Fall in Downtown Sacramento
It’s difficult not to fall in love with the Fall season in Sacramento. In the “City of Trees” it’s a spectacle of leaves. Free nature entertainment on each block full of color,death,cycle of rebirth & contrast. Moreover it’s a nostalgic less cruel hint of my old life in New York where November’s were spent huddled under our North Face coats,red faced and freezing waiting at bus stops just wishing you had enough for a cab as the numbness reaches your fingers. Fall in Sacramento,is more like April in The Bronx. The sun rises at it’s peak at 1pm sometimes going up to about 65 degrees all while giving you upstate Syracuse vibes. And Sacramento,is the Bronx of Northern California. It’s the place people only come to if their Aunt promised them a gift at Christmas. But Sacramento is changing,a semi blank canvas for dreamers and creators. For those who haven’t ventured to Sacramento and are probably the elitist Bay Area folks who like to assume they are the greatest, I like to shut them down with a “well I’m a native New Yorker and I live here,so there’s something special about this place.” And those same folks will angrily need to relocate here when tech companies rise their rents another $1,000. Welcome to the land of the humble. When God slaps you with a dose of “what’s really important?” The money or the trees? The status or the river?
In Sacramento, we choose the river. The outskirts of Sacramento are a different animal that this city girl probably can never get used to,but the epicenter,Downtown town Sacramento is well..where I hang my hats. All 40 of them. I love hats. Midtown / Downtown Sacramento after all IS the place where legislators meet to make all of California’s greatest decisions. Like weed legalization. But this place is still called “cow town” by Oakland heads that probably came in 2009 and never revisited it.
Living here. It’s sorta like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz,and never reaching the Emerald City. It doesn’t exist. The traffic is just enough to make you feel like you live in a happening place,but nothing like the monstrous pileup Los Angeles folks always complain about.That city off in the distance is a whirlwind of potential sky rises that never made it past the 15th floor. Instead it winds down roads of train tracks,captivating tree lined streets,illuminated bicycles that ride you across town for a small fare,Old movie theaters,aspiring businesses and the little engine that could,of a “city.” In 7 minutes you can go from watching Lana Del Rey at the Auditorium on J St. to the quaint and quiet family owned D st. What makes this place special? Every season has it’s own small town,thriving city feel. Every year a new business. A new endeavor. A new construction joint that you can’t fathom was built so fast. Every year a new achievement. The Christmas tree in front of the Capitol Building is literally so small and laughable but showmanship to Sacramento is just not as important as, authenticity. It is what it is. It’s ok being what it is not. It will never be New York,and that’s ok. It doesn’t want to be. It’s got the charm Bob Dylan effortlessly had in the 60’s,disheveled hair and all. They really try to not be as cool as any other city,but that’s what makes them the kid with braces sitting alone in the highschool cafeteria that will someday be a rockstar or at least the one who managed to be nice to everyone else enough to win the heart of the pretty girl. Fall in Sacramento is what I wanted in New York ,minus the cold. It’s got just enough for your 30 year old heart’s minimal desires like good coffee,spiked apple cider,a small ice skating rink 10x smaller than Rockefeller Center and still will get you tucked into bed by 12am to make it to Yoga in the morning. There’s cats peering through windows, Patagonia fleece hand me downs at thrift stores, porches full of succulents and beer cans,unique independently owned cafés sprinkled obscurely between town homes and industrial businesses, an array of yellow and red adorned trees changing shade on almost every block, timeless books stores stacked with local love and the best part is you can stroll through the downtown area without having to brace yourself every step until you get to your car. Your car won’t have snow on it,but you can still rock a leather jacket if that’s your thing. It’s walkable. Bikeable. Suburban meets city.
The sweetest Persimmons in season at the local CoOp. And literally,and perhaps some of the best fresh produce a huge commercial city can’t compete with. Where Tesla’s and Tricycles with chihuahuas in a basket meet. Where the occasional homeless security guard will shout an obscenity while walking past the couple enjoying coffee on their deck in 55 degree weather,unphased. Not what I grew up experiencing. For a minute you are distracted from the fact that you’re not in the East Coast and all of the perceptions you assumed about California,were so humorous. In fact the first year I moved here, I happily gave away all of my coats and sweaters to friends back in New York. I said “I’m never gonna need this.” That’s funny. I realized deep in October of my first fall,that I wanted all of my hoodies back. It gets cold. Not New York cold,but just enough to take out your sweaters every year from the suitcase in your laundry room, slash, walk in closet and revisit the cold for a few months. It’s the nostalgia of all of the holidays I grew up feeling when I went to visit my uncle & auntie in Newark,New Jersey every Christmas as a kid. Except I’m older and colder and more fragile and really annoying if I’m cold and so it’s perfect. For me at least. It’s just pretty. It’s a city dancing on a tightrope between wanting to remain enamored by old school things like reading in coffee shops and noticing the leaves instead of the false billboards and pushing forward just
enough into capitalism to generate some income and interest. From the obscure folks and poets who have the sensibility to see the beauty in such a strange place 💌
It’s a city only a Poet,can learn to appreciate.
