There are large tracts of the great central valley of California that I find bleak, deserted, fascinating. The grain silos caught my eye as I zipped down Highway 99. A sign said Pixley, population 2000-something. I exited on the first offramp and backtracked on a worn frontage road past a decaying burned out wood skeleton of a deserted gas station. I photographed the resolute silos. After a while, a freight train thundered by, completing the panorama.