Driving up highway 101 today through the fertile Salinas Valley, I scanned through the available radio stations and settled on a traditional Mexican music station. I don't know much about Mexican music and understand only a miniscule amount of Spanish, but somehow driving between expansive vineyards and wide green fields of who-knows-what kind of vegetables, traditionally tended by Mexican immigrants, it felt appropriate to be listening to "la musica mexicana," three words I understood from the announcer. Signs along the roadside contain more Spanish proper nouns than English ones, a reflection of the centuries-old Spanish influence here. Early in the last century, a womens' group placed mission bells all along El Camino Real (now Highway 101), or The King's Highway, in honor of Spanish missionaries who traveled this way to bring the Gospel to the indigenous people, as well as to claim territory for Spain. As I listened to the the music I thought of how California and Mexico were both Spanish colonies at one time and how the border between the two is a relatively recent phenomenon. My rational mind understands why our country must have immigration laws, but my foolish heart senses we wouldn't have a United States of America if these laws had been in place when my ancestors immigrated.
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