from. There is much that I abhor about the U.S., especially in a couple of small areas that some people refer to as foreign policy and trade policy. Oh yeah, and a couple of things called materialism, urban poverty, institutional racism, SUVs, War on Terror, Americanized Christianity, and ethnocentrism. But there is much that I love, and much that has been done right, and much to be proud of. There are paved roads, clean water, stable banks, free education, free speech, etc etc. And while I don't claim to know much, I know that this means that there is also much work to be done. Honest work, not done out of bitterness, but done out of heartbreak, as I discover what it means to be ok with loving my country. Just don't expect me to start donning a cowboy hat anytime soon.