The BLM land that swept away from their property stretched out for miles and slanted down the eastern slope of the Santa Lucia Mountains like a rippled roll of giftwrap.
Imperceptible changes in elevation shaped two terrains into one. A palpable magnetism took hold where the mountains faded into the plains. She felt the pull of the land and wanted to understand it better.
When she asked her brother why she felt differently here in San Luis Obispo County than at home in Burbank, he said it was not the land but the sky. Her mother told her it was part of growing up. Her father told her it was nature’s way of thanking her for noticing its beauty.
None of those answers completely satisfied her although her father’s made the most sense. Her mother’s remarks always seemed to be tethered to the responsibilities of growing up, on the verge of a lecture about preparing for life’s inevitable difficulties.
Her brother’s attentions had taken a recent shift skyward. At night he was lashed to distant stars and planets. He showed her how to find Polaris and they handed the pair of binoculars back and forth to share a shaky view of the stars.
Early in the morning, she looked east through the wavy glass of her bedroom’s recessed window. She followed the first glint of sun which coated rolling grassland with a soft sheen. The way the light fell revealed where the land was carved with crevices. Sunlight turned clusters of blue oak into turquoise palaces and somehow brought both softness and sharpness to the land.
She continued to wonder why being here made her feel different. She grew more determined to know why she could sense a border crossed when she walked down the mountain and came out on the plain.
It was as if she was met with a highway sign welcoming her to a new state.
She wanted to know how far this BLM land actually went, how far until she encountered a fence. What would this fence protect? What would this fence hide?
Who put it up? And should she tear it down?
