As much as possible, I avoid...
- buying a house where the power lines aren't buried
- buying a house that isn't surrounded by trees
- living in places where the buildings aren't surrounded by trees
- living in places where my sightlines to the horizon aren't mostly blocked by green living things
I visited California once. It wasn't green enough. The "golden hills" may have had gold in them, once; but they aren't golden in color; they're just brown from lack of water. The trees seem to have one branch per every 20 feet, each of which has five leaves per branch. Muir Woods -- a reputed "cloud forest" -- was tan with hints of green. Compared to Appalachia, it seemed like a halfhearted effort.
The problem with skyscrapers is that there aren't trees tall enough to block them from ruining my view.
The problem with newer housing developments is that they scrape the trees off the land before building the houses, which is offensive, because then I have to look at the houses, instead of looking at the trees.
Given the option, I'd live on the side of one of the mountains in North Carolina, Virginia, or Tennessee.
I get it: Your mileage may vary.
But I am describing what is "home" for me. I identify
with (not
as one of; that would be
silly; just
with) Tolkien's elves. The best, most beautiful light in which to live and walk and take deep breaths is the silvery shimmering light that filters down to one's eyes through a canopy of wind-rustled leaves.
A dear friend of mine was raised in Arizona, then moved to Chapel Hill, North Carolina. He said that living outside Arizona made him feel vaguely claustrophobic, because he was unable to see to the horizon in every direction. I love the guy; and in the abstract, I "get" that the "painted desert" can be lovely in a certain way.
But just as the twilight under the leaves isn't "home" for him, the lack thereof just isn't "home" for me.