As I sit outside in the shade looking out at the sparkling ocean, smelling the smoke of fading campfires, listening to the passing conversations of campers and the steady drone of portable generators, I see my reflection in my iPad screen on which I am typing. The guy I see has become The Camp Host: an answer man, agent of the park police, litter patroller, affable old guy and seller of avocado firewood.
The avocado firewood story is one of sadness, at least from the point of view of the growers who are cutting down trees due to lack of available water. The guy who delivers the firewood tells of growers whose primary cash crop is the wood of trees which should be bearing the delicious green fruit loved by so many. A camper burning the wood has no idea he is enjoying a fire which is a precursor of higher avocado prices. The camper probably does not know that Mexican organized crime gangs are hijacking truckloads of avocados being sent to export terminals. Evidently, avocados have become an increasing valuable commodity given the California drought.
The firewood in my fire pit was scavenged from a vacated campsite. It is not avocado wood. I wonder what its story is?
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