Before I went away to college, I was sure that I would be beside myself with homesickness. I have always been a terribly sentimental person, so I spent my senior year laying awake at night and reciting all the things I loved about home over and over again in my head, bracing myself for the sadness I was sure I would feel. I thought about my friends, my mother's cooking, my dad's horrendous jokes and the way the sunlight filtered into the living room at home.
Needless to say, this habit of mine was both pointless and detrimental, and I arrived at Emory University very homesick. But the one thing I never expected to miss about home was the landscape. Coastal California is characterized by sweeping, rolling hills of invasive oatgrass that turn bright green in the rainier half of the year and golden-brown in the drier half. Even if you have never been to the region, you have likely seen the California hills before. They are the subject of the photograph “Bliss” (1998), taken by photographer Charles O’Rear.
“Bliss” is best known as the default wallpaper on devices using the Windows XP operating system. Billions of people have seen the iconic photo, and it is widely believed to be the most viewed photograph in the world. “Bliss” depicts a verdant, hilly landscape bathed in sunlight. Overhead is an almost comically serene blue sky dotted by clouds. The scenery photographed seems so idyllic that for many years, there was an impassioned debate about whether or not the photo was real. It was, of course. According to O’Rear, the photo hadn’t even been digitally altered. It was just “perfect.”
Despite their reputation as a thing of beauty, these hills had disturbed me my entire childhood. I hated how their non-native oatgrass ruined California’s natural landscape and as a result, I often became uneasy watching the grass wither and die every summer. When I came to Georgia, though, I was made more uncomfortable by their absence. Even though I had never been especially fond of the hills, they were a constant in my life. I had to pass them to get to school every morning, to visit friends and to drive to the grocery store. The hills had defined my home almost as much as the people there, and I left them behind on the West Coast.
Retrospectively, it was foolish of me to view anything, even the terrain, as perpetual. “Bliss” itself is a testament to change. Since O’Rear took the iconic photograph 29 years ago, the once-barren California hills have become overgrown with classic Sonoma vineyards. Now, it is impossible to recreate the photograph without razing the vines completely, though many have tried. Furthermore, the Californian hills no longer change color as they used to. As the state gets hotter and drier over time, the lush, “perfect” green depicted in “Bliss” lasts a shorter duration every year. Even Windows XP, the source of the photo’s renown, slowly faded into obscurity, with Microsoft ending support for the system in 2014. Today, people see both the photo and the operating system as relics of the 2000s, embedded into cultural memory as nostalgic images. What was once an icon of the futuristic, rapidly growing digital age is now a mere aesthetic. In a few decades, it’s possible that nobody will remember the photo anymore.
But I will never forget it. So, I would like to dedicate this photograph to myself from freshman year. “Bliss” is a reminder of home, but it’s also a reminder of change. I still think it’s OK to hold onto the past. Even so, the places we see as steadfast are living, dying and shifting in their own ways. And perhaps that’s what makes them special to us.
