Getting a taste of spending the winter in a retirement community

 

It was only a short drive from Tumco to Yuma, and we had no trouble finding Jeanne and Francis's place in their Bonita Mesa community. It is a smaller park, and we remembered the layout from our visit last year. Then, we stayed in a hotel on the outskirts of Yuma and visited for only a few hours; this time we would stay in their 'Arizona room' and get a taste of spending the winter in a retirement community in a warmer climate.

We found the two playing crib on their porch and spent the evening catching up on our respective news, enjoying the fact that we could finally sit outside and have a drink on this warm evening. The sun had long set when we walked over to the pool for a swim and a soak in the hot tub, often a gathering place, we heard, though there were only a few people left now. Floating on my back in the warm water, looking up at the stars appearing slowly between the crowns of the high palm trees, I relished the feel of summer. 

A variety of things were planned for the next day, a Sunday. Bonita Mesa borders on the desert, and after breakfast we went for a walk there and along the nearby canal, running nearly full. A group of small crosses caught our attention from the distance. Walking up we realized that we had happened upon a pet cemetery, the little graves lovingly decorated, some with the dog's favourite toy or drinking bowl but partly covered with sand from recent strong winds.

A 'washoo' tournament was next on the agenda. Trying to find out how to spell this (I still don't know :) ) I saw that it is often called 'washer game', named after the metal disks called washers needed for all kinds of machinery). For this game players have to toss washers at a slanted platform with three holes from about ten feet away to score points. The bottom hole scores one, the middle one two, and the top one three points. A group of about twenty or twenty-five people was assembled when we got there, and Francis managed to get the four of us registered. Never having tried this before I was not at all sure that I would be an asset to anyone's team, but I was assured that the main goal was to have fun. Everybody registered – I think there were 24 of us – was assigned a number. Five rounds would be played in total, and the coordinator put together the teams for each round, making sure that the combination changed for every round. The actual game is much like the bean bag toss we know from home, but the flat disks fly and land differently than a bean bag, of course, and it takes a while to figure out the best technique. Of course it is a great and easy way to get to know the people in the community if you are paired with someone else, play against two different people, each time. Horseshoes and bean bag tossing, shuffleboard and pickleball are all played regularly and are just a part of the many things to do in the parks. We could see the advantages to spend a winter here instead of in cold Alberta, possibly isolated on a farm without much chance to get out. For many people it is certainly better for their mental and physical health to be out here in the warmth, with the opportunity to engage with other people as much or as little as you want. So far neither Johann nor I could envision that for ourselves: we love moving around, getting to know new places or visiting old favourites, but it was nice to be introduced to this other way of spending time 'down south', and we enjoyed the hospitality and warmth offered by our hosts and the people we met here.

Since we had heard so much about Yuma being the 'lettuce capital of the world' (or was it North America?) but not seen much evidence of it last year, Francis and Jeanne were going to show us some of the agriculture in the area. On the way from Blythe we saw a few fields of broccoli and onions, and on the drive through the Yuma area in the afternoon we realized how much of this valley is dedicated to the production of vegetables. Huge fields of broccoli, cauliflower and various types of lettuce alternate with lush stands of alfalfa, some of it freshly cut, some with newly raked rows waiting to be baled. Surrounded by desert, brown and beige mountains in the distance, it looks almost unreal, much as the eye delights in the green. We drove by a date farm, long straight rows of trees for a couple of kilometres at a time. All this needs water and would not be possible without irrigation. Hopefully this winter's ample snows will help to replenish depleted water levels. Since it was Sunday harvesting was stopped; we saw only the machines standing in the fields. We hoped to get a look at the harvesting process on our drive through this area the next day on our way towards Mesa, our next major destination. 

The last 'adventure' of the day was something that provides entertainment at night for people living close to the desert: scorpion 'hunting'. For this, you walk around in the desert with a 'blacklight' flashlight which uses UV rays to make scorpions glow in an eerie green light when the beam catches them. Wouldn't we be in danger of being stung, we wondered. No, Francis assured us, we'd see the scorpions long before we were close enough to be in danger. It took a while until we found the first one, sitting under a creosote shrub, but in the course of the next twenty minutes or so we spotted several, some tiny, some a bit bigger. It's an interesting thought that these heavily armed warriors were likely there in larger numbers around our tent in the Painted Rock campground last year.

Once more we enjoyed the hottub in the evening and, refreshed after a good night's sleep, said goodbye to our friends at about 9:30 the next morning. We had reached the point furthest away from home; from now on we'd be on the journey back, even though we still had ten days of travel and many miles left to go. 

As planned, we took a little detour on a road parallel to the highway, through the fields, on our way. Now, harvesting crews were at work picking lettuce, and we were able to watch the process for a while. The harvester, equipped with conveyor belts, moves very slowly down the field while the Mexican workers - maybe twelve for each machine - harvest the heads. It looked as if two people worked together, one breaking off the head and discarding the bottom leaves, the other putting it in the box waiting on the harvester.

The conveyor moved the boxes right onto a platform higher up on the harvester where they were stacked by hand to be transferred to a high flat-deck wagon waiting nearby, which was pulled off the field to wait on the side of the road as soon as it was full. It was already hot, and while a canopy on the harvester provided some shade, it is hard work to do this job all day long. Without the Mexican workers this industry couldn't exist here in the same way. They are transported from field to field/job to job in school buses that pull a trailer with portable toilets; we encountered several of them on the road while we travelled in the area.