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Goodbye Bakersfield, On to the Middle of Nowhere
The view from my window as I sit in my recliner is of an old trailer park and one of the ubiquitous dry yellow treeless hills of the western Central Valley. Even at 5 or 6 a.m. the roar of the semi trucks reverberates inside the RV for we are only ½ mile from I-5 at the truck stop made famous by Pea Soup Anderson, Santa Nella. 
There isn’t a whole lot here: a few truck stops, fast food joints, a couple motels, and this RV-slash-trailer park. It’s a transient park for the most part so we may be surrounded by rigs by night, which vanish the next morning like flies in the cold and then we are left with the regulars. All of them, like us, are in old rigs with an air of desolation about them. Some are occupied by families with several children. It’s a night and day flip from the high-dollar resort in Bakersfield where we last were. 
To get a cleaner and level spot (instead of the weedy dirt in back) we needed to be up front on the concrete area, which much to our dismay features no cable TV. WIFI (with our booster) at least works passably. Town is 13 miles away but I am well loaded and stocked so may not have to set foot there beyond maybe one grocery shopping venture. Marc tells me I won’t be missing a thing. Did I say before how much we hate California? 
Our penance may soon come to an end. The projects may be petering out; at least the ones Marc’s company will be getting. Our vision and dreams are filled with thoughts of Oregon, family, and sitting beside the ocean. If unemployment is the cost of that, so be it I guess.
The view from my window as I sit in my recliner is of an old trailer park and one of the ubiquitous dry yellow treeless hills of the western Central Valley. Even at 5 or 6 a.m. the roar of the semi trucks reverberates inside the RV for we are only ½ mile from I-5 at the truck stop made famous by Pea Soup Anderson, Santa Nella. 
There isn’t a whole lot here: a few truck stops, fast food joints, a couple motels, and this RV-slash-trailer park. It’s a transient park for the most part so we may be surrounded by rigs by night, which vanish the next morning like flies in the cold and then we are left with the regulars. All of them, like us, are in old rigs with an air of desolation about them. Some are occupied by families with several children. It’s a night and day flip from the high-dollar resort in Bakersfield where we last were. 
To get a cleaner and level spot (instead of the weedy dirt in back) we needed to be up front on the concrete area, which much to our dismay features no cable TV. WIFI (with our booster) at least works passably. Town is 13 miles away but I am well loaded and stocked so may not have to set foot there beyond maybe one grocery shopping venture. Marc tells me I won’t be missing a thing. Did I say before how much we hate California? 
Our penance may soon come to an end. The projects may be petering out; at least the ones Marc’s company will be getting. Our vision and dreams are filled with thoughts of Oregon, family, and sitting beside the ocean. If unemployment is the cost of that, so be it I guess.
