In Mendocino, Blake camped on a hill with golden grass and sparse trees. Large biting flies hounded him. Each day, he had to take down his tent because the strong sunlight would bleach it. There was no shade. The car resembled an oven and he couldn’t open the windows because of the flies.

  Beneath the hills lay a town and a lake. The lake was called Clear Lake and the town was called Clearlake. On the blindingly hot days, amidst golden hills, the lake looked like a glittering oasis. Blake went down to a coffee shop every few days to check his email, but he couldn’t swim. Agricultural runoff had caused a toxic algae bloom. The water was also contaminated with methylmercury due to runoff from an abandoned mine. The only real oasis was the national forest, where he could camp for free.

  That area had originally been home to the Pomo, Micewal, Ukomno'om, and Miwok people. They ate salmon, mushrooms, berries, grasshoppers, rabbits, and acorns. They used reeds to weave houses, baskets, and fish-traps. They performed ceremonial dances in underground chambers. Starting around 1820, they were slaughtered, raped, and enslaved by missionaries and settlers, then constrained to small reservations. Settlers forced them to work in mining and agriculture during the gold rush.

  After a few days, Blake found replies to some of his emails. None of his job applications had been successful, but one woman had offered to let him come to her farm, where he would be given food and shelter in exchange for his labor. He accepted immediately, then bought groceries and returned to his camp to rest. In the morning, he started driving. She lived in the green coastal hills near Napa and Sonoma, a land of high mountain streams and foggy pines.

  When he arrived, he found a few acres of ranch, a mandala and an inscription in Chinese, crystal balls and statues of faeries, two women and one man. All three were white and fairly young. One of the women was strong and firm-minded, a born adventurer. The other seemed charming and quiet, like a poet. The man was an enormous Dane. He seemed quiet and kind, amused as the girls teased him. The landowner wasn’t home, but they gave Blake a tour of the grounds. She had woods and gardens, chickens, a grove on the hilltop.

  The landowner arrived and she inspected Blake with a squint. Her face was shaped like a brick; her body was shaped like a boulder, but her skin was pale and smooth. Her name was Mist. It was evening by that point, so the four young people cooked dinner while Mist made phone calls. The result was an exceptional ratatouille. Over dinner, she rambled about her dreams and aspirations. Mainly, she wanted to travel the world, visit spiritual retreats, and host events. The two young women slept in a guest house. Blake and the Dane slept in a stable which had been converted into a carport. Mist asked them to reimburse her for the cost of the food. It was more expensive than it had seemed.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  By morning, Blake had no idea what kind of work he was supposed to do. He asked for a list of jobs and Mist rambled for five minutes then cut him off and left to attend her urgent business. He had written down instructions for about two hours of work, but Mist strictly expected everyone to work twenty hours a week. The other young people furtively instructed him to “look busy.” Apparently, Mist expected them to “be self-starters,” to invent their own projects, but also insisted that they do nothing without her permission. All of the light work was reserved for the women. She couched everything in a kind of hippie ideology, encouraging them to love their work and think creatively, but she only valued projects that made her money. She told a cautionary tale about a guest who had spent her time building fairy circles in the woods: useless; a waste of time. She said, “Don’t take a break unless you need it.” All of her instructions, she delivered in code, like a mafia boss who needed deniability.

  The Dane’s name was Jaan. Mist told them to build a fence around some saplings, then got into her car and drove away. When she got back, she said the fence wasn’t right. The next day, they had to build it again. Mist said it still wasn’t right, but she forgot about it overnight. On the third day, Blake was exhausted, both physically and emotionally. Mist told them to erect a giant tent, which she intended to rent to tourists. She stood on the back of her pickup truck giving orders, but she couldn’t understand the directions for assembling the tent, so she ordered Jaan to explain it to her. When they were halfway done, she drove away again.

  Blake lay down on a couch in the stable and started writing in his journal. Since he arrived, he hadn’t found time to look for work. Mist’s car drove up the driveway and Blake didn’t move. She appeared in the doorway and started yelling at him. She said, “I’ve never had a guest so disrespectful!”

  Blake just waited until she was finished. He said, “I’ve already done twenty hours of work this week.” He showed her his records, but she didn’t believe him. Then he said, “Don’t worry. I’ve already packed my stuff.”

  Mist told him to leave within the hour. When she was gone, Jaan came down into the stable and said, “Did you just get kicked out?”

  “Yeah,” said Blake. “You wanna come?”

  Jaan, who didn’t have a car of his own, agreed. They said goodbye to the young women, who had been helpful and friendly the whole time. It felt like sailing off the edge of the earth, into danger again.

  Jaan and Blake made irritated references to Josef Stalin. Driving out of town, the endless array of fenced ranches produced an oppressive feudal aesthetic. Nothing but road and property. It turned out that Jaan made art installations. A few years ago, he had purchased a few cubic meters of sky, blocking the construction of a tower. They found a hotel and split the bill, which left Blake anxious and brooding. The next day, Blake left Jaan in Sacramento, where he could catch a train.