The rare sound all night of rain on skylights and roof. What a sense of relief to hear it coming down at last. The big storm door that has closed us off from weather for so long has finally been cracked open. Another mess of rain follows along behind this one. Somebody's rain dancing or church praying finally got through to the gods. We are not out of the hole. California remains dangerously dry, but it's a start.

California Drought Seen from Space

I took a drive with the wife yesterday over to the Santa Clara Valley, through the coastal mountain range in which we live. My feet have been swollen and angry with pain for several days, a condition related to neuropathy. I felt enough relief from the pain to want to get out and take a drive through the mountains to see what this late winter is looking like. The slight rain of several days ago has washed the dust and road dirt off the trees and brush, such that the forest now looks a little more alive, and has sort of a shine or a twinkle to it, and less of the morose, tomb-like gray.

The valley is always a busy place. It was lunch time when we passed through the towns. All the restaurants were filled with eaters, the stores overflowing with shoppers, the freeway ramps queued up with shiny new cars. We drove through Saratoga, Cupertino, and back home through downtown Los Gatos. The wife spent some of her younger years in Cupertino, so likes to go back on occasion to see what has become of the quiet little farm town. Apple, the computer giant, is headquartered within walking distance of her old home. What was quiet and humble is now tall glass office buildings and high-rise hotels. This same sort of construction fabric has now covered much of the California landscape. Nothing here is strikingly unique, nothing seems to have much special character to it.

I spent a whole career commuting back and forth from the mountains to this valley, so the hurried life here is nothing new to me. Now that I am retired I can come visit for an hour or two with a spirit of disinterest, then return home to the mountains where the redwood forest is safe from land developers. I wonder what the future will look like in Cupertino? Much as I like computers, I would like to see the town go back to growing apricots. And why wasn't Apple named Apricot instead, since the headquarters sit squarely in an old apricot orchard?

For years I dreamed that bulldozers rolled into the valley, knocked down all the buildings, tore up the asphalt, and people came along behind the bulldozers and planted orchards and gardens. I've worn out that dream. For now, I'll just settle for more rain.