In the middle of August I accompanied my mother and several siblings back to the town where I (and my mother) were born to attend the funeral of my aunt. Trona is way the heck out in the Mojave Desert northeast of Los Angeles, two valleys over from Death Valley. It was the last company town in America, formed to mine and process the borax and potash from the dry lake bed on which it sits. It is an inhospitable and lonely place. My parents met and married there, but then escaped in 1956 to the Pacific Northwest. In contrast, my aunt lived there for almost all of her ninety six years and with her strong personality assumed a major role in the life of the town. In tribute to her and to our own history there in the desert the family gathered to say goodbye.
We were worried about the heat, which had been severe in the weeks leading up to the funeral, but in the four days that we were there it moderated from the 120's down into the nineties, which with air conditioning, was tolerable. We were able to drive around and revisit the places we used to live and the scenic points of interest in Searles Valley. The chemical plant is still operational, but the town is very sad. All the old company housing has been exposed to a century of sun, wind and sand, and many of the houses are empty, some burned out. There are only a couple of businesses still open, other than the plant. The houses I can remember are all still standing, although my grandmother's house with the little covered terrace by the front door is blackened and ruined. I can remember stepping out into the still clarity of an early desert morning on that terrace when I was around three years old.
We drove the length of the valley up to the Slate Range Crossing where my mother told the story of the time when she lost her brakes heading down the hill. She was a teenager (under sixteen) driving a Jeep alone from Trona over the ridge into the next valley loaded down with beer and supplies. She was headed for the resort her parents ran in Wildrose Canyon, when the car ran amok. She had to keep the Jeep on the rough and very precipitous road as it plunged from the top of the pass shown here down to the valley floor. Fortunately she held it on until close to the bottom, where it bounced off the road into the sagebrush. She sat there all day. Three cars went by. The first one didn't stop. The second one offered to go up to Wildrose and tell her dad that she was stuck, but put their sightseeing first and didn't get to Wildrose until dark. The man in the third car was able to get the Jeep operational and on the road, so about twelve hours after the accident she met her dad in the dark, coming to find her. Lucky for all of us. You can see the old road on the right hand side of the picture.
We also visited the Trona Pinnacles. They make frequent appearances in movies because they are so distinctive and so lonely. The geology of the dry lakes in the Mojave is complicated and fascinating but I can't remember off the top of my head what caused these strange pillars to form out on the desert floor. They are much bigger than they seem in pictures. The glory of this harsh landscape is in the minerals hidden underground. There are all kinds of beautiful and strange crystals, streaks of onyx, gold and silver, rocks that are only found in this one place in the world. It is a geologist's paradise. My grandmother founded the the Searles Valley Rock and Mineral Society and now my cousin is the president, which is creates a satisfying family symmetry.
A lot of my family members are buried in this dusty cemetery, and now my aunt has joined them. It is a strange place to be from.