Panorama

Tracing the length of California can be done along the scenic coastal route of the 1, the mountainous passes of the 101, or the dry grasses and monumental agricultural tracts of the 5.  Somehow we ended up on Highway 99.  It doesn't reach quite as far as the others, but is as, if not more, important as the other highways for understanding California.

The 99 is a vein that goes through California's agricultural heartland: the Central Valley.  According to the CDFA, California is the world's fifth largest supplier of food and agricultural commodities.  As you go through this region, your vehicular neighbour is no longer an SUV but lorries with livestock or open shipping containers of onions.  Fruit stands don't line the side of the road like the 5.  This is serious business with no time to fulfil tourist visions of enchantingly colourful, freshly-stocked farm stalls. 

Yet, I didn't see anyone in the fields.  Industrial agriculture at its height. Another distinction from the 5 is that you can see houses interspersed between farms.  They're not romantic Victorians with spires like the ones along the 101.  They look like pre-fab homes plunked down by a tornado that confused the open fields of Kansas for Cali

What is being done on these lands?  Where do these products go?  What is left behind, now and for a long time?  

My parents and I have driven through agricultural landscapes.  This was the first time it was our destination.  My dad, upon seeing that the farm I'll be working on has no shaded kiosks or place of rest, said, "Oh, my daughter.  What is she doing?"  We pulled up to the warehouse.  He asked if anyone else lived in the warehouse complex and if we're allowed to live there.  He knew the answers, but was hoping someone would tell him differently.  Then, he simply stated, "I am going to cry."

My dad's usual perspective that he will support what I want to do came into conflict with this real-time unfurling of a life he did not imagine.  My mom, contrastingly, embraced this new reality.  It seemed that she finally emerged from the months of mourning the dying dreams for my future, and she entered a state of acceptance, almost enthusiasm, for a future she recognized she has no control over. 

After we unpacked my belongings into the warehouse and made our outwardly silent, inwardly thought-laden trip back to the hotel, my dad recalled that I've wanted to farm for years, and that it's a dream come true.  My dad is a dreamer and would not stand in the way of a long-standing imaginary.

We each held different hopes for what I'd become.  I came close to their vision of a stable, prosperous life at times by attending a prestigious university, working at a renowned NGO in their city, and committing to a heterosexual partnership.  Our wants intersected in those moments.  Even when they diverged, there seemed to be time to reconnect.  Now, I've strayed far from the future they envisioned, with less time to become realigned.  But, dreams can change and maybe those new visions will be shared.