We arrived in California last week Friday. Since then, other than out of state tourists, we have had our friendly Wisconsinite greeting acknowledged a grand total of twice. Though we stared people down intently as we greeted them walking by, we got an effort laden nod and a grunt that I think was hello, but could have been leave me alone, and a genuine call out greeting. My suspicion is that the later was a transplant from Wisconsin who had not yet been here long enough to have been tainted. Further observations have lead to the conclusion that no yard is complete with out the wall of China replica keeping all but the clearly invited in, out. Mind you, these are observations, hardly scientific data or carefully gathered survey responses, just observations. There may be very friendly Californians out there waiting on a conversation starter, or they may have been warned of my imminent arrival and the dangers of starting one of those conversation with me.

I do have another possible explanation for the difference between a homegrown Californian and a homespun Wisconsinite. It might be that people in other areas of the country are more reserved and far more private with their lives than Cheese heads. I blame this phenomena on the painful fact that for nine months of the year, we are cooped up in our homes staring at each other wanting for a new conversation, or we are so bundled up against the elements as to have no ability to communicate through through the turtleneck, parka, and scarf keeping us warm. Spring arrives and we are like lemmings headed to the sea, that sea being anyone and everyone who have ventured back outside. We are starved for conversation and we will glad hand anyone within reach. It is almost an unwritten law that you are not allowed to pass each other by without a “howdy neighbor” and “how’s it going”.

So I don’t blame Californians for being less that conversational, and I certainly don’t doubt for a moment that they are not a truly industrious population and downright friendly once you are invited through a break in the wall and allowed to enter their kingdom. I just must realize that I am a foreigner in this land, one my mother used to refer to as “out there”, and that as such, I will respect their fences, literal and figurative. After all, I have two sisters “out here” and the reason for my trip. I have penetrated their walls and crossed their moats to find out what was in there. Turns out it was friendly welcoming people, willing to share time and conversation, even pizza and wine. Just turns out that one needs to wait for the invitation before you storm the walls.