“It is also hard not to be a little resentful of Silicon Valley’s immense wealth if you live in the shadow of it.”
We live right in the middle of it. Houses still go on the market for $4 million, sell in ten days, and are bought by young couples barely 30 with two or three very young children. They invariably drive Teslas, Lambos, McLarens, or Ferraris. And nine times out of ten, they are from India or China.
This place is a victim of its own success. With all this money awash around here, the developers are transforming our once-cute little downtown areas into mini Manhattans. Then the single-party Sacramento passes rules that tell our little town of 25,000 that we are REQUIRED to build 3,000 “affordable” housing units. And no more natural gas for anybody, either.
The state pays so much to illegals and homeless that our roads are literally crumbling. I worked in a lot of third-world countries in my early career and the roads there were not as bad as what we have here. Forty miles of El Camino Real have fallen to pieces and you have to constantly dodge the massive, car-destroying potholes.
This is a very, very sick place. But the weather and scenery are still nice if you can blot all the horrendous demise out.
Blotting out the horrendous demise is a daily effort of mine. No seems to it, every day we are blasted with a new demand, threat or outrage. Just one day I would like not to hear from the gooberment about anything.
As for the sprawl, I retired on the state highway I grew up on. Sixty or more years ago I’d lie awake at night with the windows open listening for the sound of a distant car approach and fade as it passed by. Now, it is a steady din of noise.
The rural water line installed in the early 70s is now on its second expansion in the seven years since I returned home. First a six inch line, then an 8” and now a third line of 12” to replace the original 6” line.
Momma read to us a children’s book by Virginia Lee Burton “The Little House” from peaceful country to surrounded by city. That book was from 1943. I feel like that little house. Now a child doesn’t even need a Momma to read the book.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7D-UnakYw7A
This is no voice like Mom’s. I got a load of fuel out here one day. The driver had to call the house and Mom answered to give him directions. When he got here he said: “Who was that lady on the phone? I could listen to her all day.” I laughed, “That was my Momma.”
The world I knew is crumbling and changing far too fast for me. When my time comes I hope I’m ready and worthy of better things.
The transformation of our nation is a ghastly sight indeed. It causes me to weep for those who have never known better and never will.
I imagine that “Lambos, McLarens, and Ferraris” don’t come out entirely unscathed after encounters with “massive, car-destroying potholes”. Must be good to be in wheel, frame, and suspension repair business for exotics.