The Lighthouse Keeper
BY DANIEL W. DRAKE

ASSOCIATE PUBLISHER


As the old saw goes, “In Dallas, it is

called ‘sushi.’ In Fort Worth, they all it ‘bait.’” So too, in California they call it the “marine layer.” While in Nantucket, we call it “fog.”

It is worth speculating, briefly, that the reason that so many Nanucketers emigrated to California in the mid-19th century was because they had heard that the San Francisco Bay area had a marine layer just like Nantucket’s, and regardless of their success or failure, they would feel right at home. The lure of riches to be had from gold prospecting was only secondary in their thinking.

The marine layer was much in evidence in San Francisco this past weekend. And yes, it did feel like home. And, yes, one visitor did wish it didn’t feel like home. From about 4 p.m. until the following mid-morning, the city was clammy and damp and windy. All of San Francisco’s charms came out for the six hours or so each day that the sun shone. The rest of the time was …. well, it was just like Nantucket has been for most of the past six weeks: not very nice.

An outdoor wedding held on the Peninsula, not far from the San Francisco airport, was overshadowed by high winds and the looming fog bank. Probably several weddings on Nantucket this past weekend suffered the same fate.

Everyone was saying that the weather was unusual, even for San Francisco. Sound familiar?

California is as striking and as quirky as ever.

In the late 1960s Berkeley was dominated by the encampment of hundreds of young people on Telegraph Avenue, protesting the Vietnam war and initiating a more uninhibited era of communal living, drug use and public displays of affection. Today, the placid summer afternoon scene is of crowds streaming to a rock concert and a mention of the Berkeley Barb, the forefather of today’s alternative press, only draws a puzzled look.

What hasn’t changed in Berkeley is the view across the Bay to the Golden Gate and the spires of San Francisco’s buildings. That vista has to be one of the most spectacular anywhere, with the marine layer hanging over the coastal mountains only adding to its beauty.

“The State of California has determined...” was the precursor of many posted warnings that used to be ubiquitous throughout the state. The warnings had to do with everything from smoking, and drinking while pregnant to, practically, living and breathing. The language of the warnings was as assertive in its pomposity as it was in laying out the potential hazard. Is it possible that there was a campaign of civil disobedience, or some other sort of backlash, that resulted in the removal of those signs? Was it bureaucratic remorse? Or is it diminishing powers of observation? Not one such warning sign was spotted on this visit.

If, in fact, the warnings have all been taken down, it was a remarkable exercise of authority in a state that is notorious for leading the nation in recognizing the dire consequences of what the citizenry is capable of doing itself — or to other species.

Which brings us to the subject of foie gras, a delicacy to which I have not become accustomed. It isn’t bad, but it is not something I would go out of my way to eat.

Foie gras is liver, that of a duck or a goose. It is manufactured, if that is the correct term, by force-feeding the bird several times a day so that the bird’s liver becomes substantially enlarged. When ground up and mixed with appropriate spices, it is deemed by some as one of the more delectable appetizers.

How anyone came up with the idea of force-feeding a bird to produce this form of ambrosia is beyond the scope of my imagination. However, someone did, and, according to Internet sources, about twenty thousand birds a year are processed in this fashion at only two places in the United States, one in California and one in New York.

The State of California has determined the force-feeding of ducks and geese is inappropriate behavior, or at least will be in 2012, because in recently enacted legislation, the force-feeding of ducks and geese to produce foie gras or the sale of foie gras produced from ducks raised in such a manner will become illegal in 2012.

As is so often the case with California initiatives, other states are following suit. New York, home of the only other foie gras farm, and officious intermeddlers like Oregon and, of course, Massachusetts are considering similar bills.

The law doesn’t bar the raising and slaughter of ducks and geese. Duck liver and goose liver can still be eaten in whatever form appeals to the consumer, except if the bird has been subjected to the foie gras process. In this limited instance, California has done for poultry what Sinclair Lewis and his associates were never able to do for steers.

Is this legislation a “model” for things to come? Does it initiate a new era in animal rights activism in regard to food? Does it bespeak a further lack of legislative reliance on common sense in the face of pressure from vocal proponents? We will have to keep our eyes on California.

The Massachusetts coast seen from the air is beautiful, as this column recently noted. However, for all its twists and turns, rivers and bays and inlets, the topography of the land mass has a certain sameness to it. There is little variation in grade or color. There are differences in elevation but they are not significant enough to become much of a feature of the landscape as seen from an airplane. The green at this time of year is uniform, broken only by the marks of civilization.

In contrast, the aerial view of the central California coast is a study in contrast and shading. The blue of the Pacific is bordered by the dark green upward thrust of the Coastal Range, a single, almost continuous string of mountains. Lying to the east of the mountains is the San Joaquin Valley, marked by the quilted patterns of agriculture.

The irrigated fields of the river valley butt up against the inland desert, a vast expanse of dunes that is as grey and desolate as the fields and mountains are green and lush. The entire scene is breathtaking until it disappears beneath the Los Angeles Basin’s version of the marine layer, a mucousy brown and stagnant combination of water vapor and burned petroleum residue.

Upon returning, the haze covering Nantucket also obscured the island, but it was a clean haze beyond which the bank of fog lurked, waiting for the call to roll in.

So much for another weekend away. California has many wonderful qualities, but if it sends us its euphemisms, its smog or its unfattened goose liver, beware!

I

The “Lighthouse Keeper” reflects the views of the author and does not represent the editorial position of The Nantucket Independent. Please send any comments to drake@nantucketindependent.com.