Good morning, and welcome to the Essential California newsletter. It’s Monday, June 7. I’m Justin Ray.
When I was a toddler, my family moved to California, where we would stay for nearly a decade. We lived in Alamo, in Contra Costa County, which I don’t remember too well. But I have vivid memories of another house we moved to in Fresno. During our stay there, I had many wonderful experiences, but there was one sad moment I had as a child that taught me about loss, and not knowing what the future holds — albeit at an immensely small scale.
I had no way of knowing then that I’d be telling you about this in my first edition of the Essential California newsletter. But as I look forward to the challenge of writing about this complicated time for the state, I thought you should know something about me — and where this newsletter will be going.
In Fresno, we lived on a farm where we kept our walnut trees watered, and burned smoke bombs in gopher holes. Our next-door neighbor Harold had a grape vineyard; I still remember the smell of his burning paper raisin trays in the night. We had a rabbit. We also had a big backyard with a pool.
It was in that pool that I met my friend Sammy. He was a frog.
I spent hours in the pool with my amphibian amigo. I would put on floaties and swim beside him, in awe of his aquatic skills, the way he effortlessly darted left and right. Even now, I remember how close I felt to him. My older brother had friends who lived close by. All of mine lived farther away and thus seldom visited. But that wasn’t a problem, because I had Sammy. I would hold him like a burger — a dark green one with a blank stare and the occasional grunt. He didn’t mind. Of course he never verbalized his fondness for me, but there was no need, because I just knew.
Then, one day, everything changed. Sammy had gone missing. I searched the entire pool and even the nearby bushes for my frog friend for a few days without success. Then, I checked the basket of our pool skimmer. When I opened the top, I saw his upside-down, lifeless body. I remember the stinging sensation of tears as I stared at his white stomach and splayed legs. I don’t know how he died — maybe it was the chlorine, maybe he got trapped in the filter. Minutes later, I dug a hole and buried my croaking companion. I hadn’t felt so alone, and I didn’t know what I would do without him.
I’ve been thinking about that moment as I begin my tenure writing Essential California. I don’t know what lies ahead, and to be honest, I have mixed feelings about this. Like so many of you, I have been feeling isolated during the pandemic, and reentering society is scary. The responsibility of writing this newsletter is daunting. I cannot help but note that I’m the second Black man being put in a visible place at this paper after a racial reckoning that made headlines last summer. Not only that, I’m a 31-year-old gay man without a family of his own, and with a mom who persistently pushes the topic of grandkids (“You know, Anderson Cooper adopted,” she constantly reminds me). It’s a lot to process.
But I don’t have to process these feelings alone, because I will take this journey with you. That’s the part of my new job I’m most excited about — connecting with readers and forming a bond with them as I chronicle what’s going on in the state. During my tenure, three elements will make up the foundation of this newsletter:
Relevance: I want this newsletter to appeal to anyone interested in what is happening in California. This state carries an outsize influence on the national stage, and we have the potential to identify, explore and start conversations about topics before they enter America’s cultural zeitgeist. My intention is to make my updates something you look forward to reading every day, whether I’m writing about Silicon Valley or gun control.
Inclusivity: The Times’ newsletter team and I recognize that this newsletter has not always given regions outside Los Angeles the attention they deserve. Of course, I am a Los Angeles Times reporter, and it makes sense that coverage would skew toward the region — but I promise to speak to the experiences of more Californians than we have in the past. For instance, I want to discuss the on-the-ground impact of legislation affecting people who are homeless, and how marginalized groups are recovering from the COVID-19 pandemic.
Comprehensiveness: One element that has always been part of the newsletter that will remain is our commitment to conveying the important narratives and news coverage. We have tracked stories about homelessness, education, the pandemic and other topics salient to Californians. I’m committed to bringing you the most compelling coverage of issues affecting the 40 million people in our state, and the many millions more who look to its example.
As I take this journey, I hope to initiate a dialogue with you. I want to integrate your thoughts into my newsletter. Please reach out with your comments, concerns or frog-related tales.
And one programming note: I’ll be writing Essential California on Mondays through Thursdays, with other Times reporters contributing on Fridays, and my colleagues Laura Blasey and Daric L. Cottingham delivering the week in review on Saturdays.
Justin Ray (Christina House / Los Angeles Times)
And now, here’s what’s happening across California:
Blood-sucking arachnids are thriving. Ticks carrying Lyme disease are abundant at California beaches in the warmer months. That’s according to four years of field work in California’s San Francisco Bay Area and nearby wine country, Susanne Rust reports. How do these ticks survive? That isn’t clear, but the research might help determine whether Lyme disease — a potentially debilitating tick-borne infection — is on the upswing in the Bay Area and statewide. Los Angeles Times
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