That’s right: Local Nomad has moved to Local Nomad.
That’s right: Local Nomad has moved to Local Nomad.
A couple years ago, when I was finishing my Ph.D. dissertation, I was a briefly a member of NextSpace, a coworking space in Santa Cruz, CA, one of many now being created in locations globally (there’s even a coworking space in Mongolia!).
Even though I didn’t have much chance to participate in the community, I enjoyed the relaxed, friendly, serendipitous atmosphere, and the busy feeling of people at work. Had I been an entrepreneur or job hunting, there were frequent chances to meet other workers and attend workshops, and I knew there was great potential there to find collaborators, mentors, and more importantly, jobs. I got a lot of work done at NextSpace (which, by the way, now has locations in San Francisco, Los Angeles, and San Jose). Coworking definitely is not the same as cubicle working, and it’s not “just” shared office space.
At home, it is easy to distract myself, even though there are no children in the house. In the isolation of home, it can be hard to keep up a momentum. The silence seems to announce that it’s time to do anything but work. The buzz of co-workers around me makes me feel and be more productive.
Coworking refers to a shared work environment and a set of community and cultural values that guide the development and operation of office space: facilities where freelancers, entrepreneurs, telecommuters, and drop-ins work side-by-side. The benefits of a coworking space come from allowing independent and startup ventures to bypass rote logistical obstacles, like obtaining office or workshop space, and from valuing a free-form collaborative environment for sharing resources, expertise, and ideas. —Mark W. Kidd
Still, I eventually gave up my membership. I didn’t return, even after I finished my Ph.D. and became a part-time lecturer and free-lance editor and writer.
In “Why People Don’t CoWork Yet,” Carsten Foertsch looks at the possible reasons why people don’t cowork:
The two most important reasons first: either there is simply no coworking space in their vicinity, or they are tied to jobs in companies. About one in eight non-coworkers said price was a barrier to their participation – but sadly these people are the ones who could benefit the most from coworking…About a third of these respondents are not yet coworkers because no such facility exists anywhere near them.
Right. I live in rural Elkhorn, some 25 miles from NextSpace. Elkhorn isn’t even recognized as a “town” by locals; it’s the site of a large wetlands area and wildlife preserve that draws kayakers, wildlife enthuasiasts, and people who love the area. The drive to Santa Cruz cost me gas and time, as well as the monthly fee for membership, so in the end, it didn’t seem quite worth it. (Note: most coworking spaces charge minimal fee for membership and rent. At least one space, Gangplank, in Arizona, provides coworking space for free, based on a social capital model).
The “rural” label I apply to my local area is a little misleading; Elkhorn is situated within a few miles of various small towns like Prunedale, Castroville, Moss Landing, and Watsonville, all communities with small libraries and community centers, and main streets with empty or underutilized commercial spaces for rent (as well as stores, restaurants, and other businesses in operation).
Coworking has been mainly an urban and suburban phenomenon. Nevertheless, I have often thought that a rural coworking space would be useful in this area. Rural folks are feeling the impact of the economy too. Like everyone else, many here have lost their jobs, and have resorted to freelancing and juggling multiple jobs to make ends meet.
It would seem that rural areas can’t provide much infrastructure for a community of freelance workers or small entrepreneurs and crafters. Yet, increasingly, rural coworking spaces are popping up. Quoted in The Daily Yonder, Garrio Harrison, who is involved in a coworking site in rural Minnesota, says that the basics you need for coworking include “coffee, desk space, and reliable wifi Internet access,” although it wouldn’t hurt to have printers and scanners, a conference room, and a lounge.
How to cowork in Tok, Alaska (by Aliza Sherman):
1. My house
2. Her house
3. Fast Eddy’s
4. the Grumpy Griz
5. Another location (library?)
6. Skype or Google Video
The heavy IT focus of urban and suburban coworking models and technology driven business incubators such as the local Marina Technology Cluster may not work as well in a rural setting, where, I suspect, a community that equally welcomes small business entrepreneurs, crafters, IT folks, as well as writers and other creative types will be important. Coworking should also be open to diverse cultures and generations of creative workers.
In an interview in Deskmag with rural coworkers, Joel reported that coworkers in his area “place a high emphasis on meeting and interaction with other small business people and entrepreneurs. And our biggest events are the ones where networking and interaction are the focus.” Frederik commented that “coworking offers a new perspective and different opportunities since it is a little hard to build interest groups around specific vocations in small towns.”
I also think that those who go into the coworking scheme thinking mostly about “what it will do for me” may be taking the wrong path. While coworking should definitely nurture individual needs, it’s also very much about community, and creating a vibrant space for local workers and entrepreneurs to thrive. So you have to ask, What can coworking do for small towns like Castroville, Prunedale, Moss Landing, or Watsonville?
Jessica Stillman points out that remote workers who utilize coworking space put money back into the community. “NextSpace [in Santa Cruz] used an economic development model to sell the idea of coworking to the local authorities, noting that while it might be hard to attract a big employer to airport-less Santa Cruz, there was little stopping individual remote workers from basing themselves there.
“We realized after chasing a lot of companies that instead of attracting one 200-person business, we should attract 200 one-person businesses. The economic impact is bigger, and some of those businesses will grow,” the mayor explained.”
But how to start a coworking space in this area?
Well, you may have to start by making “Jelly.” That is, gather together a group of people who are interested in coworking. Gauge the local interest. Meet in a space that has Wifi and hopefully coffee and snacks (a cafe, house, library, community center, empty storefront). Add a dash of talk, ideas, creativity, work to do, and enthusiasm, and you may just have the beginnings of a coworking community. It’s not hard to find articles on how to start Jellies. Check out Judy Heminsley’s article, “How to Jelly: a Guide to Casual Coworking,” on Shareable. So…rural coworking, anyone?
Are you coworking in a rural area? Are you coworking in a city? How is it working out for you?
Some articles that may provide ideas for starting a local coworking group:
*Coworking in Big Cities vs. Small Towns (Deskmag)
*How to Start a CoWorking Space in Your Small Town (Small Biz Survival)
*Jelly for Home Workers (How to Work from Home)
*Coworking to Quickstart Rural Innovation (Daily Yonder)
*Why People Don’t Cowork (Yet) (Deskmag)
*Five Big Myths About Coworking (Deskmag)
*The Rural Way of Coworking (Deskmag)
Have you noticed how businesses in Castroville are spiffing up, getting new paint jobs, and replacing old signs? More on the Enterprise Zone in Castroville, from KION 46.
Recently I posted briefly about purple sweet potatoes and local lumpia trucks. My favorite (so far) local taco truck is Deliciosos Tacos (I keep wanting to say it the other way around — Tacos Deliciosos). You can usually find it in a “parking lot” at lunch time, parked off Del Monte Ave. in Marina a few yards from the entry to the Monterey Landfill Disposal Site, or in the late afternoon on Merritt Ave. in Castroville. Look for the green 4-leaf clovers decorating the back of the truck. Here is my 3-taco plate of carnitas and pollo. I know — there are 4 tacos here; they always give me one extra. I’ve lost my receipt, but the cost was around $3.50.
Deliciosos Tacos is patronized by local residents, business folk, and farmworkers. Some people are obsessed with taco trucks. One guy, Jonathan Gold, has visited over 3,000 of them. Joshua Lurie-Terrell has created a website dedicated to mapping locations of the best taco trucks, Yum Taco. In Columbus, Ohio we have the Taco Bell Challenge (vs. Nazo Tacos). Everything you’d want to know about California taco trucks can be found HERE. They might be better called “loncheras,” or lunch trucks, because they usually offer more than just tacos. Thanks to Dida Kutz of Blue Planet Divers for pointing me to her fave lonchera.
Next up in my Taco Truck Chronicles: “In Search of the Filipino Taco — Hwy. 1 Express.”
So, today Joselyn and I were talking with Evelyn, who runs La Boutique and The Guatemala Shop in Moss Landing. Another customer happened to mention that she used to live down the road near Paradise and Walker Valley. And she knew the previous owners of the house I live in, the ones who remodeled the old house and put in a fireplace. Later, Evelyn and I discussed the challenges of moving from a bustling community to a quiet rural area (and dealing with yellow jacket hives, farm animals, and the relative isolation). I love it here, but, after living practically across the street from a neighborhood that included several wineries, Kelly’s French Bakery, an organic grocery, a Thai restaurant, an Italian Cafe, and a nearby tow service and auto mechanic, I do feel isolated. I only found a doctor (a G.P. in Prunedale) that I like after almost three years here. I knew the history of my neighborhood in Santa Cruz, who had lived in various houses, and how the neighborhood looked years ago. I had no idea who had lived previously in my current house, until I stumbled into somebody who did.
Prunedale is relatively nearby, but it doesn’t feel like there is a cohesive community there. Moss Landing is closer, and it does have a community feeling, with its restaurants, art galleries, antique stores and the fish markets (plural if you include the ones on the boats in the harbor). Community is important to me — not in any formal sense; but it’s nice to interact with friendly people who know your name.
I recently read an article and interview about how architecture and public projects are opening doors of opportunity in one of the World’s most violent cities, Medellín, Colombia. And I thought of what Maria Michaelson (a traveler passing through) said recently about Salinas, that “it seems like a sad city.”
Sergio Fajardo (mayor of Medellín from 2003 to 2007, and a presidential candidate for Colombia in 2010) has been introducing a “postive urban presence” into the poorer sections of the city through new architecture, libraries, schools and other public projects.
Using a coherent and inclusive urban strategy, he has changed the face of a city that in the ’90s was considered among the most violent in the world. Fajardo has introduced a positive state presence in the poorest and most violent areas by initiating multi-level urban projects, the foundation of which is architecture, most of which originates in public competitions that are open to Colombia’s youngest architects…
…There are five new libraries, ten new schools, new pedestrian streets, and more than fifty new urban and architectural projects characterized by challenging contemporary architecture. It is not enough simply to do works if they are not done well, something that can be measured by the degree of pride that the city’s inhabitants feel for its new face as well as by the fact that Medellín has become a city to see as opposed to one to avoid. Read more HERE. From an interview in BOMB magazine.
See also L.A. Times: “Medellín Cleans Up Its Act.”
In the Nov/Dec 2009 issue of Arepa, Medellín’s English language magazine, editor Robin Finley observes that the city’s new cable system has “brought city residents together, uniting what used to be a wall of barrios separating the north and south. Today we are witnessing how this interconnectivity is changing the city economy, and indeed creating a massive city-wide verve of creativity…. ”
Of course, the world has an interest in cleaning up Medellín, and the city is getting huge loans from the U.S., China, and inter-governmental agencies. People are paying attention. Literally, they are invested in making it work, because what happens in Colombia affects us here too. More importantly, the city is making good use of those funds—not to create walls, but to educate and communicate.
As Kimber Solana reports in today’s Salinas Californian (Jan. 29, 2010), the small city of Salinas is trying its damndest to deal with its gang violence problems (which are also linked to the even smaller town of Castroville near where I live, and to the powerful drug-trafficking gangs in Mexico). The Salinas Ceasefire program is getting its funds “partly from a $357,021 matching grant from the State.”
Like Medellín, Salinas has a problem with perception by outsiders. When I work in the touristy, upper-class (and yes, more Anglo/white) area of Monterey, I occasionally hear disparaging remarks about Salinas. It’s partly stereotyping, and it’s partly real fear (as of mid-Dec. 2009, Salinas had 29 homicides for the year). That fear comes from a diverse mix of peoples including Latinos who are living fairly well, financially. And I’ve noticed that folks cast a “blind-eye” toward the people working north of Monterey (Seaside, Salinas, Castroville, Watsonville) in the fields and in service jobs. Citizens of Monterey and Carmel-by-the-Sea just don’t want to know what’s going on in the poorer communities, even though they are surrounded by, and live off the produce from the fields, and the hard work of the field laborers, waitpersons, clerks, and vendors in those communities.
But what the story of Medellín tells me is that, aside from the important “offered employment opportunities, training and personal services,” somehow, an environment of hope also needs to be created, places, structures to go to within the neighborhood; places that become an important part of the neighborhood, where one can learn and grow — not just on Main Street, but where those who need it most are located. What happens in Salinas and Castroville and in “peripheral” neighborhoods affects us. Success stories in those areas will be our success stories too.
By the way, you can listen to Medellín’s English-language radio, Prime Cuts, right here. (Thanks to deejays Robin and Jeff!)
I’ve been thinking about the fact that living in a somewhat rural/coastal area isn’t always about farms, orchards, ponies, crab season, and the local superette. I mean, those things exist here, and make it pleasant; but, while I have to drive a few miles extra to get to the supermarket, I’m mostly connected to the rest of the world (I don’t have cable TV, but I do have WAN). Philip Glass did a gig in Big Sur last year at the Henry Miller Library; there was a TED Conference in Monterey not so long ago, and the son of Anne, one of the Promenade Antiques clerks, is a member of a hip band (Beirut) that played on Letterman, recently. The MBARI research facility located in “quaint” Moss Landing Village is for all intents and purposes a university-level research campus.
This is all to say that articles posted here won’t always be of the herbacious rural, small-town variety, because the line between rural and urban is not always so clear.
Still, the “distance” effect — even if only a few miles (7 mi. to the nearest supermarket), is an important one for me. It gives me a feeling of space, and quiet — except when I’ve got the ipod docked in my sound system, and cranked.
These horses live next to the Mexican rodeo grounds (the Charriada), just down the road from me. The horse in the top photograph was scratching his nose on a piece of barbed wire wrapped around a fencepost.
My mother let me take horseback riding lessons for a year when I was a kid. And that’s the limit of what I know about horses. So, coming from a suburb to live in Elkhorn–where there are many horses and riders, and where residents look forward to rodeo season in the summer–has been a big change for me.
One summer day, as I was driving down the road toward my new home, I passed a man on horseback, dressed like a vaquero. Let me clarify: he was not dressed like the “Marlboro Man,” and clearly had no aspirations to do so.
He was dark, had a full mustache, and sat tall and proud astride his beautiful horse. His clothing seemed to be a mix of Hispanic cowboy styles. I can’t remember exactly the details, but I do recall a wide-brimmed hat, short jacket, spurs, and a lot of silver. I started to feel a little out of place. “Well, Toto,” I might’ve said to my dog, “I don’t think we’re in Kansas.”
Since then, I’ve seen a lot of other vaquero types, and some of them do dress like the conventional Anglo cowboy, but most wear jeans and baseball caps. They occasionally dress as vaqueros for the rodeo.
When this region was Alta California, governed first from Spain, and then Mexico (this was before the Gold Rush, when the Anglos from the east began claiming the land as their own), the first cowboys actually were the vaqueros. Most of them migrated to south and central California (and generally the southwest) from northern Mexico. The huge ranchos of the Californios, awarded to them as the original Spanish land grants, dominated the area. They raised cattle, and traded hides with the ships that sailed into the port of Monterey (Monte Rey, or King’s Mountain).
Perhaps that’s why, when I had that first glimpse of the tall, dark vaquero riding his horse toward me down Castroville Blvd., I felt as though I was seeing a ghost.
A slide show of the last Californios, by William S. Dean.
See also the award-winning dvd, “Los Californios de Monterey: Pioneers of Alta California 1769-1848,” produced and directed by David A. Anaya.
What’s my story? I was raised about 30 miles to the north, in a university town, amid espresso cafes, surfers, and a burgeoning tourist industry. Just managing to escape the wrecking ball of the 2008 economic bust by the skin of my teeth (but—with finances intact, happily), I moved to the small community of about 4000 people, Elkhorn, CA. When I’m not at work in Monterey, I spend most of my time in Elkhorn or one of two of its neighboring communities, Castroville and Moss Landing.
I have some history here: my father worked in the agricultural fields of the Salinas Valley during the Great Depression era. My mother worked in a cannery in Santa Cruz that processed vegetables from those fields. We had friends in the area, and often drove by Castroville and Moss Landing; me looking out at the fields from the back seat of the family Corvair.
As a child, these places were just dots on the map. Elkhorn didn’t even exist, as far as I was concerned. The twin towers of the then PG&E power plant dwarfed Moss Landing Harbor. Castroville seemed like a way-station for migrant workers. Now that I’m a resident, I have a different perspective: these communities are crucial to my daily life, and they are vibrant and ever-changing.