Yesterday morning I woke up to find the rig shaking violently as tree limbs pounded the roof. I heard a deafening blast and thought--this is it, this is the end. ..a plane or helicopter is making its fateful crash in the center of the campground. The forest canopy literally raining limbs, as the chopper or plane clipped the tops as it flew over so low. After listening for what seemed like eternity, there was no blast or sound of a crash--so I can only assume that it was a crop duster.
This means the Flores Boys are in town. It's tomato harvest time, and watermelon and soon to be corn. Land's End is home to all of the harvesters and their families during the sweltering summer months, so I share my road with buses and transfer trucks and the occasional smashed watermelon that escaped the flat bed. There is one perk--on Sundays the harvesters take to the beach and give everyone a full afternoon of entertainment as they literally try to maul each other playing soccer. I give kudos to the one or two that resemble Enrique Iglesias and Johnathon Schaeck.
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