I've been fantasizing a lot lately about moving out west.
Maybe it just happens to be the ones I follow, but it seems that a high concentration of the Paleo food bloggers out there on the interwebs are based in California. Perhaps it's the year-round access to fresh produce, or simply that cool people live in Cali and cool people eat Paleo--I don't know.
But I'm constantly jealous.
Scrolling through my Instagram is as inspiring as it is torturing. And not just because of the food. Those crazy California people are constantly on the beach, or hiking, or at the farmer's market, or just outside in the sun being awesome and tan and happy.
I'm not ashamed to say that I totally want to be them. I would love that life. I'll spare you my rendition of Ariel's "Part of Your World" but just so you know--that's the general sentiment here.
Not that I don't love upstate New York. The Adirondacks are one of my favorite places ever to have visited and by far the best place I've ever lived (Vermont, you're a very close second). Mountains are definitely on the required list for any place that I may settle down in. Sorry, Ithaca, but your hills don't count as mountains. I love the ocean too, though. Or a large body of water at least. Mountains and ocean would be ideal (can you see why the west coast is desirable?).
I've been to California twice in my life. The first time--which I don't really count--was marching in the Rose Bowl Parade with the Pride of Missouri State University marching band. I don't count it because a) it was Pasadena, and b) we only went to all the most touristy, corporate, commercial spots that part of southern California had to offer (like Disneyland, outlet malls, etc). It was rushed and hectic and all of my time was pre-planned for me. I didn't get to explore or have any kind of adventure. Thus, I don't consider that as getting a true California experience.
Luckily, the second time I visited California was the complete opposite of the first. The summer after I moved to New York, my boyfriend and I drove cross-country to hike the John Muir Trail. We started in Yosemite National Park, and three weeks--and 250 miles--later stepped off of Mount Whitney. I could write dozens of blog posts about how awesome that trip was, but suffice it to say that is what I think of when I think of California. The dry, rocky, towering ominous peaks. The lush valleys. The crystal clear glacial lakes. The wildlife. The cowboys and the pack mules. Sleeping under the stars. The sunshine. The sunshine, people.
And that was only a very small section of the state. I want to go back and go to northern California. And Oregon. And Washington. I'm seriously lacking in west coast experiences. My grandmother gave my a guide to bicycling the Pacific Coast a long time ago and I keep it on the shelf because there is a part of my still determined to make the trip someday. Maybe I will. Maybe I'll hike the Pacific Crest Trail instead. Maybe I'll do both.
These are things that cross my mind as I'm looking at yet another meal posted to Instagram with fresher ingredients than I could ever dream of, or reading about another food blogger using limes or lemons from their backyard tree.
I guess if I wanted to, I could have an indoor lemon tree. I do have fig trees indoors. But I dream about my figs growing outside in the ground. Maybe someday.
Someday.
Maybe.
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