Brown Mounds of CA.

These brown hills are setting in the sun, slightly dotted with green shrubbery and cattle. They look like deserted ski slopes, all dried out, but perfect. Looks like a skeleton of a lush mountainside. We blow past the Painted Wagon Hotel, leaving it in our dust. Fields are alive with migrant laborers bagging garlic and artichokes. Tight ravines trickle down the hills. They hold the moisture and the clumps of trees.

Next Day: High atop the wooden platforms at the water park, we stood for a bird's eye view of the parched, sun soaked hills. Brown as light caramel. The water slides soared and screamed and gnashed their teeth. Our vacay with cousins was floating on in the unmistakable California sunshine. The degrees were enough to get me a Modelo with some of my favorite folks. The sun baked wood planks gave off that smoky smell, that Nan's attic on a hot day smell, that no ventilation smell. Like a pine or cedar sauna.

I wrote these words years ago on a vacay near San Jose. The fields were full and thick with produce, harvested by the hands of an essential migrant labor force. The American economy runs on the hands of these laborers. I give all field toilers 1,000% respect. The work is hard, hours long, days turn to dusk real quick. Working for respect and a livable wage, making the ends meet through calloused hands, hardened squints through the sun's rays. I got respect levels unequivocal. Now, fast forward to the Pandemic of 2020, Covid-19.

In not one nanosecond did I see the facemask as an infringement on my handsome face. I see them as folks looking out for one another, all brothers and sisters from another mother. To me, it fostered a sense of community among all the essentials. Like a loyal order of fraternity that built a community of the best interest of all the players in the game. I had the good fortune, through the Pandemic, to be an essential truck driver. On the receiving end of 99% of my deliveries, facing the frontlines, were migrant laborers. Masked up and ready to work, ready to make the dough for the family, ready to face unforeseen circumstances out of necessity. Necessity for food on the table, necessity to continue the quest for the American Dream, necessity to benefit those following their footsteps. To be an example of hard work for future generations. The country's economic backbone is the migrant labor force, respect and hope and a check. I am proud to be partnered with fellow dedicated laborers. I wear my mask out of respect. That is a minimal sacrifice to accommodate the comfort of the fraternity.

Back to Cali:

I daydream a sleepy dream of those California skies, the bright blue, cloudless skies, inviting drinks and beverages and dips in the pool. Feeling Cali cool. I recreated that vision in my yard. On those perfect days, when the clouds are gone and the sky is batting its baby blues, I see California, I feel the warmth of the sun, the Left Coast against my shoulders and face and body in rejuvenation. I got all love for those that make so the world can take. My backyard oasis is my place to power through the Pandemic, to rest up and be humbled by selfless actions of others. Look out for me, I look out for you. Even if you aren't aware, I'm aware for you. I am thankful to work in an industry that gave me the opportunity to stay full force through the Covids. I am grateful to my man, M.J.M. for keeping the ship moving forward, full steam, slow. Perseverance, my man got game, I put respect on his name, we can share a hidden smile behind our masks. But the look of confidence in the eyes, that is all I need to see.