"Oy, it's so dusty"

Last story about last week's camping trip, I promise.

After the frog races and three-legged sack races at the local park, my buddy Paul (master of the arcane roadside attraction) promised us a surprise adventure. We formed a small caravan and drove up Rt. 395 just 1/2 mile north of town. We pulled to the side of the road and followed Paul as he walked us into a dusty field. And there, in a barbed wire, fenced off area, no bigger than a volleyball court, we saw the remains of Owen Valley's first, last and only Jewish Cemetery.

As I might have mentioned in previous writings, there isn't a Jewish presence in this high desert ghost of a town. The closest thing to a Jew is Manny the Pakistani, who now owns the combination Chevron/Subway/Tackle Shop shop. And the only reason he bears any resemblance to MOT is because he has a swarthy complexion and his name is Manny.

There were only 5 graves in this tiny cemetery. But that was 5 more Jews than I had ever expected to be laid to rest here. Some of the tombstones had tell-tale Hebrew inscriptions. And all, sadly, died very young. 

My wife suspected they were German merchants trying to cash in on the 19th century gold rush. But I think my wife read too many history text books from high school and college. I suggested they were the early pioneers in the Jewish world domination plan. 

Despite what Zuckerberg said at the last meeting (and by the way, the sandwiches were very soggy), social media is not the silver bullet. You can't expect to wield supreme Hebraic global power and pull the strings on finance, media, science and geo-politics, unless you're willing to have boots on the ground. 

Even if that ground is in Independence, CA.