Desert Center

After we’d perused the abandoned school, Commander Matt and I were prepared to continue right back to the highway. The one thing that was nagging my mind were those random decapitated palm trees that brought me here in the first place. Just down the road from the school, through the dead and silent town, we found the cabins.
About six or seven small cabins rest in the desert dust. One has already been burned to the ground, no doubt thanks to vandals.
The insides are completely destroyed with paint falling off the walls and furniture thrown everywhere.
Old yellowing newspapers and calendars were strewn all across the back bedroom floor.
1974
1968
This was the home of Carl Moser: born September 28, 1892 and died November 1, 1976.
All of his final payments still hang on the wall.
An old pop top Bud can.
The next house was in the same condition.
That might be a little expired…
These cans expired in 2009. I never thought I’d see an expired canned food.
Different trash and toys from all different decades. Some of these houses look like they’ve become a dumpster for the few remaining locals.
Almost mint condition. It hurt to leave this behind.
Slightly creepy and ominous. It fit the feel of the entire town.
Jeff Ragsdale, the son of “Desert Steve” Ragsdale, had trophies and certificates all across the floors in what I assume was the Ragsdale home.
This seemed to be the trophy house. Old memoirs that you’d think would want to be saved have been left here to rot.
You can see the decapitated palm trees that originally pulled me in.
After exploring and documenting every crevice, we returned to the highway and sped back to California and to population.