My father was a geologist and I went to kindergarten in Mecca California while my father was mapping the San Andreas Fault. We lived in an adobe bungalow nestled in a date grove and my best friend was Maria who’s parents were migrants and worked in the date orchards. I spoke no Spanish and Maria spoke no English but Maria would come to our dusty front porch and we played with Jenny Dolls. I was allowed to go to their families date grove encampment some nights. I remember holding her young fathers hand and walking the raised furrows of the grove and watching the women make tortillas. My father was so much older.
In 2010 on a final desert road trip with my father to Mecca, the adobe cottage was abandoned but still standing.
I had one other friend, a boy of about 8 or 9, the son or grandson of the old woman who lived in the main house. He and I would crawl on our bellies through the mesquite and tamarack. We built forts and would catch scorpions.
Every day, my father went to the field to map the geology. My mother packed his tin lunch box and seldom did he return home without a horned lizard, tarantula or snake tucked inside the empty tin. This is why I love reptiles, insects and arachnids. I was in Mecca less than a year but the desert is still my happy place.
Throughout my childhood, I went on many canyon and desert trips with my parents and in 2010, I took my father on a final road trip to his beloved desert; Joshua Tree, Mecca, Painted Canyon and the Salton Sea. He passed away at age 99 in May of 2014.
Everything about Mecca by Susan Straight hits my heartstrings. Truly an “engaging novel about a network of people related by blood, love and duty.” Washington Post.