California Gold

Oh give me a home, where the buffalo roam, in the distant past of the Nebraska prairies. The stars at night are big and bright, deep in the heart of Texas. However, a day of driving through central California is something else. I could almost see forever. Oh, there were mountains defining the horizon and in between limitless fields were being tilled for yet another planting. Large sign boards proclaimed how the farmers feed the world.
The big sky was not clear and it was not bright. The sun came up through the smoggy smoke or the smoky fog shutting out all but the red outline of our hot star. A round red ball. As the day progressed I drove past fields where large machines crept along throwing dust hundreds of feet in the air. I realized that the sky was not merely full of wild fire smoke. Nor was it filled with exhaust from too many automobiles. The air was polluted with California gold – not the shiny metal that drove men in wild searches in the 1800s – but gold resulting from mechanization in the 1900s allowing the farming of vast acres with small amounts of labor.
To large corporations that is pure gold. You know how all the gold in California is in banks in some body else's name. Gold is where you find it – if you insist on the hunt. The dust burns my eyes and settles down before I reach the oil producing area of Bakersfield and finally drive over the hills of those reknown angels.
The destination of my journey was the gold of children and grandchildren of which I am rich. I arrived before noon with the entire limb of the journey's leg intact.
Naomi Sherer