The Edge of the Continent

I love the Presidio of San Francisco.

Among other things, it’s covered in a beautiful forest of eucalyptus trees.

Like the Marin Headlands across the Golden Gate, it used to be a barren coastal grassland. Nothing would grow there due to the winds.

The US Army put big guns in the Presidio to guard the Golden Gate. They needed a way to hide the batteries from reconnaissance, so they planted fast growing eucalyptus. And the trees took root and thrived.

The trees changed the environment. And today, instead of a windswept grassland, the Presidio is a forrest.

The forest blocked the ocean winds and created its own microclimate. Under the canopy other plants and birds and animals also took root—and they thrived too.

How many things and ideas and people wandered across oceans and journeyed across this country until they finally took root at the edge of the continent?

That’s what happened with my father and grand parents. And it happened to me. I was born there, but was taken away as a child. It didn’t take root—I didn’t take off—until I returned.

California is the most American part of America. It’s a place where you can build anything and be anything. It was a place to raise a family, or start a business, or invent new art and music and culture and technology.

Anything and everything was possible in California. At least that’s the way it used to be.

At some point the dream died. It’s hard to say when exactly, because it was different for all of us.

For me the dream died when I caught a man breaking into my San Francisco home. Our dog scared him away. He fled. I called the police but they wouldn’t respond. They wouldn’t even come to take a report. We lived 2 blocks from the police station and they wouldn’t come.

On the phone they asked “Is he black guy?”

I said, yes he was.

They said “Don’t worry, we’ll get him.”

And then they hung up the phone. They didn’t even take down my name.

That’s when I knew it was time to leave.

So we moved out of state, found a friendly little town in the Mountain West, and started planting new roots.

Our new home was nice for a time—our first years here was great. Cheap houses, good schools, safe streets, low taxes. It was the opposite of California.

That ended in 2020 with Covid hysteria, inflation, illegal migration, “progressive” policing, and (above all) toxic leftist politics.

The rot is here. And it’s coming everywhere. And if you think you’re safe—if you think you’re immune—trust me: you’re not.

It’s imminent, and you wont be safe forever.

For me, there's no place left to run.

So I’m standing my ground.

I’m fighting back.

And I’m convinced that California is the place to start.

Because it’s still fertile ground for new things and new trends—like common sense pragmatic politics.

We’re going to win by throwing a better party. Everyone is invited, and we’ll accept anyone who wants to join.

So welcome to the party. It’s gunna be a blast.

This is New Americanism. This is the Reconquista of our nation. And it's taking root at the edge of the continent.

You won’t want to miss this.

So don’t be late to the party.