Clothes on the line, my backyward
The plum tree
Plums!
In my earlier post, I was lamenting the fact that I was in Oakland instead of out on a wilderness trail. Now, a few weeks later, I am still sitting here in Oakland, this time listening to the various firecrackers and other incendiary devices the neighbors are igniting in preparation for July 4th. I am getting ready to leave on a camping trip tomorrow morning. I am excited to get out of town, but overall, have been very content to be in the Bay Area during what amounts to a five week pseudo-vacation from the elementary children.
In the past few weeks, I've been working at the Park Elementary garden in Hayward two to three times a week, usually for four to six hours. I've also helped out with the high school program as well at Tennyson in Hayward. On my sometimes lengthy lunch breaks, I've been savoring the tastes of Hayward: Mexican hoagies, and burritos and aguas frescas from Chavez Market.
On my other days, I go into San Francisco for a Geography class I am taking at San Francisco State. The class as well as being in the city has given me the chance to get together with old friends and meet some new folks new as well.
An important part of my life recently has revolved around sprawling, long-unpruned plum tree growing in the backyard of my house in Fruitvale. It's called Fruitvale for a reason, one of my neighbors pointed out to me after we met while picking plums (a few branches reach across into the neighbor's yard). Until a few days ago, I had been waiting for the plums to get ripe. It seems that the hot weather we had here in the Bay Area a few weeks ago did the trick, and they have come on strong. The plums are what plums should be: plentiful, purple, juicy, and sweet with tartness in the skin and the part of the flesh next to the pit. Picking the plums and distributing them to various friends and co-workers has become a real pastime recently. The plum tree, especially during the heat wave, has provided a great shelter from the summer sun. I can sit in its' shade and read or talk on the phone, and maybe even catch a breeze. It's a nice nice place to be, enough greenery and peace to provide an oasis amidst this urban life I've come to appreciate much more these past few weeks.
Last Sunday I made a semi-annual trip to the Nor-Cal swap meet, a flea market that sprawls across the Laney College Parking lot and under the 880 Freeway here in Oakland once a week. It's always a bustling place, mostly a Latino crowd with a few Asians, Blacks, Middle Easterners, hipsters and any other folks that reside here in the 'Town and elsewhere in the Bay Area. One can find anything from a used drill to a spider-man backpack for your kindergardener, or a CD case full of Dave Matthews and Jon Mayer (neither artist is well-played in the East Bay, fortunately), most likely lifted from some college student's dorm room. I seek out the Mach 3 Gillette Razors, which are a rip off at a drug store but always come half-price at the pulga. The flea market is Oakland at its best, a convergence of all kinds of people, a chance for ordinary working folks to earn a little extra money selling anything and everything under the sun (never mind the legality of some of it). Like most of Oakland, the flea market is not a tourist destination, the prices are low and there are no arty or crafty items, save an old Al Green record or a towel painting or two. One can make an excursion out of it, as there are numerous stands selling hot dogs, tamales and pupusas.
When I step out and away from my work and routine, I discover all kinds of overlooked and under appreciated elements of life and find I don't really need to go too far to have a very satisfying vacation.
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