Coastline Pilot

December 6, 2002

 

Chasing the Muse

By Catharine Cooper

 

Driving across highway 161 on the California/Oregon border, one can’t help but be amused by the nature of artificial boundaries.  On one side of the road, the speed limit is 70 mph (CA), while on the other, 60 is the law.  Looking out across the terrain, it is difficult, if not impossible, to discern any difference.  Wide stretches of groomed alfalfa fields, marsh lands and ancient lava flows fill the horizon in all directions.  Which is Oregon?  Which is California?  And why?

 

The concept of borders, or boundaries, seems to have gotten its start with the earliest civilizations in the area known as Mesopotamia, a greek work meaning “between the rivers.”  It was in that ancient fertile valley between the Tigris and Euphrates around 3000 BC, that successful agriculture gave birth to territories that needed defense.  Developed around the desire to control water resources, borders were originally geographic in nature, but as our cultures expanded, so did our need to carve up the earth’s space.

 

Lines drawn in the sand.  What do they mean?

 

I was again struck by the absurdity of certain borders while on a hiking junket this past weekend with my husband, Steve.  Armed with the knowledge that the Wilderness Park is open on Saturdays and Sundays, we headed to the El Toro lot.  Ha, not this Saturday.  A large “closed’ sign greeted our attempt to enter the parking facility.  A bit miffed, we turned back toward Laguna and up the coast to El Morro Canyon.  A sign there indicated the park was closed to mountain biking due to the rains, but hikers – hey, come on in.

 

Armed with binoculars, water and lunch, we headed up the south slopes toward the back country.  The air was fresh from the recent rains.  The trails crisp and without dust.  To the east and south lay the Wilderness Park which was closed to our travel - the park that I voted my tax dollars to purchase.

 

I carefully analyzed the terrain.  Both hill tops and valleys appear the same.  Chapparal, wild sage, and a sprinkling of sycamores cover the land.  Two red tailed hawks soared across the open space followed by a raven.  No boundaries for them, nor the coyote tracks in the moist earth.  Wildlife doesn’t know the meaning of gates – as is evident by road kill.

 

It would have been easy to jump the fence and head into the Laguna park, but as a law-abiding citizen, it seemed an illogical thing to do.   Besides, how could I possibly defend my husband’s position as a city official – breaking the rules?   

 

So, two wilderness parks, side by side.  Identical in structure and terrain, managed by two separate organizations who cannot agree on a joint management policy.  Seems painfully like larger issues of country and state, such as the speed limit between Oregon and California, or the standard of living between Tijuana and San Diego.

 

I think the American Indians had it right.  No land ownership.  Drag a teepee and follow the seasons.  The animals still do.  Imagine if the migrating waterfowl had to have different permits for landing in Upper Klamath Basin (Oregon) and Tule Lake (California).

 

I know this sounds simplistic, but a part of me is filled with great fear of the political courses we are pursuing.  Rather than expanding as humans across the globe, we appear to be closing down spaces and tightening entry. 

 

As Americans, we cherish our incredible freedom – both to travel within the United States and abroad.  We are not as innocent as the animals, the rivers or the trees, but maybe we could take some lessons by observation.  Borders, by design, establish a defensive position, but not necessarily an offensive movement.  As a good friend admonishes me, “be careful what you ask for.”   We sit precariously in the family of man.

 

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