California dreaming

Across a rocky expanse of classes, papers, meetings, and annoying responsibilities, I see California looming in the distance--except looming sounds so negative, so threatening. California is not looming ominously but instead stands at the end of the week waiting to embrace me and carry me away from Ohio--except that sounds like an old commercial for dishwashing liquid: "Calgon, take me away!"

Readers were getting carried away by California long before Europeans caught sight of its shores. Around 1508, Garci Ordonez de Montalvo described his own private fantasy island: "Know ye that on the right hand of the Indies there is an island called California, very near the Terrestrial Paradise and inhabited by black women without a single man among them and living in the manner of Amazons. They are robust of body, strong and passionate in heart, and of great valor. Their island is one of the most rugged in the world with bold rocks and crags. Their arms are full of gold, as is the harness of the wild beasts which, after taming, they ride. In all the island there is no other metal."

This description shaped explorers' expectations of California, but I've seen California and I know better than to look for an island populated by Amazons bearing gold. Instead, I'll be looking at California through the eyes of its authors. All next week my California Literature students will present information connecting literature and place: we'll hear about John Muir while visiting Muir Woods, commune with the spirit of John Steinbeck in Monterey, evoke the Beat poets in San Francisco and Big Sur, discuss Maxine Hong Kingston in Chinatown, and hear Robinson Jeffers's voice while visiting the house he built in Carmel.

That's the California that beckons at the end of the week, but between me and that dream stands a mountain of midterm grading. I can't get to California without crossing the Sierras, so the best thing to do is just start climbing and hope I don't end up stranded in Donner Pass.