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Lost Leaf Ranch

One of the things I love about the desert is the prevelence of ghost towns. Tangible broken dreams, bittersweet and heartstring-tugging.

When I first began exploring the Mojave in the early 90s, I'd marvel at abandoned mining camps and thrill to find a forgotten cabin or barn. Visiting Leadville or Rhyolite was always the highlight of a trip to Death Valley. Even managed, pseudo-ghost towns like Bodie were fun. As I ventured further off the beaten path, I came across trailers and small mining communities that had been abandoned seemingly overnight. Treasures always abounded: the odd McCoy planter, and funky shoes or a fantastic example of 1970s clothing, the fabric still bright and unsullied despite the blistering sun and caustic dust, its half-life an eon or two yet to come.

One memorable ghost town was high up in the mountains between the Saline Valley and Lone Pine, a medical center for one of the mines in Hunter Canyon. In additon to spurned earth moving equipment and trailers cum examination rooms sinking into the ground, there were xrays littered up and down the canyon -- mostly of kids' broken arms and fractured collarbones, the price of admission for the privilege of being a kid up Hunter Canyon. Years later, with great anticipation, I took my former boyfriend there, only to find that the site had been cleaned up by the National Park Service, the odd flake of xray the only remnant of its former glorious dilapidation.

In December, jb and I stumbled across a recently abandoned ranch, a broken dream score on par with my legendary Hunter Canyon. There are the typical things I've found in abandoned houses -- furniture, personal papers and effects, dishes. But there are also corrals, gardens, several old aluminum travel trailers, fabulous vintage gas stoves, a furniture workshop with stacks of finials and bedknobs, beekeeping boxes, a ceramic studio -- even a milk pasteurizer, in relatively pristine condition. We concocted a story about the place: back to the landers growing pot behind a furniture building, cow milking utopian front were eventually ratted out by the neighbours, dropped everything, and scurried away from Johnny Law. Lost Leaf Ranch, jb called it.

Contrary to my leave only footprints, take only pictures ethic, I admit to claiming ("relocating") several sweet items for myself and promising to return for a banana yellow bidet for friends.

Like any good desert rat, I will never tell you where my treasure is -- but here are pictures...

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