For no explicable reason, I really like the town of Bridgeport, CA on highway 395. Staying here means I get to watch the sun rise around Mono Lake in the wee hours of the am while eating strawberries and drinking coffee. I can’t think of a better way to start the morning,
There is something about this road—the 395–that lends itself to both nostalgia and beauty. Sure, there’s no water here either. Sure we’re just as messed up with the lack of water here as anywhere else in California , but the 395 melts that away and you dont’ think of armageddon quite as much. Bridgeport–my stop — makes me happy.
At some point in every summer my kids and I make the solo trip down to visit my grandmother and various friends and family around the birthplace of Los Angeles. As mountain people starved for anything resembling cuisine, these trips are also about eating. The husband stays home with the cats. It works out better that way. The family that does not vacation together stays together.
with two sleepy tweens in toe.