8:09 p.m., July 28
A poem by Brandon Cesmat
When the boy’s dog didn’t come home from hunting squirrels or rabbits, he rode on a brown mare in the hills above the ranch, singing the name, “Ti-ger! Here boy!” as he looked. His parents ...
In August they begin work early in the morning while the day is still cool. Their songs and conversation, in rapid Spanish, drift through the orange grove, muted only by the rhythmic slam of the ...
Valley Center Will Never Be the Same
I must have thought that the difficult access would keep my home secluded: Valley Center, a lousy place to get to, but a nice place to be. In the mid-Seventies this began to change.