First Days In Alpaugh

The situation gets more and more tense. Small quips seem ready to blow up into full on verbal brawls, a small raincloud slowly building up to a deluge. Sarcasm dribbles from our mouths like it would from a rabid dog’s mouth. A long run signifies anger at someone. But who? I tippy toe around the cracks, praying that my feathery steps will not break the ice. Pssssst Dan. You there? I have something to tell you. IT HAS ONLY BEEN 5 DAYS! WE’RE FUCKED!!!!!!!

Alpaugh’s rough. I see the same faces every day of my life, the drowsy faces, the spritely faces, the passive faces. I see them in the morning, during work, at lunch, after lunch, even farther after lunch, in the van, out the van, brushing teeth, eating beef. Body odor, lurching motor. I see these faces left and right, up and down, even at night. Sometimes I wish they would go away, but know that they are here to stay. Dimples, sideburns, freshly shaved legs. Making morning breakfast: Sausage and fresh eggs. I see these faces everywhere, down the hall and in fresh air. I don’t know how to end this jingle, hopefully it’s not my first hit single. (Think Dr. Seuss.)

Anyways, I got that off my chest. The moral of the story is this living situation is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. And I’m the low key one; I can only imagine how everyone else is feeling. Maybe it’s just a hump to get over, I sincerely hope so. Today we split up work. Half worked at the Atwell Island Park, planting a specific type of grass native to the area along the banks of a marsh. The other half went to the World Agricultural Exposition in Visalia (about 100,000 people) and helped the Alpaugh Historical Society make Tri Tip steak sandwiches to sell. I did the latter. Most delicious steak sandwich I’ve ever eaten at the most rural, simple event I’ve ever attended. Here’s the idea (as if ‘we’ were farmers): We farm. We want to show you farm stuff. Come look at our farm stuff. Admire our monstrous machines. Want one? No? Ok, well I’ll tell you about each one and how it works, and a story to go along with it. I think I actually met a legitimate cowboy, along with about 6,000 wannabes. Wearing our Americorps issued grey hoodies and tan cargo pants, we stood out sorely against the backdrop of tucked in plaid shirts, tightish blue jeans, boots and cowboy hats. There was plenty of time to wander around. It was fun as hell.