Homeless Along the Highway
Today I spotted the first lupin of the season along Highway 68.
Their deep blue spikes are emerging from the lush green grasses carpeting the camino.
Although this is only early February, the lupin are a welcomed reminder of spring, with the promise of many more wildflowers to come. Poppies are also appearing, splashing their golden faces along the vibrant green hillsides.
I spotted the lanky vagabond, overloaded with a sleeping bag and tattered trash bags, filled with cans and bottles, he had scavenged along the road, to trade for spare change.
I drove onto the highway’s shoulder and pulled up along side him. He looked at me with the same deep blue eyes that penetrate from the lean faces of every young homeless man that I encounter along the roads.
Were his eyes really that blue, or did they just seem that way in contrast to the deeply tanned lines, hollow cheekbones and scraggly beard?
These young men are the true homeless, not the “professionals” that stand at the intersections with their cardboard signs. The “pros” are dropped off at their regular corners daily from vans or trucks. Panhandling appears to be their occupation.
But in this rural valley town on the outskirts of affluence, I notice young men who clearly have lived without a family, or a roof over their head, for a long time.
Sometimes they are tramping the roadside,
sometimes scrounging through the dumpsters,
sometimes sitting, head bent low, cradling their face in their hands with despair,
too skinny, too cold, too lonely, too alienated in this town of nearly 200,000 people.
What brings them here?
I do not know.
Some pass through from the railroad nearby. Others hitchhike from Highway 1.
I have no idea how they end up along Highway 68, among the wildflowers and the cattle grazing in the hills. During good weather, some sleep under the bridge along the Salinas River, but that is unlikely at this time of the year, when the riverbanks are overflowing.
How do they get to this point of their lives?
I don’t know that either.
Drugs or alcohol may have overtaken their lives. Perhaps they are on parole, so I am cautious whenever I pull up alongside them. However, they don’t strike me as dangerous. I think the ones who are on parole have “street smarts” and are probably comfortable downtown, working some sort of scam.
But the young men I see near Highway 68 appear to be truly on the down and out.
I describe them as young men because, even though at first glance they appear to be older, whenever I get close enough to give them food, I see that they are indeed young men, worn out, and aged beyond their true years.
This young man today was initially startled when I pulled up to hand him a bottle of water and a small package of crackers from my glove box. He thanked me and I drove away, trying not to kick up the gravel as I did so.
His eyes were the deepest blue, just like the lupin.
An excerpt from "Where the Red Tailed Hawk Flies: Tales from the Lupin Patch" Copyright ©2005 by Gabriella Graham/Red Tailed Hawk Publishing/All rights reserved. 02.05
Today I spotted the first lupin of the season along Highway 68.
Their deep blue spikes are emerging from the lush green grasses carpeting the camino.
Although this is only early February, the lupin are a welcomed reminder of spring, with the promise of many more wildflowers to come. Poppies are also appearing, splashing their golden faces along the vibrant green hillsides.
I spotted the lanky vagabond, overloaded with a sleeping bag and tattered trash bags, filled with cans and bottles, he had scavenged along the road, to trade for spare change.
I drove onto the highway’s shoulder and pulled up along side him. He looked at me with the same deep blue eyes that penetrate from the lean faces of every young homeless man that I encounter along the roads.
Were his eyes really that blue, or did they just seem that way in contrast to the deeply tanned lines, hollow cheekbones and scraggly beard?
These young men are the true homeless, not the “professionals” that stand at the intersections with their cardboard signs. The “pros” are dropped off at their regular corners daily from vans or trucks. Panhandling appears to be their occupation.
But in this rural valley town on the outskirts of affluence, I notice young men who clearly have lived without a family, or a roof over their head, for a long time.
Sometimes they are tramping the roadside,
sometimes scrounging through the dumpsters,
sometimes sitting, head bent low, cradling their face in their hands with despair,
too skinny, too cold, too lonely, too alienated in this town of nearly 200,000 people.
What brings them here?
I do not know.
Some pass through from the railroad nearby. Others hitchhike from Highway 1.
I have no idea how they end up along Highway 68, among the wildflowers and the cattle grazing in the hills. During good weather, some sleep under the bridge along the Salinas River, but that is unlikely at this time of the year, when the riverbanks are overflowing.
How do they get to this point of their lives?
I don’t know that either.
Drugs or alcohol may have overtaken their lives. Perhaps they are on parole, so I am cautious whenever I pull up alongside them. However, they don’t strike me as dangerous. I think the ones who are on parole have “street smarts” and are probably comfortable downtown, working some sort of scam.
But the young men I see near Highway 68 appear to be truly on the down and out.
I describe them as young men because, even though at first glance they appear to be older, whenever I get close enough to give them food, I see that they are indeed young men, worn out, and aged beyond their true years.
This young man today was initially startled when I pulled up to hand him a bottle of water and a small package of crackers from my glove box. He thanked me and I drove away, trying not to kick up the gravel as I did so.
His eyes were the deepest blue, just like the lupin.
An excerpt from "Where the Red Tailed Hawk Flies: Tales from the Lupin Patch" Copyright ©2005 by Gabriella Graham/Red Tailed Hawk Publishing/All rights reserved. 02.05
Lupin Patch Along Hwy 68, photo'd by Gabriella