In the overheated arena of politics, the concerns of the people are rarely an issue. They're mentioned all right, sometimes over and over again, right up there with God and the flag, but when it comes down to the nitty-gritty, political survival is what matters, pursued along a route of political expediency.
I'm not talking about the presidential race but about the governor's plan to close 48 California state parks and beaches in a misguided effort to help balance next year's bloated budget.
It would include Topanga State Park, the largest wilderness area in the nation within city boundaries, 13,000 acres of mountains, forests, hiking trails, an incredible array of wildlife and views that imprint on one's memory with the visual impact of a Van Gogh painting.
I'll tell you right off that I have a vested interest in this particular park. It's within walking distance of my home, and I've been wandering its trails for 35 years, long before it became a part of the state's landscape of open spaces.
There from a hilltop that looks toward the blue distance of a mountainous horizon and the ocean beyond, I have sat on a bench during troubled times and pondered problems that concerned my physical and emotional well-being and have come away from the peaceful moments with a better fix on life.
I often walked my first grandchild, my good friend Travis, up a fire trail that winds through an oak forest, his small hand in mine, as we considered an environment that often included deer feeding in a meadow or hawks circling overhead. We walked one day when a breeze was blowing the leaves of autumn into circular patterns through the damp air. I can see him still, spinning in circles with his arms flung wide, an integral part of the wind itself.
I embrace Topanga State Park, and it embraces me. And I'm not alone.
Within the confines of the community known for its activism, the temperature is rising. Petitions are making the rounds, letters and phone calls are aimed at the governor and at local legislators. In its most recent issue, the feisty biweekly Topanga Messenger has devoted two full pages to those unwilling to see their park in jeopardy.
Topanga long ago lost its image of a dopey, dreamy-eyed community of whispery environmentalists. In the 1960s, it fought back a developer's efforts to build a 72,000-home tract where the park now exists and joined in a later battle to defeat a plan to create a hotel and golf course on land subsequently acquired by the state for another park.
