Belonging

Photo by Leah Newhouse

In 2012, I participated in Memoir Journal’s (In)Visible Memoirs Project, exploring the "invisible stories" of California's Central Valley. I wanted to write about my boarding school experience in the Himalayas of Pakistan, but instead, was encouraged to focus on my direct connection to the Central Valley for inclusion in their anthology, "(In)Visible Memoirs."

I explored an early chapter of my life when my family lived in a trailer park in Oildale, California, during the late 1960s. These coming-of-age memories gradually developed into a collection of short stories titled "Happy Acres Trailer Park." Each tale captures the warmth, resilience, and sometimes bittersweet nostalgia of childhood, revealing the profound impact that family and place have on one's journey of self-discovery.

It wasn't until college that I returned to the Central Valley. I visited Happy Acres several times, but kept my visits brief to avoid being intrusive. Each time, it became evident that my trailer park was deteriorating. Homeless occupied the boarded-up trailers, which were covered in graffiti and surrounded by garbage. More than half of the trailer spaces were vacant, including mine. Thirsty tree roots had cracked the sidewalks. The swimming pool was empty, and the playground, once lush with clover, was barren. Even the thick, broad-leaf ivy that covered the fence behind my trailer row had died long ago, along with the plum and mulberry trees. Even the park's entrance sign had change, now reading "Haven Village."

A few years ago, during a drive-by, I noticed a group of young men staring at me as if we had interrupted a drug deal. I wished I could stop and roll down my window to explain that I meant no harm, that I had grown up in the trailer space just over there. I also wanted to mention that Penny and Billy's dad, who lived in that space over there, looked a lot like Elvis, or that the witch on the other side of the playground fence had taken my black cat. Instead, I drove away feeling bewildered, realizing that my nine-year-old self no longer belonged there.

I recently discovered that Happy Acres Trailer Park had been demolished. A quick look on Google Earth confirmed my suspicions, revealing a stark and desolate scene where every trailer space had been reduced to its concrete foundation. When I switched to street view, I could see straight through the trailer park from McCord to Beardsley Avenue, a once thriving community reduced to empty, silent spaces. 

Whenever someone asks me where I grew up, I often hesitate, caught in a web of complicated memories that span across continents and moments in time. It's a complex story, shaped by various people, places and experiences, but at its heart lies my beginning—Happy Acres Trailer Park.