These brown hills. This was the phrase going through my head as I drove from Colton in the Inland Empire of southern California to Bakersfield in the Central Valley. There hasn’t been rain enough yet in these autumn months to give the hills their wintertime green tint; everything is golden brown.  These brown hills.

These brown hills have few trees. As I drove I was aware of few trees; scraggly, tall eucalyptus trees.  My memory rode in the front seat with me, nodding agreement at the knowledge of few and scraggly trees; a memory from the days of living in southern California many years ago. As I drove west toward Pasadena, my memory nodded, yes, more trees, with their dark greens. Pasadena is known for its trees. Cool relief from the hot summer sun. Then rushing headlong into the foothills of the San Fernando Valley and up the Grapevine; fewer trees again. More of these brown hills.

Climbing these brown hills over and across a mountain range. Everywhere these stark, treeless, rocky, barren, brown hills.

Cresting a rise and the valley before me. Flat. Flatter than flatness. The freeway a ribbon disappearing into the greyish-blue haze hanging over the flatness. Hints of mountains through the haze, commonly known as smog, far to the right side and left side of this flatness.

This valley, the Central Valley of California, the San Joaquin (say wha-keen) Valley, is the breadbasket of, maybe, the world. It is a good thing it is flat; for miles and miles it is flat. I drive through fields of green, then brown, then grapevines for as far as the eye can see. There are fruit and nut trees in rows; sentinels, like the grapevines, they seem to go on forever. Big adult trees, little baby trees. I am amazed and wonder at how they take care of so many trees and vines and fields of plants. Farming is a big, big job. I respect farmers; the me in my mind tips my hat.

Bakersfield is in the southern part of the Central Valley of California. It is booming economically, unlike the green hills of Appalachia I came from so recently. So soon ago.

There is both wealth and poverty here. Wherever we go there is poverty. Wealth in green Appalachia has moved out of the neighborhood and left the jobless poor to fend for themselves, in those green hills, become barren for them.

Here wealth and poverty co-exist side by side, as in many communities around the country. Perhaps in your own town. There may be towns without much wealth, but every town has poverty. Somewhere.

We will look for those who are doing something about the poverty here in Bakersfield and see how we can lend a hand. Partner with those who know these brown fields. They can always use another pair of helping hands.

So can we.