Where the Streets Have No Name

ranch.jpgThe air has been heavy with the echo of the fires and the cars in our driveway were covered with ash, so we packed up the dogs and headed for Rimrock Ranch in the high desert north of Poineertown. We got a late start and wound up driving down dead end dirt roads in the dark, praying our truck wouldn’t sink into the sand. We finally found the place and it’s a charming compound with a few cabins and vintage Airstreams scattered around. The owner is a guy named Jim who lives in a groovy modern house on the property and plays a mean upright bass.
In the morning had coffee at the Water Canyon coffee house in Yucca Valley. Then we hit the swapmeet, where it’s hard to tell what is for sale and what’s an art installation. The picture above is Bob, the seventy-three-year-old owner of the place, who makes giant spider webs inhabited by carved wooden spiders. In the middle of the webs were the biggest purple and pink cut crystals I’ve ever seen. They looked like they belonged on the burlesque costume of the fifty-foot woman.

In the afternoon we went to Joshua Tree National Park. I’ve heard that every Joshua Tree has a soul. And every rock in that place has a story to tell.

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