Happy Tuesday! No, wait… It’s Wednesday. My week (I know
it’s only half way through the week) has been insane thus far. We have been
preparing for our Ready For Sea (RFO) inspection for a while now and today was
the kickoff. So far we are ahead. It’s halftime. Tomorrow begins the second
half and hopefully we’ll come out with a W. The refs are tough…. There is
always that one you never quite agree with!
Today I got home, turned on the TV, checked Facebook and
came across this great article; “Love Letters: Marin County”. It was originally
posted on the Travel section of Huffington Post.
I love it. In the Coast Guard, so often people ask you where
you are from. Its an easy conversation starter. If you’re new to a unit that is
usually one of the first 5 questions you are asked. Then the answer usually,
“Well I’m from… but I was last
stationed in ….” Often I just say San Francisco, (I mean who doesn’t know where
San Fran is…) then you come across someone who was stationed nearby and so I
try and go more in depth. About 50% of the time people know what I’m talking
about. People know San Francisco, people know Wine Country, but about half the
time people have no idea about this Paradise in between.
So after a long day, this put a smile on my face. It reminded me of where I grew up, all the adventures I had as a child, and how incredibly lucky I am.
Dear
Marin,
Each day
for the past 8,487 days I have fallen in love with you all over again.
I love you
for being so damn authentic. True, you have your flaws -- some roll their eyes
at your plethora of yoginis and scold your affluence as excessive -- but you
never try to be someone you're not (unlike that Southern California city).
To me, you
are the perfect love child of an outdoorsy philanthropist and a progressive
hippy -- a lovely contradiction. A land built on the dreams of true hippies who
(partially) retired their peace signs and swapped Berkeley for Fairfax and hot
tubs for BMWs. A cultural mecca where Tupac grew up and The Grateful Dead lives
on. Where San Quentin and Skywalker Ranch both share roots. Where the fog meets
the Purple Haze.
I love
that "compost" was part of my kindergarten vocabulary. I love that
the teenager blasting Mac Dre in his car waves at the senior citizen from the
Redwoods protesting the war on the street corner. I love that In-N-Out's lack
of drive thru means you'll likely run into your old volleyball coach or your
middle school crush. I love that 101 is your main artery, where Priuses
outnumber SUVs and it's nearly impossible to drive without spotting a
"Keep Tahoe Blue" or "Free Tibet" bumper sticker.
Sometimes
I get nostalgic for the old days -- when going to the Village meant a slice at
Sbarro's with friends and Mill Valley's Sake's Alive was the go-to source for
cheap party favors. But a core part of your admirable character lies in your
ability to adapt. You evolve as the world does, incorporating change without
sacrificing too much of your genuine identity. Your steadfast loyalty to the
Peso and the Deuce amidst the burgeoning likes of Blue Barn and Beerworks
attest to this admirable attribute.
You offer
so much and ask for very little in return. You nurture me, providing me with so
many opportunities to explore your vast geography. In one day, I can bodysurf
the modest waves of Stinson Beach, hike beneath the lofty canopies of Redwoods,
bike past the iconic Sausalito houseboats, picnic in the Headlands' barracks
that Jack Kerouac once called home, and kayak beside Great Whites on Tomales
Bay.
Being in
love with you might have made me overweight, Marin, if you weren't so damn
health conscious. Only you could overwhelm the foodies of San Francisco with so
many options. From the lime green facade on 3rd Street that signifies a slice
of Puerto Rican flavor to the familiar faces behind the magic of Stefano's --
and all the organic goodness in between.
Regardless
of the season, you appeal to me. I love you in summer, when you greet me with
brunch at Parkside and leave me with Headlands' sunsets. I love you in fall,
when Blue Angels decorate the sky and the lingering heat is abated by an
afternoon dip at Three Wells. I love you in spring, when Samuel P. Taylor comes
alive and you seduce me with Lavender Honey Vanilla ice cream. I even love you
in winter, when rain glitters on Phoenix Lake and Ghiradelli hot chocolate is
just a bridge away.
Above all,
I love that your iconic symbol is a mountain. To the sleeping lady who protects
us all with her comforting presence, Mt. Tam, I owe you my heart. Your endless
hiking trails crisscross the mountain in a poetic maze of natural wonderment.
Under a cloudless canopy, you rise like a celestial beacon, tit for tat with
your eastern rival, Mt. Diablo -- two sentinels beside the Bay.
I remember
the time it snowed on your peak my junior year of high school, meager but
majestic flakes. We clambered into our cars and raced to the top, blasting
"Electric Feel" with that unique Marin smell wafting through the open
sunroof.
Throughout
all, I love that you remain you -- one of the most forward thinking and
naturally beautiful places I've had the privilege of knowing. Your authenticity
never ceases to amaze me.
Marin, if
I could, I would keep you for myself -- blot out Bolinas from the map,
barricade the Dipsea steps, smother any whispers of the Lava House, and stop
telling hopelessly lost tourists on Blazing Saddles bikes where "the tall
trees" are.
But, alas,
I am far from being the only one that loves you. And damn, if that doesn't make
me love you even more.
Peace and
love,
Karin
Karin Swanson
is a UCLA alum and the current Ignite Good Fellow for the Huffington Post. She
was born and raised in downtown Mill Valley where she treated Mt. Tam as her
personal backyard playground. She now lives in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, where
she wears her Joe's Taco's tee-shirt to bed and dreams of garlic plantains.
To read more Love Letters visit The Huffinton Post link here.
I hope you enjoyed this read as much as I did! Here are a couple photos from my Dad's Marin archive. Much Love.
