I recently read Joan Didion's Where I Was From. It's a book that dives into Didion's ancestor's migration to California and mirrors the experiences that many immigrants from both outside and within the US have had while migrating to California, along with the reaction by the so-called "Old Californians". 

After reading her book, I became interested in the history of California and began researching different regions. 

My parents immigrated to the US from outside the country, so I'm familiar with some of the topics Didion discusses in her book, but what surprised me was how rich California's migrant history was since even before it's recognizing as a state. 

Anyways, enough book talk. Let's get to the photograph below. 

At four in the morning, I left for a road trip to Yosemite. A friend had invited me to go camping with her and some others— seeing it as a chance to get to explore different parts of central and northern California, I opted to travel alone and meet the group at the campsite. Two and a half hours into the midnight trip, the sun started to rise. 

In hopes that I could take a couple of worthwhile photos of some farmland in beautiful light, I parked my car on the side of the freeway and took out my tripod. After a couple frames that I wasn't too excited about, a man walked by with a bike. 

I waved him down and asked him if I could talk to him for a minute. He played along. He said his name was Paul and that he was walking over to a nearby gas station to get the flat front tire of his bike changed. I took two frames of Paul from across a wired fence and we went our separate ways. 

On the side of the freeway, across a wire fence in Tipton, California, I met a man named Paul who was going to get his tire changed.