Ponies, Politicians and Illegal Aliens: Changes, Not for the Better

Ponies, Politicians and Illegal Aliens: Changes, Not for the Better

By Harold, Editor-At-Large



The news reporter chased them for blocks trying to get a photo and interview. She finally ambushed them at the end of a dead end street. Reason why they were avoiding her is they did not want me to know they were running on a flat tire, and the smaller girl (They both are fourteen.) did not want her parents to know she was smoking. Caption says that even though both are too young for driver’s licenses that does not stop them from cruising, they just hitch up Bucky and go cruising all over.


I made the wagon out of two old dirt bikes, they kept getting scuffed up on, with the promise they would move a large pile of dirt that had been pushed up with a bulldozer and left. Never did get done, and I had to build a little crawler tractor to do it with. The three girls, who were the ones left at home, promptly took my little bulldozer away from me and moved the dirt, and then got several local jobs cleaning jobs and even used my gas to do them with.


Before it was over, I had made several more wagons and a stage coach when I found a matching buckskin mare like Bucky, so they matched to pull the stage coach with. Naturally, they named her Becky. It was funny to drive down the road sitting on the coach seat, if you said Bucky he would turn his inside ear back to listen, and if you said Becky, she would turn her inside ear back. Amazing how acute their hearing is. Whichever one you called by name out in the pasture would lift their head and look your way. The girls had a birthday pony ride and photo shoot concession going they called The Quartz Hill Pony Express.


We moved up there in the high desert after the oldest son got married and the younger son was in the Army. We moved up there in 1980 and left in 1991 when our jobs in aerospace evaporated. We finished raising the girls up there, by now all in their teens, away from the drug culture down in the San Fernando Valley. Happiest and most peaceful eight years of my life. Kids could go anywhere on their horses and the little town was peaceful.


Politics, Prisons and Illegals

Politics reared it’s ugly head and bought off politicians voted not to let us incorporate, and then let Palmdale and Lancaster developers forcibly annex large portions of our contiguous area culminating with the county building a prison up there along with a lot of welfare housing for relatives of the prisoners from south and east LA.


Several kids had horses get hit, and idiots would honk at the horses trying to spook them, until a couple of irate fathers dragged a couple of carloads of them from their vehicles, stomped them good and took them all the way to the beach front before releasing them. Because Ventura County, unlike LA back then, would deport illegals. They did this in full view of the deputies, whose only input was that there was an impounded labor bus sitting at the curb near the impound lot that only needed a battery, and impounded vehicles removed or stolen outside the lot were not noticed for up to a week.


Our little grocery had to close due to shoplifting losses. Our bank branch closed after getting knocked off every week in one month. Our library required an armed volunteer during hours of operation because the librarian had been assaulted with no one to help her, except school kids, one of which ran to the Drive-in Dairy Stand next door who promptly came over and in the process of ejecting the tough, an illegal naturally, he suffered two broken arms when he hit the sidewalk in front.


The California Dream Disillusionment

We left to come back to Illinois in 1991, very disillusioned with the California dream. The three girls followed us, the youngest to return to living at home swearing, she was never going to move away from home again because she could not afford herself–the one on the wagon. I was beginning to believe her when she finally got married at twenty eight. Oldest son still lives in Quartz Hill because he has his property paid for, but it is worth nothing without a market. Told me last winter when he was here that if they were to move his job here, he would be home in a minute whether his kids came or not.


Maybe you can understand my feelings about political correctness now. An illegal alien is still an illegal and if I refer to them as an illegal Mexican, I am not being racist. These dummies can’t seem to understand Mexican is a nationality, not a race; and Hispanic is a culture, not a race.

© 2013, Seasoned Citizen Prepper. All rights reserved. On republishing this post you must provide link to original post.

Print Friendly, PDF & Email