Where Is Your Ground?

I just came back from a lovely trip to California. 

It’s where I’m from.

It’s where generations of my family are from.

My great-great-great-grandfather John Reed arrived in the Bay Area in 1826. He left Dublin on a ship with his uncle when he was only 15 years old, and after a few years in Mexico, arrived in this area which would later become known as Marin. 

Reed was one of the first Europeans to settle in that area. He obtained a land grant in 1834 and started building a saw mill there—which is what Mill Valley is named after. 

This is a challenging legacy for my family. 

Reed essentially took land from the Coast Miwok who lived there at the time and staked it as his own. 

The indigenous population had already been reduced by existence of the Spanish missions that were in that region. But when the secularization of the Missions ended, rather than land being returned to the native people, land went to colonists like my great-great-great grandfather.

And this is where my family began in the U.S. 

When I was young, though, I didn’t know all of that.

All I knew was that my ancestors were explorers and pioneers.

I grew up mostly in New England, but every year or two would go back to California for a few weeks to stay with my grandmother. And I always found it incredibly grounding to go back to the Bay area. 

Driving over the Golden Gate was always anchoring for me. Some uncles actually built some of the bridges in that region. And passing through the Rainbow Tunnel that connects the bridge to Marin County was magical for a kid—it was like driving into a whole new world.

I would become choked up seeing the first glimpses of Mt. Tamalpais—which my mother, as a young girl, called Mount Tamale Pie. Or the natural cathedral and breathtaking quiet of Muir Woods.

This time, I walked along trails at the Marin Headlands with a beautiful view of the bay where my great-great-great grandfather ran the first ferry service. I had dinner at an amazing little brewery/ fish restaurant in Mill Valley. And I went by the rock that marks where John Reed’s adobe house once stood.

Where do you go when you want to feel more connected to yourself? 

What part of the Earth actually grounds you?

To find their ground, sometimes people go back home. Or they go to what they consider home. 

But for others, going home is not grounding at all. 

The ocean is steadying for me because of all those summers spent at Stinson Beach. 

I find libraries and bookshops grounding. I have always been a voracious reader and feel most peaceful around books. One of my first volunteer jobs as a kid was working at a library. I feel most like myself when I am among books. 

It’s the one place where my writer self feels like she belongs. 

I find the woods to be settling. 

Some people find music to be calming.

Some people find busy places with lots of activity and noises grounding.

What places and spaces are most stabilizing for you? 

And do you allow yourself to go there frequently enough? 

Pico Iyer once wrote, “Home is not where you are born; home is where all your attempts to escape cease.”

I feel like that every time I go to the Bay Area. 

There, I can stop running. I stop my constant search for what my life is about. I stop clamoring to achieve or do or be better. 

There, I find the quiet spirit of my ancestors and family that is no longer around.

There, I can just be me, a great-great-great granddaughter of someone I imagine to be a great adventurer. 

There, I find John Reed’s and others’ spirits embracing me.

It is what I call most my home.

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