Next day, the highway took me inland to the agricultural heart of California. I always thought all coastal residents should drive the highway at least once to remind them how Los Angeles and San Francisco weren’t everything. Farmlands were vast, miles and miles of crops that fed countless people, though I now found some miles supplanted with vineyards. Despite the huge population of the coastal cities, California was an agricultural state.
Once past farmland and a pit stop in San Jose, I drove on to Arroyo, entering town around six p.m. As I circled down the freeway off ramp, I thought how I was back to square one and didn’t particularly like the idea. Where had I been? Square two? Three? Four?
Four years had passed since returning at my mother’s death, and I saw a few things had changed
