Sign Sign everywhere a sign

Sign Sign everywhere a sign Sign Sign everywhere a sign Blocking out the scenery breaking my mind Do this, don't do that, can't you read the sign And the sign said anybody caught trespassing would be shot on sight So I jumped on the fence and yelled at the house, Hey! what gives you the right To put up a fence to keep me out or to keep mother nature in If God was here, he'd tell you to your face, man you're some kinda sinner (c) Five Man Electrical Band Well, this time the shoe is on the other foot. My foot. Living in the serenity and sanctity of Matilija Canyon for almost seven years now (not a long time for the residents who have called this home for decades, accepting fire and flood as part of their relationship with nature) I have been fortunate to experience life in various locations throughout the canyon. In 1999 I moved from Los Angeles, up canyon, close to the Dent House. For five years I studied the terrain, cultivated gardens, became familiar with seasons and learned of the pre-European Chumash culture and their continued devotion to this land. Since then, I have lived briefly, for one year, in the center portion of the canyon and now for the last six months given the responsibility and honor of stewarding and caregiving one of the most pristine and historical environments in the Ojai Valley. Though a "nature lover" and preserver during childhood, (in Junior High I was asked by my science instructor to join the environmental club. After school we planned eco-fairs for the campus and took field trips to places such as the landfill in the Santa Monica mountains) since moving to Ojai, I have become more immersed in the theories, methods and lifestyle of sustainability. At times failing and also celebrating my successes in sustaining land, livlihood and relationship. Ojai has become for me an important "real time" social experiment, as I experience myself and others balance nature, commerce, diversity and, at times, culture clash. The sign(s) posted on the roadside demarcate an area of the land, once public yet since 1988 rezoned as private, which fall within my stewardship. For at least three generations the families of Ojai, and visitors, have come here to take refuge during the hot summer months and take advantage of the swimming. Unfortunately, in my brief role as conservator, take advantage IS what some seem to do. Not one to enjoy policing, micro-managing, or outright harassing others, the last few months of summer left me in a quandry. How do I respect the lineage of Ojai who has enjoyed this river oasis while also protecting the land (and safety of the people) from pollution, broken glass, inebriated clumsiness, spray paint and gang activity? My solution was to make my presence known. Daily for several weeks I went down to the swimming hole and introduced myself. Something like, "Hi there, I'm Raymond and this is my backyard. I don't mind you swimming here and... could you help me clean it up, take out your trash and any other trash that others might of left. Also, if you could please park down the road since this is private property and there are no parking signs. The sheriff does come here and ticket as part of their rounds." Most of the time people were congenial, claiming they didn't see the no trespassing sign or parking sign (tee hee) and they would gladly help clean up. I thought, okay, I'll give everyone the benefit of the doubt and see if we, as a team, can take care of this portion of the property. (note: I was a bit skeptical seeing the amount of graffiti, beer bottles, McDonalds wrappers and toilet paper that was strewn about. Changes of habit could be slow going.) I bought some silver spray paint and covered over the tagging on the counties water level meter box just at the paths edge. I cleaned up debris on the roadside and broken glass on the river front. Two days later the silver paint had green "tags" on it or was etched into with a rock. A tree by the river was marked with green paint as well as large stones. There was a clear territorial power struggle ensuing. I no longer felt safe. I even carried a pint size sledge hammer with me during one visit down to the swimming hole. Living in fear was something I refused to do. Something needed to change; within and without. There were those that blamed others with racial slurs, those that claimed underage innocence, and those that simply said they would do what they want since their grandparents first brought them there when they were a kid. It's funny, or not so, how the most brawny adults turn into little children when they are caught with their hands in the cookie jar, or interpret requests as a reprimand. There is a false sense of priviledge that comes with living in an opulent country, and this gets exhibited locally as well as internationally. People do what they do because they "think" they deserve it. It doesn't matter if their actions harm others, destroy the earth or negate an agreement made. and... I have great compassion for the causes and symptoms of living in a world based on crumbling models and dysfunctional systems. I digress. I did my best to circumvent animosity and my own personal stress. Though towards the end of summer my frustration had become proportional with the heap of trash and disrespect the land and my requests were getting. I found letters from the previous owners, dating back to 1994, written to the local police and county asking for help in maintaining privacy and environmental sanity on this land. These letters were to no avail, though through my efforts I felt I was getting some consistent response and help with parking violations. It was suggested I build a gate that blocks the road since it is illegal for the county to put one up at the entrance of our road that meets Hwy. 33 An expensive propositon. Maybe I can have some influence by simply being present and enjoying the swimming as well. I noticed that the more people who brought alcohol to drink, the trashier "my backyard" became. Someone was kind enough to bring down a trashcan, but it filled up quickly and it left the responsibility to me to haul the trash up the embankment. Uh Oh, not a solution I could live with. Once a young boy came to me and said he cut his foot, I knew I needed to be more proactive. So I put a sign up, (No Alcohol, No Drugs. You May Be Asked To Leave) figuring, hey, people can have a good time without drinking and getting stoned. It's not like I've handed out an invitation to a daily backyard. By this time many people were "regulars" and knew this was private property. Within one week both signs were maliciously torn down. I say maliciously because they were intentionally ripped up and left underneath the tree where I had posted them. I asked myself, "How do I change this behavior? Who am I Being that might be causing this? What can I do so I stop feeling like this is a war? Me against them." I decided to just distance myself for awhile and see if I could just not care as much. A little bit of "out of site, out of mind". This gave my stress level a little reprieve until... the screaming, splashing and even fire cracker noise continued to wake me and destroy my quiet mornings. Here I was living in paradise and strung out by the actions of people who"pave paradise and put up a parking lot", i.e are disconnected from how their actions affect the world around them. A classic and local example of how our consumer culture has caused so much separation from nature, separation from the knowing that "if I leave my trash here, it will go downstream in the rains, choke off wildlife habitat, pollute the water that people pump wells from and cause harm in ways I may not even know about." Not to mention the pain in the *ss this was all becoming for me. I decided to take on the role that I laughingly and begrudgingly called "the benevolent dictator or the mad shaman of Matilija." I did my best to educate, swam naked in the swimming hole (since it was my private yard anyway) hoping it would scare people off...NOT, picked trash up and piled it up along the river bank so it was easy for others to carry out, wrote warning parking citations and left them on windshields, politely asked and yelled for cars to be moved, explained directly that there was no alcohol or drugs allowed, asked people specifically to leave for not respecting this. As the heat of summer continued so did my challenge and my willfulness to create peace and understanding in this situation, as well as doing my best to have some behavioral modification stick, on myself as well. I decided to pile a heap of rocks at the entrance of the narrow path that led down to the swimming hole. I taped a sign to the largest one that said "Private Property. No Public Use." I rode my bike back to my safe abode behind the large fence that separates the living area from the road. Literally, ten minutes later, I hear loud shouting coming from the river again. I feel my blood and heart racing as I gun my car down to where I had built the barrier and posted the sign. There were three teens down there. I told them to come up and out and bring the stones up the path with them. They said they didn't push the rocks down and defied my request. I watched and lingered behind as they left. I found my crumpled sign, my words from the "benevolent dictator." I rebuilt the mini-monolith, bigger stronger, and posted the sign back up; "Private Property. No Public Use." I drove back up the road for lunch. I lie relaxed, on the outdoor swing, feeling the hot breeze in the shade, full and content from my mid-afternoon repast. What? A young girls voice screaming! and again! I storm to my car, open the gate, and race to the monolithic site, MY monolithic legacy. It's demolished like the temples in Tibet, the water table in Afghanistan, the deer chomped fig tree in my garden. I careen down the embankment to the river, the sacred swimming hole, and there an entire family of four (plus friends) is lounging on the rocks. The little girl, in her naivete and her life preserver, floating in the small manmade pond. "Did you read the sign?" "We've been coming here since I was a little boy", says the father completely ignoring my question. "I blocked the path and put the sign up for a reason?" I say. "Who are you?" "Raymond, I live here." "I didn't know this was private?" "Well, considering there are three signs up...?" At this point the he tried to schmooze me; to try and convince me to allow them to stay. It was being laid on thick. Amidst the little daughters screams of delight and the guilty countenances of onlooking friends, I disgustingly say (with an afterthought of noticing how judgemental I was being) " Why is it that people in America feel so privledged that they just do whatever they want?" My statement is greeted with blank stares and just a hint of comprehension. I ask them to leave and to please take up their trash and more if they see any laying around. I waited as they left, carting out their refuse yet leaving the small pile of trash that I had collected and left at the base of the path. This was the final event of my first summer here on this land. An initiation of sorts to the energy it attracts, the flora, wildlife and people that make this their (habit)at and my own personal journey to find balance between my anger and my grace; my gentleman and my warrior; my teacher and my diplomat. I'm relieved the cooler weather has depopulated the river near and part of my home. As I think about Matilija Dam being deconstructed and possible properties being determined eminent domain, (def.- the power of the federal or state government to take private property for a public purpose, in exchange for payment of fair market value, even if the property owner objects.) I question my own beliefs about the injustices of declaring public forest land as private. After my experience this summer, maybe local private ownership is one of the ways to protect and keep the land uncompromised. When you are an owner, with a sense of possession, (albeit an inaccurate sense of possession) there is more at stake and a sense of belonging to the land. Maybe "the public" doesn't know, anymore, how to sustain paradise; how to recreate lightly in fragile ecosystems. Maybe it is wise to wait until there is more environmental awareness about our local terrain. I walk the rivers and streams in our beautiful valley and sing to the hearts of those who paint the stones, litter the trails and remain numb to the destruction. I also sing songs to those who remain steadfast and strong with their convictions in the face of over growth in the Ojai community. It is their integrity and action that are planting the true seeds of growth in our valley. I share one last anecdote. As I was asking a group of about twenty highschool students to leave the property, two young women walked up to me. They said they were from Matilija Junior High and were taking pictures for a class project. I inquired what it was about. They said it was a report on the pollution of the river and the need to take care of it. May their inspiration spark in the hearts of others and be the promise of our valleys future.