Welcome to Visalia Municipal Airport

I am currently sitting at Visalia Municipal Airport. We're not talking about Phoenix, LAX, Boston Logan or even Salt Lake International. We're talking Visalia Municipal. 

On the wall is a framed photo of a man with a cowboy hat leaning on an old biplane. Underneath the picture is a plaque on which the following is written:

SOL SWEET

FOUNDER OF THE VISALIA AIRPORT - 1927

"SOL WAS ONE OF A KIND, A GREAT AND MORAL MAN."

- NORMAN "SUNNY" SUNSTROM

I'm dead serious. Underneath it are two drinking fountains. This place was so busy, I had to ring a bell to get service and am pretty sure I interrupted either a birthday party in the back or a game of gin rummy.

The room is partitioned by a wall with a bunch of windows. On the other side is the x-ray machine and metal detector. On the partition is a sign that says: Be Vigilant. Oh yeah. I'm vigilant. Don't worry. I'll stop all those crazy jihadist farmers who want to take out their neighbor's orange grove.

The Morning After

Today is like the morning after. The streets are quiet, the drunks are still konked out, and the merriment has subsided. We had to take out the trash and do the laundry and tidy things up a bit to leave the cabin this morning, and now I'm just idling by the Silver Maple again, waiting for the load of laundry to finish a block down the street. The vendors are mostly still asleep, and having already bought a Hawaiian backpack and some books from the library, I think I've done my duty.

Among the books I purchased were biographies of James Dean, Winston Churchill, Benjamin Disraeli, and Henry Kissinger. I also got a book on Australia circa 1968 (I don't think much has changed since then - well, that's not true, but it had cool pictures). The books cost five dollars in total, and the backpack cost fifteen dollars. I needed to buy the books to fill the backpack. Made perfect sense. Oh, and I bought a photograph of the Bridgeport valley with the sawtooth ridge in the background. That will be shipped to me, and in a week will cost me forty bucks, but it's signed and I'll put it in my room or office. The lady who sold me the picture is from Lemoore, California, just fifteen minutes or so west of Visalia where my Dad grew up and around which most of my family lives. So, the world grows smaller.

I have no real anecdotal irreverence this morning, but I'll fill your basket or bucket soon.