California Coast & Ocean

Blazing heat had been alternating with cold winds and fog in San Francisco. In Oakland, where it's usually warmer, birds flying past Coast & Ocean's 11th-floor window fanned the urge to be someplace moist, shady, and green. I crossed Broadway to Frank Ogawa Plaza, in front of City Hall, picked up a sandwich, and found a shady spot near the two big oaks.

I have a special feeling for those two coast live oaks. A few years ago they were about to be cut down to make way for plaza renovation. Their continued presence reminds me of what a few people, with a little effort, can accompish when good sense is on their side. So those oaks make me feel good in more ways than one.

In 1996, an office worker bicycling through the plaza was surprised to see tags on most of the trees, giving notice that they were to be removed. He was shocked, as were others in his office. A little group of tree defenders formed, made inquiries, and was told that it was too late for public input. The planning process had been completed, and tree removal would proceed as scheduled.

Not accepting that answer, a member of the ad-hoc group called a city council member, who also was surprised and agreed to hold a hearing. That led to a series of meetings and, finally, a city council hearing. By that time support for the trees had grown, from the chamber of commerce, other organizations, and many city residents. In the end, the renovation happened without destroying the oaks or five tall sycamores in the plaza. Since then, I've noticed that whenever there is an event in the plaza, people gravitate to the shade of those two oaks. The lawn and pavement of the plaza are often too hot or too windy.

After lunch I walked to the nearby kiosk and asked the woman inside if she liked working there. "Oh yes," she said. "I love those trees. I tell my friends--look at where I work, look at those trees!" When I told her the story, she said: "I'm so glad. I couldn't stand it here without them."

Whenever I see those oaks, my spirits rise. They stand for life and the kind of thinking that's essential if there's ever to be peace in the world. We need civic improvements that respect what exists in a place--trees, people, geographic features--rather than the kind that impose some concept, assuming that anything that stands in the way can be removed, usually in the name of cost efficency.

The latter approach still dominates, as urban sprawl continues to chew through hills and valleys with little regard for nature except when public agencies or citizen protests require it. Even after Hurricane Katrina, homes are being built below sea level in the Sacramento-San Joaquin Delta, despite past levee failures and warnings of more to come.

Recent natural catastrophes, and the fear of even greater calamities with further climate change, however, have encouraged interest in designing with nature. It's happening on the Los Angeles River and in Napa County in regard to flood control. Other cities are recognizing the need for parks and trees. (The Port of Oakland, though, is now ready to sacrifice waterfront parkland for high-rise private development on public land.)

Trees not only provide shade, cleaner air, and soothing sounds, they also save energy by diminishing the need for air conditioning; their roots hold in place soil that otherwise would be washed downstream; and they absorb rainwater that could flood basements and streamside neighborhoods.

Among those who have long and successfully advocated for more urban trees and green space, especially in the Los Angeles-San Gabriel River watershed, is Dorothy Green. Her story--like that of the Oakland oaks saved by a handful of downtown workers but on a much larger scale--inspires me and fends off passivity and despair.

Seeds of conservation planted by a scattering of passionate citizens decades ago have borne fruit in many ways. Now not only radical artists and activists but powerful agencies are thinking watershed-wide. In the story of Willow Creek you can read how the range of possibilities can expand when people put aside personal power struggles and turf battles and collaborate. In "The Border Was No Barrier," you will see how the power of delight can overcome archaic, rigid expressions of dominance. Yes, that was just one day, and the fortification and militarization of the border with our friend Mexico continues, but in the long run, delight always overcomes fear. In this issue we give you some hopeful stories, as well as at least one scary one. We figure our readers will appreciate the mix.

To enjoy life, or to work for change in society, we first have to notice what's in front of our eyes. In downtown San Francisco, on a street corner passed daily by thousands of drivers, stands a lone tree. Few people would ever notice it were it not for a huge arrow, like a one-way-street sign, that points to it and reads: "One Tree." You can't help but laugh whenever you see it. The artist, Rigo 06, captures the attention with a sign every driver must heed, then subverts expectations: Hey, a tree! On another building he's painted one arrow that points down: "Cars," and one that points straight up: "Birds." How about that?

	Two Trees Eileen Ecklund
	Blazing heat had been alternating with cold winds and fog in San Francisco. In Oakland, where it's usually warmer, birds flying past Coast & Ocean's 11th-floor window fanned the urge to be someplace moist, shady, and green. I crossed Broadway to Frank Ogawa Plaza, in front of City Hall, picked up a sandwich, and found a shady spot near the two big oaks. I have a special feeling for those two coast live oaks. A few years ago they were about to be cut down to make way for plaza renovation. Their continued presence reminds me of what a few people, with a little effort, can accompish when good sense is on their side. So those oaks make me feel good in more ways than one. In 1996, an office worker bicycling through the plaza was surprised to see tags on most of the trees, giving notice that they were to be removed. He was shocked, as were others in his office. A little group of tree defenders formed, made inquiries, and was told that it was too late for public input. The planning process had been completed, and tree removal would proceed as scheduled. Not accepting that answer, a member of the ad-hoc group called a city council member, who also was surprised and agreed to hold a hearing. That led to a series of meetings and, finally, a city council hearing. By that time support for the trees had grown, from the chamber of commerce, other organizations, and many city residents. In the end, the renovation happened without destroying the oaks or five tall sycamores in the plaza. Since then, I've noticed that whenever there is an event in the plaza, people gravitate to the shade of those two oaks. The lawn and pavement of the plaza are often too hot or too windy. After lunch I walked to the nearby kiosk and asked the woman inside if she liked working there. "Oh yes," she said. "I love those trees. I tell my friends--look at where I work, look at those trees!" When I told her the story, she said: "I'm so glad. I couldn't stand it here without them." Whenever I see those oaks, my spirits rise. They stand for life and the kind of thinking that's essential if there's ever to be peace in the world. We need civic improvements that respect what exists in a place--trees, people, geographic features--rather than the kind that impose some concept, assuming that anything that stands in the way can be removed, usually in the name of cost efficency. The latter approach still dominates, as urban sprawl continues to chew through hills and valleys with little regard for nature except when public agencies or citizen protests require it. Even after Hurricane Katrina, homes are being built below sea level in the Sacramento-San Joaquin Delta, despite past levee failures and warnings of more to come. Recent natural catastrophes, and the fear of even greater calamities with further climate change, however, have encouraged interest in designing with nature. It's happening on the Los Angeles River and in Napa County in regard to flood control. Other cities are recognizing the need for parks and trees. (The Port of Oakland, though, is now ready to sacrifice waterfront parkland for high-rise private development on public land.) Trees not only provide shade, cleaner air, and soothing sounds, they also save energy by diminishing the need for air conditioning; their roots hold in place soil that otherwise would be washed downstream; and they absorb rainwater that could flood basements and streamside neighborhoods. Among those who have long and successfully advocated for more urban trees and green space, especially in the Los Angeles-San Gabriel River watershed, is Dorothy Green. Her story--like that of the Oakland oaks saved by a handful of downtown workers but on a much larger scale--inspires me and fends off passivity and despair. Seeds of conservation planted by a scattering of passionate citizens decades ago have borne fruit in many ways. Now not only radical artists and activists but powerful agencies are thinking watershed-wide. In the story of Willow Creek you can read how the range of possibilities can expand when people put aside personal power struggles and turf battles and collaborate. In "The Border Was No Barrier," you will see how the power of delight can overcome archaic, rigid expressions of dominance. Yes, that was just one day, and the fortification and militarization of the border with our friend Mexico continues, but in the long run, delight always overcomes fear. In this issue we give you some hopeful stories, as well as at least one scary one. We figure our readers will appreciate the mix. To enjoy life, or to work for change in society, we first have to notice what's in front of our eyes. In downtown San Francisco, on a street corner passed daily by thousands of drivers, stands a lone tree. Few people would ever notice it were it not for a huge arrow, like a one-way-street sign, that points to it and reads: "One Tree." You can't help but laugh whenever you see it. The artist, Rigo 06, captures the attention with a sign every driver must heed, then subverts expectations: Hey, a tree! On another building he's painted one arrow that points down: "Cars," and one that points straight up: "Birds." How about that?