"It's just that most people have a home base," the election official told me. "A place they come back to."
"I know," I replied. "But I don't."
We were at the tail end of a phone conversation in which I had been trying to explain to her that my son and I were truly homeless. Last November, we had whittled our possessions down to what could be held by 65 cubic feet of Subaru and 392 cubic feet of PODS container, and had driven out of the foothills of Madera County, California, where we had lived for eight years.
We weren't homeless in the way that would encourage the election official to invite Child Protective Services into our conversation. It was a nuanced thing; we weren't living on the streets, but on the road. Still, she allowed as how our situation was above her pay grade. She said she would have to refer the matter to Stephanie, the Elections Department manager.
My concern was the upcoming primary. On June 5, California will go to the polls to identify, in the state's peculiar fashion, which "top two" candidates for each office will advance to the November ballot. Although I could register to vote in Palo Alto, where my mother is graciously collecting my mail, I can't make that feel right. I don't know Palo Alto. I have never lived there, and frankly feel no kinship to its wealthy, tech-made populace.
In the past, I could barely be counted on to vote in a general election, much less a primary. But since the Dawn of Trump, I have taken a particular shine to my civic responsibilities. And I've centered my efforts on what was, until November, my home turf: California's Fourth Congressional District.
California's Fourth District sweeps down the Sierra Nevada from Truckee to Kings Canyon National Park, taking in the state's most rugged landscapes and the high points of ten counties. If the district were a person, its head would be Lake Tahoe, and the Madera County foothills, where my son and I moved in 2010, would be its knobby knees.
Technically speaking, we weren't Fourth District residents right off the bat. We, and all of our foothill neighbors south of Sacramento, were drawn into the district when the California Citizens Redistricting Commission revised California's legislative boundaries in 2013.
Still, the current lines of the Fourth encompass the places and moments most dear to my heart. It's here that my son, in the blink of an eye, went from six to fourteen. It's here that we navigated the public school system, supported local businesses, acquired friends that became family. It's here that I crisscrossed the backcountry, climbing the peaks along the District's eastern front, lingering for days. And it's here that, come Trump, I got involved in politics.
Last June, I began following the 2018 race for the Fourth District's congressional seat. The seat has, since 2009, been held by one Tom McClintock, antagonist of many a blog post of mine. My problems with McClintock are numerous, but generally have to do with his lack of empathy for low-income Americans, disdain for environmental protections, disregard for science, failure to listen to his constituents, and lockstep adoration of Trump.
Those of us living south of Sacramento inherited McClintock via the 2013 redistricting, and have been stuck with him ever since. Up until now, progressive residents of the Fourth have had little hope of retiring the guy. Despite not even living in the Fourth District, McClintock received between 60 and 63 percent of the vote in the 2014 and 2016 elections.
But then came Jessica Morse, Regina Bateson, Roza Calderon, and Rochelle Wilcox. These four women, all Democrats, were inspired by the ascension of Trump to run for Congress in California's Fourth. When they came to address my community last summer, all but Jessica Morse said they had never intended to seek political office, but felt driven to action by the scary new normal. Jessica, for her part, said she had hoped to serve in Congress someday, but stepped up the timeline after Trump happened.
In the talks I attended, all four women were positive, energetic, and focused on the greater good. Roza's pet issues were the environment and social justice. Jessica promoted the core values of the Democratic Party, with special emphasis on rural development and international relations. Rochelle emphasized working across the aisle to advance the Democratic platform. Regina's focus, in her talk, was no-holds-barred takedown of Tom. I was impressed with all four, and felt that any one of them would brighten the horizons for our District.
But, as those who have read my previous blog posts know, Jessica Morse has always been my top pick. Although I suspect she is politically more moderate than I am, I have had enough interaction with her to vouch for her integrity, humanity, and qualifying experience, the combination of which make her, in my opinion, the best of the bunch.
Circling the country these past six months, my obsession with Fourth District politics has dimmed somewhat. My friends back home have tried to keep me in the loop. For example, I heard that Rochelle Wilcox dropped out of the race when it became clear she was lagging behind. She then began wholeheartedly supporting her former rivals, as she had promised she would do when she spoke to us last August.
More recently, in March, I heard that Jessica Morse had received the endorsement of the California Democratic Party, and appeared poised to carry the progressive vote all the way to the general election.
But then I started hearing the news about Regina Bateson. At the talk she gave in my community last June, she promised to make way for any Democratic frontrunner that emerged so as to avoid undermining the larger race against Tom. She made similar promises in other venues.
But in fact, Regina has done the exact opposite. Not only did she not drop out after Jessica's CDP endorsement, but in April she filed a legal complaint over Jessica's preferred ballot designation of National Security Strategist. Regina, who is identified on the primary ballot as a Military Security Analyst despite actually being a college professor, took issue with Jessica calling herself a National Security Strategist when she hasn't worked in that capacity since 2015.
The judge presiding over the case ruled in favor of Regina. That means that in the eyes of primary voters, Regina Bateson is a Military Security Analyst, Roza Calderon a Geoscientist/Geographer/Cartographer, Robert Lawton a Businessman, and Jessica Morse a... nothing. Below her name is a conspicuous blank spot.
After speaking with Stephanie, the Elections Department manager, I learned that, despite my nomadic ways, I still have the right to vote in my "home of record." A home of record, she explained, doesn't need to be where I physically live at present, and it doesn't need to be where I receive my mail. It just needs to be the place that I declare, under penalty of perjury, to be home.
At present, I physically live in a Subaru. My car has been good to me; since November, it's carried me 15,000 miles. But it's not my home. I've put down no roots here, save the traveling houseplants I've been carting around. Housed in my car, I've known no precinct boundaries. My son and I have covered nineteen states at this point, and will likely see more before we turn off the engine for good.
Palo Alto is not my home either. It contains my mother and grandmother, two of my favorite people in the world. And it contains my mail. But that's about it.
Under penalty of perjury, I declared the Sierra foothills, and California's Fourth District, to be my home. At the time I made my declaration, I was physically present in the Fourth District. In fact, I was physically present in the Fourth for a couple of weeks on either side of my declaration. For a nomad like me, that counts for something.
When finally my son and I turn into a driveway of our own, it may not be in California's Fourth. But until that time, it's the only home we've got--and it's damn fine.
In a day or two, my primary ballot will arrive in the mail. It will first be delivered to Palo Alto; then, a few days later, it will show up at my next significant stopover, a small farm in northern Idaho that I will be caretaking through July.
When I see Jessica Morse's name on the ballot, it will be followed with a blank space, an enigmatic non-identity. But I will have no problem darkening her box. It's Jessica whose years of civil service and humanitarian work have given her the best grasp, of all the candidates for Congress in California's Fourth, of the issues facing our nation and the world at large. It's Jessica whose love of, and extensive travel through, the District's wild places make her the best protector of our natural resources. It's Jessica who has run a positive campaign, one that looks past her Democratic contenders into the shifty eyes of Tom McClintock. It's Jessica whose confidence and clarity make her voice our strongest choice for the House floor.
And it's Jessica Morse whose heart I trust. Last summer, when the Detwiler Fire was consuming Mariposa County, Jessica came to stay with me. I had known her only from the talk she gave to our community a couple months before, but I had been so impressed with her that I had reached out to her personally afterward, and we had kept in touch.
After volunteering at the Red Cross shelter together, we sat on my deck and chatted like old friends. She told me about losing her mother. She told me about the book she had been writing with gusto until the day Trump was elected, at which point she traded pen for megaphone. She wanted to hear all about me, little old me, no political aspirations or Ivy League credentials, just a part-time biologist, intermittent blogger, mother, and mountain trekker. We watched the sun set, laughed. We barely talked politics. She wouldn't drink a beer with me, but she happily accepted a bowl of ice cream.
Jessica was unguarded, kindhearted, and real--nothing like what I imagined a politician would be. And I guess that's what I love most about her. She has the knowledge and experience of a career politician, but the spirit of the girl next door.
If you make your home--or your home of record--in California's Fourth District, take some time to learn about Jessica Morse. She needs your vote in the June 5 primary. Let's do all we can to put her on the general election ballot, so that, come November, we can finally give Tom McClintock the drumming out he deserves.
"I know," I replied. "But I don't."
We were at the tail end of a phone conversation in which I had been trying to explain to her that my son and I were truly homeless. Last November, we had whittled our possessions down to what could be held by 65 cubic feet of Subaru and 392 cubic feet of PODS container, and had driven out of the foothills of Madera County, California, where we had lived for eight years.
We weren't homeless in the way that would encourage the election official to invite Child Protective Services into our conversation. It was a nuanced thing; we weren't living on the streets, but on the road. Still, she allowed as how our situation was above her pay grade. She said she would have to refer the matter to Stephanie, the Elections Department manager.
My concern was the upcoming primary. On June 5, California will go to the polls to identify, in the state's peculiar fashion, which "top two" candidates for each office will advance to the November ballot. Although I could register to vote in Palo Alto, where my mother is graciously collecting my mail, I can't make that feel right. I don't know Palo Alto. I have never lived there, and frankly feel no kinship to its wealthy, tech-made populace.
In the past, I could barely be counted on to vote in a general election, much less a primary. But since the Dawn of Trump, I have taken a particular shine to my civic responsibilities. And I've centered my efforts on what was, until November, my home turf: California's Fourth Congressional District.
 |
| California's Fourth District (Waterwheel Falls, Yosemite National Park) |
California's Fourth District sweeps down the Sierra Nevada from Truckee to Kings Canyon National Park, taking in the state's most rugged landscapes and the high points of ten counties. If the district were a person, its head would be Lake Tahoe, and the Madera County foothills, where my son and I moved in 2010, would be its knobby knees.
Technically speaking, we weren't Fourth District residents right off the bat. We, and all of our foothill neighbors south of Sacramento, were drawn into the district when the California Citizens Redistricting Commission revised California's legislative boundaries in 2013.
Still, the current lines of the Fourth encompass the places and moments most dear to my heart. It's here that my son, in the blink of an eye, went from six to fourteen. It's here that we navigated the public school system, supported local businesses, acquired friends that became family. It's here that I crisscrossed the backcountry, climbing the peaks along the District's eastern front, lingering for days. And it's here that, come Trump, I got involved in politics.
 |
| California's Fourth District (Women's March, Oakhurst). Photo courtesy of Bill Klemens. |
Last June, I began following the 2018 race for the Fourth District's congressional seat. The seat has, since 2009, been held by one Tom McClintock, antagonist of many a blog post of mine. My problems with McClintock are numerous, but generally have to do with his lack of empathy for low-income Americans, disdain for environmental protections, disregard for science, failure to listen to his constituents, and lockstep adoration of Trump.
Those of us living south of Sacramento inherited McClintock via the 2013 redistricting, and have been stuck with him ever since. Up until now, progressive residents of the Fourth have had little hope of retiring the guy. Despite not even living in the Fourth District, McClintock received between 60 and 63 percent of the vote in the 2014 and 2016 elections.
But then came Jessica Morse, Regina Bateson, Roza Calderon, and Rochelle Wilcox. These four women, all Democrats, were inspired by the ascension of Trump to run for Congress in California's Fourth. When they came to address my community last summer, all but Jessica Morse said they had never intended to seek political office, but felt driven to action by the scary new normal. Jessica, for her part, said she had hoped to serve in Congress someday, but stepped up the timeline after Trump happened.
In the talks I attended, all four women were positive, energetic, and focused on the greater good. Roza's pet issues were the environment and social justice. Jessica promoted the core values of the Democratic Party, with special emphasis on rural development and international relations. Rochelle emphasized working across the aisle to advance the Democratic platform. Regina's focus, in her talk, was no-holds-barred takedown of Tom. I was impressed with all four, and felt that any one of them would brighten the horizons for our District.
But, as those who have read my previous blog posts know, Jessica Morse has always been my top pick. Although I suspect she is politically more moderate than I am, I have had enough interaction with her to vouch for her integrity, humanity, and qualifying experience, the combination of which make her, in my opinion, the best of the bunch.
Circling the country these past six months, my obsession with Fourth District politics has dimmed somewhat. My friends back home have tried to keep me in the loop. For example, I heard that Rochelle Wilcox dropped out of the race when it became clear she was lagging behind. She then began wholeheartedly supporting her former rivals, as she had promised she would do when she spoke to us last August.
More recently, in March, I heard that Jessica Morse had received the endorsement of the California Democratic Party, and appeared poised to carry the progressive vote all the way to the general election.
But then I started hearing the news about Regina Bateson. At the talk she gave in my community last June, she promised to make way for any Democratic frontrunner that emerged so as to avoid undermining the larger race against Tom. She made similar promises in other venues.
But in fact, Regina has done the exact opposite. Not only did she not drop out after Jessica's CDP endorsement, but in April she filed a legal complaint over Jessica's preferred ballot designation of National Security Strategist. Regina, who is identified on the primary ballot as a Military Security Analyst despite actually being a college professor, took issue with Jessica calling herself a National Security Strategist when she hasn't worked in that capacity since 2015.
The judge presiding over the case ruled in favor of Regina. That means that in the eyes of primary voters, Regina Bateson is a Military Security Analyst, Roza Calderon a Geoscientist/Geographer/Cartographer, Robert Lawton a Businessman, and Jessica Morse a... nothing. Below her name is a conspicuous blank spot.
 |
| California's Fourth District (Mt. Goddard, Kings Canyon National Park) |
After speaking with Stephanie, the Elections Department manager, I learned that, despite my nomadic ways, I still have the right to vote in my "home of record." A home of record, she explained, doesn't need to be where I physically live at present, and it doesn't need to be where I receive my mail. It just needs to be the place that I declare, under penalty of perjury, to be home.
At present, I physically live in a Subaru. My car has been good to me; since November, it's carried me 15,000 miles. But it's not my home. I've put down no roots here, save the traveling houseplants I've been carting around. Housed in my car, I've known no precinct boundaries. My son and I have covered nineteen states at this point, and will likely see more before we turn off the engine for good.
Palo Alto is not my home either. It contains my mother and grandmother, two of my favorite people in the world. And it contains my mail. But that's about it.
Under penalty of perjury, I declared the Sierra foothills, and California's Fourth District, to be my home. At the time I made my declaration, I was physically present in the Fourth District. In fact, I was physically present in the Fourth for a couple of weeks on either side of my declaration. For a nomad like me, that counts for something.
When finally my son and I turn into a driveway of our own, it may not be in California's Fourth. But until that time, it's the only home we've got--and it's damn fine.
 |
| California's Fourth District (Ansel Adams Wilderness) |
In a day or two, my primary ballot will arrive in the mail. It will first be delivered to Palo Alto; then, a few days later, it will show up at my next significant stopover, a small farm in northern Idaho that I will be caretaking through July.
When I see Jessica Morse's name on the ballot, it will be followed with a blank space, an enigmatic non-identity. But I will have no problem darkening her box. It's Jessica whose years of civil service and humanitarian work have given her the best grasp, of all the candidates for Congress in California's Fourth, of the issues facing our nation and the world at large. It's Jessica whose love of, and extensive travel through, the District's wild places make her the best protector of our natural resources. It's Jessica who has run a positive campaign, one that looks past her Democratic contenders into the shifty eyes of Tom McClintock. It's Jessica whose confidence and clarity make her voice our strongest choice for the House floor.
And it's Jessica Morse whose heart I trust. Last summer, when the Detwiler Fire was consuming Mariposa County, Jessica came to stay with me. I had known her only from the talk she gave to our community a couple months before, but I had been so impressed with her that I had reached out to her personally afterward, and we had kept in touch.
After volunteering at the Red Cross shelter together, we sat on my deck and chatted like old friends. She told me about losing her mother. She told me about the book she had been writing with gusto until the day Trump was elected, at which point she traded pen for megaphone. She wanted to hear all about me, little old me, no political aspirations or Ivy League credentials, just a part-time biologist, intermittent blogger, mother, and mountain trekker. We watched the sun set, laughed. We barely talked politics. She wouldn't drink a beer with me, but she happily accepted a bowl of ice cream.
Jessica was unguarded, kindhearted, and real--nothing like what I imagined a politician would be. And I guess that's what I love most about her. She has the knowledge and experience of a career politician, but the spirit of the girl next door.
If you make your home--or your home of record--in California's Fourth District, take some time to learn about Jessica Morse. She needs your vote in the June 5 primary. Let's do all we can to put her on the general election ballot, so that, come November, we can finally give Tom McClintock the drumming out he deserves.
 |
| California's Fourth District (Ansel Adams Wilderness) |
