Manifest destiny

"Land is the only thing in the world that amounts to anything, for ‘tis the only thing in this world that lasts.... ‘Tis the only thing worth working for, worth fighting for—worth dying for."

– Margaret Mitchell

Driving around Orange County, clues of its rural heritage abound. You see, virtually every bit of property in this area – from ocean foam to inland mountains – was divided among a handful of ranchers and farmers not so long ago. Driving along elevated roads in town that afford panoramic views of thousands and thousands of homes, high-rises and parks, I'm amazed at the thought of that being featureless grazing land or the uniform texture of crops reaching as far as the eye can see.

Millions of acres of land owned by dozens of families. Parcels given as wedding dowries. It would take days to ride from one end of your property to another.

Little by little, sale-by-sale, what was a few men's kingdoms fractalized into Mandelbrot sets of cities and towns and communities and neighborhoods and streets and homes.

And I got mine.

It may not be much, but it's mine. (Well, not really mine, but for the purpose of a sentimental ending of this blog, let's just pretend it is, okay?)