California 1952

“Go out and play in the brush for a bit and watch out for the snakes.” Mom would hasten me out for an hour or two of respite. Tall brush land lay beyond the groves surrounding town, town surrounding small colleges that came first to this land of latent blooms bringing dignity and purpose to those lucky to live nearby. And off I’d trek for high adventure across lands sweet-smelling muddy in winter and acrid in dry dust summer. Hawks turn lazy circles watching for jackrabbits, lizards.

Familiar paths led out to a small airport to the east, past the control channel hastily thrown up after the big flood of ’38 with heavy rusting wire net holding rocks in place. Tall Sumac schooners sailed across chamise seas, casting parasol shade for those brave enough to climb inside. Hours spent dreaming cool trout creeks and what girls were like. Found artifactual discards of a world yet to come out there, whiskey bottles, old Playboys, cast off condoms, broken glass, spent cartridge casings, dead coyotes bobcats.

Cactus and agave catching boys' careless ankles, hands trying to rest near dens of snakes, wondering about those strange bright flashes at night behind mountains. The test range, we’d been told, while escaping night heat sitting on the front porch, listening to delicious sounds of the new rain bird irrigation system watering groves in the dark.