The Desert is a Hot, Dry Place

• After veering off the I-5 onto the more-populated US 99, passing through the olive groves, citrus orchards, vineyards, rice patties, and the raisin capital of central California, we reached Bakersfield and turned east into the desert on I-40.

• The desert wasn’t quite what I had expected. By comparison to some dry, dusty, wind-swept, forlorn places I’ve seen on the Canadian prairies, the desert actually has lots of vegetation; plenty of sagebrush that looks almost strategically planted, row after row after row in the endless sand.
  

• On the hilltops hydro windmills began to appear, first a few and then crowds of them looking much like a line of movie-style Indians slowly appearing along the top of a ridge, surrounding and signaling doom to a hapless wagon train. As the miles passed and the desert went on and on, Patti and I frequently commented about wagon trains, piteously wondering how could they possibly have made the trek? As for those windmills, I don’t know how much they were contributing to the State’s power grid since some were spinning wildly while many others stood dead still. Perhaps those were the unionized windmills enjoying a flex day. Or maybe those were the supervisors.

• Once in a while a patch of green appeared in the distance. Occasionally, there were some odd clusters of old motorhomes set well back from the road (birthplace of cults… just the kind where I imagine Charles Mason and Jim Jones got their starts). And then, barely visible through the dust and smog, a series of buildings so enormous I could hardly believe they were real. Exit after exit announced unwelcomingly: “Edwards Air Force Base: No Services”. Presumed translation: keep out - or else. Edwards Air Force Base was the first evidence I spotted of the US military’s apparently considerable presence in the desert of California and Arizona.