There I go again, being overly dramatic, but that is my complex reason in an over-simplified explanation, and I must remind myself, that I am currently taking advantage of those asphalt pathways, driving one of those things, hauling around my stuff, even as I think these things. The clear-cut reason I don’t cling to stuff is this; I have moved too many times and stuff is a pain in the ass!
I guess I should add the third reason I just found inside my brain storage, which seems to be a psychological one. I found out far too young that money and things could have a far greater value than the living, breathing, child-bearing, human being that placed her trust in the hands of another human being. I learned far too late that I too, was replaceable and could be discarded as easily as the day’s garbage. I’ve lived alone since I was twenty-nine when I left my empty eleven-year marriage and raised my sons alone. It’s not that I want and miss having a partner in life, because I’m quite happy alone. How could I have adventures if I was all wrapped up in someone else’s life?
I tried the marriage route. He loved money and things more than me. I was so young, hopeful, and believing. I wouldn’t be young again for all the tea in China! Maybe everyone was right when they said I was nuts for waiving away my rights to the rich lifestyle that we had achieved together. It’s been a struggle ever since that’s for sure, but a struggle is better than the emptiness of a loveless marriage. Oh, I’ve had many friends and lovers since my marriage, but nothing of any value or depth. It was mostly that hormonal thing. Not now though. It’s been seven years since I’ve even thought about dating. Inner contentment only grows stronger every day.
My sons and I had so much fun during their childhood. We were always busy, happy, hungry, playing, learning, and living a true, unspoiled lifestyle. I loved being a mom. I loved being needed. I loved teaching them right from wrong, even if I turned out to be wrong about what was right. Then they grew up. They moved away. They got married. I’ve been looking for the place where I belong ever since.
The search has not been depressing in any way to me. It’s those who love me, who are dismayed by my apparent detachment to the things that society has labeled normal. Normal, like growing old in the same house, eating the same food, watching the same TV program. My life may not be normal, but it’s not over! I have many adventures clawing at me to be discovered. ‘I own my life, and only mine. And so, I shall appreciate my person. And so, I shall make proper use of myself.’ I truly do appreciate my person, even though others have trouble doing the same. Others like Bubba and Terry. Ignorance, alcohol or drug abuse, addictions of any kind, are spirit killing and lethal to the soul. When these things control people, they walk through life with blinders on, never to see the good in others or themselves. When I am confronted with this type of person, it does not stop me from continuing on with my own journey. I may be frightened by callous behavior, but still, at the same time, I understand it. Some people are just damaged goods and have lost sight of their direction. Wallowing in their fear, they operate their lives in a sightless frenzy, their consciousness frozen shut. Understanding it makes it easier to forgive them.
It’s the making proper use of myself that I am having trouble with. I have one thing going for me, and that is faith in myself. My day will come. On that day, I will know, from the depth of my soul, what my proper use will be. It probably isn’t being a fast-fry cook at Hacienda RV Park. This is only another rough spot on my pathway to, hopefully learn and grow, and once again, move on.
The dump truck that I have been staring at, but not seeing, has several trash bags that have been pulled down, and torn open. The garbage is spread throughout the surrounding area, very similar to the baggage inside my brain. I begin to wonder why I had the need to torture myself by driving in here. I suppose I need confirmation on my wild, complex theory about human over-consumption. I’ve taken in the depressing site long enough. I’ve tried, convicted, and hung the guilty parties. Satisfied, I turn around and drive back to the fifth wheel.
Back at the trailer, I have some lunch, and feel a deep need to walk by the creek. The creek will be my sanctuary. My secret place to believe in unblemished, uncorrupted, silent, open space again. I guess I’m feeling melancholy, and a little lost. The trash pile overwhelmed me, bringing out too many bad memories. Right now it is difficult to see the good in the world. I scare those that love me with my vagabond life. I’m always running away from the ordinary and routine of regular life. I’ll be fifty-two in a few months. I don’t even think a twenty-year old would be here, doing this job, in this place right now.
I get the dog’s leashes and head to the creek. We walk, and hike, and smell, and see, and sit, and snack, and then we do it again, until it is nearly dark. Repetition is therapy. I feel much better for it. The dogs are wet from playing in a pool of water by the creek’s edge. They are also tired, and hungry. It will be a long five days for them and myself when I return to work tomorrow.
As soon as I turn into my parking space by the fifth wheel, I see the new fire pit. It is where Bubba had said he wanted to build it. Large stones surround the border of a deep hole. There is a pile of logs next to it ready to burn, and another picnic bench sits by the side of the fire pit. I can’t help but to be heart-warmed by this kind gesture from Bubba. He may look like a big bully, but somewhere inside he has a spark of kindness. I suppose he knows if this is far enough from the propane tank, and I’m sure he has his reasons for putting it here.
By the time I feed the dogs, eat dinner, and make myself a drink, it is dark outside. With my newspaper in one hand, and a gin and limeade in the other, I head out to the fire pit where I build my first fire by burning the headlines of the burning forests, burning today’s tragedies, and burning away my cares.
As I stare into the warm crackling flames, I hear crunching of footsteps on the gravel road.
“YA MISSED THE BARBEQUE!” It’s Bubba and Terry is with him. They both have a beer in their hands, and they both have big smiles on their faces as they look into the flames of my fire.
“Oh, I forgot! I’m so sorry! I was having so much fun hiking with the dogs. Time escaped me. Thank you so very much for the fire pit Bubba! It’s wonderful!” We all stare into the glow of the flames.
“ME AND TERRY BOTH BUILT IT.”
“Well, thank you too Terry! I will certainly be enjoying this, I’ll tell you that right now! By the way, where can I get more firewood?”
“WHAT A YA TALKIN’ BOUT? THERE’S A WHOLE FOREST OUT THERE FULL OF FALLIN LOGS. YA JUST GO DOWN ANY SIDE ROAD AND GET YURSELF SOME!” I wonder, as Bubba shouts his reply to me, why and how a simple, polite conversation can turn demeaning. How it makes my self-confidence crumble, how the little girl in me suddenly feels stupid and worthless. To avoid his eyes, I stare back into the fire and take a deep breath.
“Yeah, that’s right, there is. Please have a seat and join me.”
Bubba and Terry sit at the picnic bench with me. I’m a little nervous and would really prefer being left alone, but I’m quite sure that this is now Bubba’s fire pit.
“Terry, I really haven’t had the pleasure of meeting you yet. I’m Denise.” I hold my hand out to shake hands with her. She shakes it.
“Nice to meet you, too.” Her friendliness is so different than all the bad vibes I have been getting from her.
“WHAT IS THAT JAPANESE THING YA GOT PARKED OVER THERE? IT LOOKS LIKE A SEWING MACHINE BOX.” Bubba and Terry laugh at that joke. I force a smile.
“It’s a Suzuki Aerio. My sons bought it for me for Christmas.”
“MUST HAVE NICE BOYS TO BUY THEIR MAMMA A CAR?”
“I sure do!”
Terry speaks up. “Hey, do you think that next time ya go to Brandon, we could tag along? Our Jeep is broken and we haven’t been able to load up on groceries for a while.” Terry’s smile suddenly seems insincere, kind of like Ruby when she needed the twenty bucks.
“No problem! I have next Sunday off. Would that be a good time?”
“GREAT!
” Bubba spits out tar, and then gulps the last of his beer.
“Uh, Bubba?” I need to get something said.
“YEAH!”
“I bought some duck feed today. I put it in the storage room for them. I hope you don’t mind?”
“DON’T MATTER TO ME ONE WAY OR NOTHER! YA WANNA BUY DUCK FEED, THEN BUY DUCK FEED.”
“Good. I wouldn’t want to step out of my boundary.”
“TERRY! WE BETTER GET GOIN! WE’RE OUT OF BEER!” They get up from the bench.
“Thanks again for the fire pit. I’ll see you at work tomorrow.”
“NITE!”
They walk to the rear of the kitchen, returning with a twelve pack from the cold storage room. They pass my trailer on their way back home.
“Good night!”
“NITE!” They say in unison.
I stare into the flames for another hour or so until they are red embers. From my peripheral vision I see a shadow moving by the bushes on the lakes edge. I watch the dark shadow creeping slowly, and then it is still. It is the size of a large dog. I am frozen with fear and hold very still. Then suddenly it lunges at something, and I hear the splashing of water, and the terrified quacking of ducks. I see the shadow walk back toward the forest with the light color of feathers hanging from its mouth. The rest of the ducks are in a frenzy! Bubba comes running down from his direction. By the time I can make out his figure in the dark, I see he is carrying a shotgun.
“GET INSIDE! THERE’S A COUGAR OUT HERE! I’M GONNA KILL THE SON OF A BITCH!” Bubba is too drunk to shoot anything in my opinion. He trips on a rock and skids on his belly as dust floats. He gets up and continues running. I go inside mostly out of fear of his gun and because I am holding my hand over my mouth to muffle an impending belly laugh. The sight of him landing in the dark like an elephant seal will stay with me for some time.
I climb into bed with the dogs. I must have fallen asleep because at some point later, I am awakened by the sound of a shotgun way out in the forest somewhere.
Chapter Seven
It is so nice to be able to use the restroom, shower, and drink coffee inside my own space. We must be getting used to Bubba walking by, because Bonita and Bandito don’t growl or bark and I do not peek out the window to see.
I leash them up and unhook the door to let them out. I really don’t want them urinating in the fenced area, and besides, I don’t have the fenced area enclosed all the way right now. To Bonita and Bandito’s delight, all the ducks are settled happily in, under, and around the picnic bench, within the protection of our fencing! The dogs rush at them, full speed down the steps! I do not have enough time to press the brake button on their retractable leashes. The chaos explodes! Ducks are flapping and quacking! Feathers are flying! The leashes get tangled! All the ducks run, waddle and quack to the protection of the lake. My dogs are practically smiling with pride. I step in duck poop, which I can now see is everywhere within the fenced area and on the picnic bench. I suppose I better keep that closed at night from now on. I’ll have to clean this up before I go to work. Maybe the ducks needed a safe place to sleep after one of the members of their family got eaten last night.
I walk the dogs over by the edge of the lake where I had seen the shadow and its duck dinner last night. Could it really have been a mountain lion? Bubba called it a cougar. I guess it’s the same thing. Bonita and Bandito are very interested in this spot where all the feathers are scattered. On closer inspection, I see the wide paw prints imbedded in the mud on the lake’s edge. Higher in the dry, dusty ground, I see the large, deep, wide spread, footprints made by Bubba running. A little beyond, about ten feet further, I see the indent of where he had fallen. I smile, enjoying the memory.
It isn’t until we are walking back to the trailer, that I notice the smoky haze in the air from the fires in Oregon. The smoke has finally made it this far.
Once I get inside the trailer, I count my mosquito bites. There are nineteen! The one on my neck is finally getting better. Others are not so good. I got four new ones last night at some point. I now know that they can bite through clothes! I’m becoming more disillusioned about my working vacation every day!
After cleaning up the duck poop, I open the trunk of my car. I want to go collect firewood for tonight, since I had used up the pile Bubba had left for me. Somewhere in the trunk was a plastic tarp to line the inside of the trunk with. Once that was ready, I grab my gloves, an apple, leash up the dogs, and put them in the car. They love dirt roads!
There are many dirt roads to choose from. Some of them are private entrances to homes, some go to the creek, and some are logging roads. I pick one that is marked by the state for hikers and tent camping. I drive very slowly with the windows down half way. The dust on the road is so fine. It becomes a floating cloud behind us. I see an area off to the side of the road where there are several fallen branches, so I pull over to the side. The dogs are very excited! They want to go for a walk. I am not too comfortable about that. I haven’t seen any other cars on this road since I turned onto it. I put my pepper spray in my hand, and leash them up anyway, just to let them out of the car for a minute or two, leaving my car door open for a quick re-entry. Once they have had their forest fix, I put them back into the car and go to collect wood.
My abrupt aloneness in the forest makes my tummy flutter. It’s rare that I am not attached to Bonita and Bandito when out in nature. It’s the same flutter I felt at the age of six or seven years old when I would make myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and walk alone into the adjoining canyon of our home in Palos Verdes Estates. We lived there for a short three years until my dad was transferred to Lancaster, California. I can still smell the eucalyptus trees as they swayed high above me. In the silence of the canyon I would unwrap my sandwich on a grassy patch and watch the clouds float by, the fluttering inside never ceasing. I have no idea why it made me so happy to be alone. I think I felt nurtured by the solidness of nature, by the tingling in my body, by the complete acceptance of my presence. I was too young to understand then what I know now—that nature is where you find truth.
These thoughts vanish when I hear crunching of twigs somewhere in the trees. I hold very still looking around, and see the large buck staring at me. He’s so beautiful! This is the first buck I have seen since I began my journey from Ashland! Come to think of it, I haven’t even seen any deer at all! Never occurred to me that they haven’t been in the picture. When I lived in Carmel Valley three years ago, deer were everywhere! There was a dead one on Carmel Valley road on a daily basis. They ate all my roses! Groups of them walked the Pebble Beach Golf Course! Here I am in the national forest, and this is the first deer I see! My fear of a mountain lion fades away. He would not be standing here if there were danger around, so I enjoy watching him for a while.
I load my trunk with logs and branches and revel in the fact that I have fetched my own wood. I broke through my fears and did it! I even found a decorative piece of wood. It looks like a swan or a bird of some type. I will lean it by the pine tree next to my trailer. I’ve always enjoyed seeing things in wood. There is something very spiritual about the images that trees leave behind once they are gone or fallen.
A childhood memory floods my mind once again. When I was pre-teen, I would draw on the wood paneled walls of my room, bringing out the animals or faces that I saw hidden in there. My parents did not appreciate my creative outlet. On the beach of Carmel, I would find driftwood that had the form of something, and take it home to work on, bringing out the snake or animal that was already there. I even sold a few of them to some of my clients at my flower shop.
My flower shop. The stress of owning my own business was nearly the death of me. I sustained for ten years, until the damn landlords raised the rent so high that I folded. I don’t miss it one single bit. I’m not really a florist at heart, even though I did have quite a talent with my unique displays. I just fell into that small shop by accident. I was working for another florist at that time, when a good f
riend came in to tell me that there was a small florist shop in Carmel Valley and the woman who owned it had suddenly died of a heart attack. Her husband was looking for someone to run it and eventually buy it. That’s when I stepped in. Although I don’t miss my flower shop, I do miss my little, rented, stone house in Carmel Valley. That house was the only reason to go to work every day. It was nestled safely on two hundred acres of lush countryside.
I need to get back to Hacienda, unload the wood, walk the dogs, and get ready for work. I get in the car, turn on the radio, and drive back to the loony bin.
With all my chores done, I prepare myself for work mentally and physically. The small mirror above the ten-inch green sink inside the fifth wheel is distorted, and the lighting is dim. I do my best to enhance my fifty-one year old features. I look okay to me. In fact, the only time I feel my age is when someone takes a picture of me, and then I am shocked! Who is that person? I put on my new apron. It’s not armor, but feels comforting and protective anyway. I have several pockets to put things in. I turn on the air-conditioner to low, feed the dogs, and bag up my trash to drop in the trashcan outside. I take a deep breath and then head to work.
GRILL! Page 10