I’ve always had a fascination with farm labor camps since I lived in several as a child and adolescent. Simply put, these places were what I knew best. All but one of the labor camps I lived in around Soledad have been razed. The only one that still exists is a camp I knew as the Majors Labor Camp. I’ve long suspected that this camp served as the setting for Steinbeck’s Of Mice and Men. When I first read the book, the description felt familiar—the barns, the barracks, the overseer’s house, and the nearby Salinas River.

I mentioned this interest to Jude Yriarte at Sol Treasures. She told me that her colleague, Sonia Chapa, had lived in a labor camp in San Lucas that still stood. She and Sonia contacted the caretakers of the now-abandoned camp and arranged for us—myself, Barbara, Jude, and Ignacio Fernandez—to photograph it. It only seemed natural that Sonia herself would be an essential part of this project, and all four of us photographed her there.

Unlike the barrack-style camps of my childhood, the San Lucas camp consisted of small Mission-style stucco cabins—many with peeling paint, faded colors, and evidence of former life. Some still bore bright hues under the wear. I was captivated by the feeling of presence—of memory—in that place. Though these communities endured hardship, they were also filled with cultural richness and connection. My parents—Filipino father, Mexican mother—mirrored the diversity of those camps. So in many ways, this was a journey back through the heart of my own upbringing.

— Joe Ramos

As a photographer and artist, I am always aware of the light, shapes, and colors that surround me. I experience these not just visually, but spiritually. That is the lens I brought to this labor camp.

From an outsider’s perspective, it was unfamiliar territory—labor camps were not part of my own personal history. But I knew it was part of my husband Joe’s life, and I felt the emotional pull through his connection. What struck me most were the patinas of time, especially in the abandoned cabins and the still-used horse stables tucked away in one corner of the camp.

Through my camera, I was able to step into history—into lives and stories that still echo in the walls and wood. It was a privilege to witness and record it.

— Barbara Ramos

To be a part of Sonia Chapa’s journey—and to collaborate with Barb, Joe, and Jude to honor her story—has been such an honor. I now live in Santa Monica. I’ve been visiting my friend Jude several times a year for decades, and we’ve been actively involved in bringing art to smaller communities together all that time. Every time we see each other, something artistic seems to emerge.

Originally, I just showed up to photograph the labor camp. Jude had planned to take Sonia there that day for her biography, and I was simply ecstatic to be on site—it was a photographer’s dream. But when I saw Sonia dressed so regally in her mosaic dress and headband, standing among the stucco houses, old trucks, and abandoned equipment, something shifted. I began to understand the deeper story being told, and I wanted to be a part of it.

Jude and Sonia were not only welcoming—they were excited that we understood the significance and wanted to contribute. I am an immigrant from Cuba, so Sonia’s story resonates with me, as it does for many in this country. So many of us come here wanting to belong, not quite fitting in at first. But we work, we contribute, and somewhere along the way—we find we do belong. Sonia, and so many like her—including Joe—bring soul and vision to this land we love.

— Ignacio Fernandez

This exhibition became a rumbling in my soul one day when I was riding back from the Sol Treasures storage unit on Cattlemen Road with my friend Sonia Chapa. We were bouncing along in her green truck, the bed full of props we were taking to Sol Treasures for the theater crew to pick up later. As we drove through the beautiful Salinas Valley, Sonia told me her story of arriving at the Little Waco Camp in San Lucas when she was 4 or 5 years old.

I can’t begin to tell you what stirred in me when I realized this. Sonia, as a child, lived in a place that I, as a child, had always been fascinated by. I spent summers with my grandparents in San Ardo, in Ranch housing on the Rosenburg Ranch where my gramp worked. Out at the ranch, there weren’t other children—except occasionally when the McNeils’ granddaughters would visit. I loved having my grandma to myself, but I also longed to play with other kids.

On the way to King City to get groceries, we would drive by the Little Waco labor camp. I’d see kids playing between the little stucco houses and cars. I’d roll down the window and lean out to wave and even shout—that was back before seat belts. Even though I never stepped foot in the Little Waco camp until last year, when we did the photography shoot, it has always lived in my memory as “going to town” with my beloved grandmother.

The nostalgic and romantic side of my personality loves the idea that maybe, all those years ago, I was waving to my friend Sonia—and we had no idea that all this time later, we’d share this deeply spiritual part of our lives together. This exhibit means so much to me and I’m so thankful to know my dear friend Sonia Chapa.

— Jude Yriarte

This small, handcrafted accordion-style codex is inspired by the ancient Mesoamerican codices, the earliest books of the Americas, created by civilizations such as the Maya, Aztec, and Mixtec, some dating back as far as the 12th century. Crafted by Joe Ramos, this piece honors that enduring tradition of storytelling and visual recordkeeping.

— Joe Ramos