This is how most of the time with mom and pops was spent. (iPhoto: Richard Cardenas)

Angeleno is a label that I am proud of. Eastsider is a given. East Losian is my new term for declaring my township. But even to a proud citizen of LA, there is nothing that feeds the soul as much as a trip out of this metropolitan madness. The two weeks in Mexico I keep dreaming of keep distancing them self from my grasp. So I was happy to take a three-day weekend at mom’s house. Yes! That’s always a good idea.

Somewhere between Bakersfield and Fresno is a place called Nowhere. In the middle of Nowhere there is a small town named Farmersville. That’s where my parents live. A small farm town you might of heard of outside of another small city called Visalia. In all sincerity it’s not that remote. I just like to make it feel that way. Target, Home Depot, Starbucks and all other corporate monsters are within a ten-minute reach.

Mom and pops left LA a few years after my youngest brother Joe was killed in 1993. They went in search of peace. They found it in Farmersville.

With my brother Richard at the helm of his Nissan Titan and my daughter in the back seat, pillow clenched, we traveled the 5 north, 99 north, 198 east, got off at the Farmersville exit and drove the speed limit. Everyone here drives at the posted speed limit of twenty five miles per hour. It’s weird at first.  Being a holiday weekend the police presence was abundant. By that I mean that on the four block center of Farmersville a motorcycle patrol made his shift a productive one.

We arrived at midnight and said our hellos and got some rest. Mom’s hugs and dad  tugging on my ear take me back and I slept like a six foot baby.

Breakfast here always includes homemade tortillas. This time mom made some chicharrones in red sauce to wake up the senses. Truly magical.

Celebrating mom's 60th at Olive Garden in Visalia. That's my daughter on the left and dad on the right.

Food, drinks, conversation, family visits and I slowly start to forget all about Los Angeles. I love my cousins, uncles and aunts that live in this town. They welcome us with an open home every time. My compadre Carlos and his wife Mari always hang with me and my brother till we can’t drink any more. I had my first taste of Buchanan’s whiskey at their house and loved it. Together with Modelo Negro I got a good drunk on and slept in a bed that was too small for me. Again, I slept like a baby.

When in town we try to make time to stop at my uncle’s ranch in Woodlake. Now this is remote. It’s on the outskirts of Nowhere. My uncle has cattle, goats and a few chickens and roosters running around his acres of land nestled next to a small river.

We come out here after a drunk night to cure the hangover with a concoction called a Palomo. Grind two spoons of Chocolate Abuelita add a two spoons of sugar, a shot of pure cane alcohol from Michoacan; 99 proof. You take this in a large glass and fill it with milk straight from the cows tit. Yup! It’s a potent warm chocolate milk. One of these is all you need and you’re cured. My brother purchases 4 wheels of queso fresco from my uncle to bring back to Los and share. Fresh unpasturized cheese is so goooood!

It was my mom’s 60^th birthday this weekend so there was a lot of visitors dropping by and sharing good words and good food. Laughter was abundant.

A three day weekend is never enough when visiting my parents and on Monday afternoon we head back home. On the drive home I sat in the back seat and did some work on my laptop. Back in the grind before even approaching the grapevine.

Wish I could bring them old folks closer to Los. But then it wouldn’t be a getaway if they lived here.

Rich, Bernie, Juan, Me and Tio Rafael with queso fresco in hand.

Behind my uncle's ranch is a small river where the kids fish.

My nephews catch crawfish in the shallow water. Cattle roam in the background.

Two bulls battle for the same spot.

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Rafael Cardenas can be reached at eastsiderwriter@gmail.com

You can also find his writing in the Citizen LA.
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