There’s been a bit of a heatwave in California this past week. Globally, the hottest it’s ever been since we started keeping track of these things, apparently. That doesn’t seem like great news. The Bay Area remains a carve out. Oakland has been peaking around 78-80 at most. Not today Satan. We’re lucky, or blessed or something. In some ways. The heat reminded me of this rooftop shoot with Makayla.
This was a damn hot day last September. That’s when our real summer gets cranking. For three to six weeks in late August to early October. We used to call it Indian Summer. Not sure if we’re allowed to say that any more. Yet even then we’ll get three or four hot days and the heat of the interior pulls in the cool air from the pacific and the fog with it. The fog here has a name. Karl. Karl the fog. I’ve been encouraged by our unseasonably cool summer and extra dose of fog. We need the fog, its what makes the Bay Area tolerable, its what waters our Redwood trees. The heavy cool moisture moves across the land, flowing like water over the coastal mountain ranges, collecting in the needles of the Redwoods and falling beneath them like rain. If you’re never heard a Redwood grove on a foggy day, make it a priority to experience. Silent and dripping at the same time. Hushed. Cool. Damp. Full of potential, full of life. Feeling these giants pull moisture from the air, quenching themselves as they’ve done for thousands and thousands of years. The fog also pulls in microbes that make our sourdough bread and our steam bear possible. Wild yeast. Speaking of steam beer, our beloved Anchor Steam has gone tits up. A real damn shame. For many of us Bay Area natives, Anchor Steam was one of the first beers we tasted. Colloquially known as steam beer, officially designated as California Common as an official beer style. It got its name as Steam Beer, because when its brewed, the hot wert is transferred into huge, open air, shallow trays known as steam ships. There its left to the environment to be inoculated with wild yeast through the open windows on a San Francisco afternoon. Its also dosed with a lager yeast and fermented at warmer than normal temperatures. It’s a pretty special thing. And Anchor Steam is a pretty special brewery. I have faith that someone will step in and right the ship. To be continued.
Last week I was at a regular dinner with the guys. One of us remarked that for all the progress we’ve seen since the pandemic, things still don’t feel like they used to. And, honestly, they probably never will. Others agreed. Its hard to put your finger on it. The atmosphere is changed. Maybe its politics, a divided country, maybe its the trauma of having endured something so hard to wrap your brain around as a global pandemic. But the terrain below our feet is no longer the same. And yet we struggle and strain to go back to the way it was before. I went over this with my therapist, Ellie. Exploring the idea of comfort zones and stretching against them. Growth happens when you’re straining against constraint. I postulated, that after the last three years, being cooped up, scared, traumatized, isolated, we’ve put ourself into a dangerous comfort zone. A rut. We spoke of ruts and I had the literal visual of a dirt road, rutted by the travel of numerous vehicles. You could let go of the wheel and your truck would crawl on, guided by the ruts. But the destination wasn’t one of your own choosing necessarily. You have to grab the wheel and give it a yank to break out of the rut. You’ve got to resist.
I went to an event last Friday that felt very Oakland in the before times. A small circus in a small venue. A small group of people who had decided to grab the wheel and make something for the sake of making something. Give them a look and a follow at Haus of Wire and Hypothetical Circus. The landscape may be changing but the people occupying it are the same. We want to make things, we want to express, we want to live and to love, to feel and be felt. What a hell of a ride we’re on. Buckle up. Grab the wheel.
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Oh, and fuck self driving cars.