American vistas…
The settings for many of my stories cover a variety of venues, from the NYC area where I now live, to other places in the U.S., Asia, Europe, and South America, to Earth’s solar system and beyond. My characters have traipsed through five of the seven continents (guess which ones I’ve not considered). My having lived abroad for many years gives me a broader perspective than some authors, I suppose, but any detailed knowledge could probably be obtained via Google nowadays (some of the scenes from Aristocrats and Assassins and Muddlin’ Through are exceptions). But many people, myself included at times, tend to forget the scenic vistas we Americans can enjoy right here at home.
This isn’t an article written for Frommer’s. I just want to reminisce a bit about some sites I’ve seen in this country and some I should see if my time on this planet allows it. Let me start on the West Coast, where I was born. While the drought is changing California (one town in Tulare County, my home county, named Porterville, has no water, for example), I lived a childhood of privilege—not one of material wealth, but one of scenic wealth. Living in the county seat of Visalia, aka the gateway to Kings Canyon and Sequoia National Parks to the locals, at least (Fresno likes to claim that title too), I could see Mt. Whitney on a clear day. I could visit those park areas by going east and visit the great Pacific Ocean going west. The snow stayed up on the Sierra Nevada Mountains, where snow should stay.
Yosemite National Park is probably better known than the two I’ve mentioned. Wine country—Napa and Sonoma counties north of San Francisco—is probably better known than Big Sur, on the California coast below Monterrey. But all up and down the West Coast, from Seattle to San Diego, the traveler will find impressive vistas. My alma mater, UC Santa Barbara, has its own beach—yes, the surfing nymphs parading past my window every morning as I ate my skimpy student’s breakfast were also part of that West Coast scenery! They and their male companions would often leave their spoor—salt water drips and sand—in the classrooms, although most professors wouldn’t allow surfboards inside.
I haven’t used the West Coast venue for a book yet. I plan to remedy that with the next Mary Jo Melendez novel. Correspondence with another author made me realize that I don’t often have scenes in the Midwest or South either (“The Bridge,” a short story in Pasodobles in a Quantum Stringscape, the first part of Survivors of the Chaos, and some scenes in Angels Need Not Apply, cover those areas, though). Full Medical has scenes up and down the East Coast, from the Boston area to the DC area. With the “Detectives Chen and Castilblanco Series” I’ve covered the NYC area. But what of the sights? What’s worthwhile seeing in a visit to these areas?
The traveler looking for different vistas is like the kid in a candy store—the U.S. is that candy store. The different vistas available can be overwhelming, just like all those wonderful chocolates. I have several favorite vistas. The Florida everglades with its teeming flora and fauna and the pine forests, granite cliffs, and crashing waves of Acadia National Park represent two on the East Coast. Those covered bridges scattered about the Midwest (one is featured in “The Bridge”), especially this time of year, are still another. Nature alone and humans’ attempts to tame nature are both impressive. The Verrazano Bridge connecting Staten Island and Brooklyn is almost as impressive as the Golden Gate. The Atlantic beaches from Maine to Florida are also spectacular. But lesser known venues are worth visiting, like the Delaware Water Gap, old Nantucket, or traditional Annapolis.
I’d like to visit some Minnesota lakes (preferably in the summer), Grand Teton and Yellowstone, and Zion and the Grand Canyon. I might have seen some of these as a child; if so, I don’t remember. I do remember riding on the train from Kansas to California as a lonely tween traveler after visiting my grandfather on the farm. I spent a lot of time on the “observation deck” watching half the U.S. roll by. I had just finished John Christopher’s No Blade of Grass and sketched out my version of a prequel, which eventually became No Amber Waves of Grain. (I learned to drive by guiding a wheat combine, essentially mowing the wheat, watching the golden grain spew into the trucks, and covering myself with chaff—great experiences for a kid.) I remember watching my cousin “break a bronco,” thinking he was torturing that noble and beautiful animal (PETA will probably applaud, but I’ve changed my tune—he was a quarter horse bred to herd cattle, just like the carriage horses in NYC are bred for carriages, and we shouldn’t deny them their heritage).
The rolling wheat fields and acres of cornfields in the Midwest and the rice patties of Northern California represent a great gift we receive from Mother Nature. Our grains feed many mouths around the world. There’s something beautiful in that too. It’s one reason I’m such a Gaia lover. If we take care of her, she gives back a thousand-fold. That’s something to remember whether we’re talking about national parks, our coastlines, the South and Midwest, or the rest of the world. Vistas and their flora and fauna must be protected so that all who follow can enjoy them too. If you can, participate. The World Wide Fund for Nature (its panda symbol is ubiquitous) and The Nature Conservancy are two organizations that make it their business to protect Gaia. There are many others. Choose one and support it. It’s good karma.
And so it goes….
