Little Canada I call it, this arid spit of sand and rock on the California, Arizona, Mexican border. The population here explodes like a balloon in the winter with snowbirds from all over the northwestern tundra country. Some Americans, like us, are weaved into the mix. You see them mainly from Washington state, Oregon, Idaho, and a few from California. I haven’t seen but a few from Missouri, our home state. I would hazard a guess that the great 90% of folks who travel here come from Canada...specifically Manitoba, Saskatchewan, “BC”, and Alberta. These northern borderlands are buried in snow and sub-zero temperatures this time of year. These folks, almost entirely retirement aged, grow sick of the cold and snow and come here regularly for the winter. Most of them that we met have been coming here for longer than a decade. They come to the same RV parks year after year. They form tight bonds with their neighbors. They play horseshoes, shuffleboard, pickle ball, bingo...they’re a busy and happy army from the north. We fell in with the Canadians quite quickly and easily. I have to say, I love these folks. We seem to just get along with them so easily. Perhaps they are just that easy to get along with, an affable country of travelers.
Yuma is also the southern terminus for those who want to get first class medical and dental treatment in Mexico at greatly reduced prices compared to the US. Prescriptions drugs are also a bargain in Algodones, the Mexican border town adjacent to Yuma. Hundreds, and at times, thousands cross into Mexico every day for treatments, prescription drugs, and bargains on Mexican handcrafts. It is one of the safest places you can visit as well. So here in Yuma you have a real homogeneous mix of at least three nations...all getting along as if they had lived together for decades. It’s really quite amazing. During this time, the news we hear on TV is totally focused on the “Wall” that Trump wants to build. We have seen no crisis on the border, no caravans, no drug cartel gangs running through the desert.
West of here, in the Californian desert called the Imperial valley, there grows some 80-90% of the produce we consume in this country. Miles of broccoli, lettuce, cauliflower, all tended by migrant workers from Mexico grow as far as you can see, watered by the once mighty Colorado river, now reduced to a shallow shadow of its former self due to irrigation. At one time riverboats plied these waters carrying people and supplies between Mexico and the US. At one time Yuma was THE Crossing Point for explorers wanting to travel across the Colorado into California. Out in the desert, past the produce, there lies a vagrant artist community who live on the ruins of General Patton’s tank training grounds. There is a magnificent spot called Salvation Mountain dedicated to the them, “God is Love”. A mountain of paint and plaster covered mud built around a dead tree that reaches towards heaven with the spiritual power of art. Quite an amazing feat. Adjacent is East Jesus, an artist colony where the detritus of everyday life has been transformed into living, rusting statements of purpose and non-purpose. Here I sat for a time with Diane and some of the inhabitants and played the founder’s guitar amidst the artful garden of trash.
Back at the RV Camp, Caravan Oasis, I played guitar and sang often during evening jam sessions. These jams were fun-filled as everyone took a turn playing and leading a song of their own. Our second week here I hosted a free solo concert for the park. I combined cover tunes with originals, with Diane’s helpful suggestions and performed for an hour and a half. The crowd, some 100 strong give or take seemed to really enjoy my effort. It felt so good to have a live audience again. We will certainly return to this winter respite and reunite with the Canadians and Mexicans.