Description

Tumbleweed, coyotes and owls, Basque sheepherders, outlaw outposts, fierce wind storms complete with sandblasting that can penetrate walls, framed by the distant Angeles Crest range.

Driving past on the freeway, looking out at the landscape, some wonder, “Who would live out there?” Hand raised, not very sheepishly. Lots of us have, or still do. It’s magical out there on the Mojave. Life stripped to its fundamentals, sand-scoured and sun-scorched into near sterility.

This old DeSoto Fireflite had found its resting place at the end our driveway long before I came to live there.

(Sharp eyes may notice the rare cameo appearance by The Other Car.)