Virginia Arthur's Blog - Posts Tagged "loss-of-the-countryside"
The Wild Woman in the Old Subaru With the Two Dogs.
I didn't want to move here, where I live in Northern California. I was in shock, homeless after losing everything in a Sandy Ego firestorm. (Months later, my fiancée would drop dead). A SD field assistant I had hired a year before had moved to NorCal, where I live now. She offered me her rental. She was headed to Mexico to teach for a yoga retreat. I took her up on her offer. Then I never left this place because disasters wear you out, and I was worn out. This was like the 5th place in so many months, with two dogs. The hardest part about losing your house in a fire is not the fire itself. That's the easy part. The hardest part is the aftermath, particularly the insurance company that dearly wants you to settle and this company, now long gone from California, wanted me to settle. The deal was buy a house or rebuild on the burned-out land. So I bought a kind of tattered place here in NorCal with the idea I would just fix it up, repair it...and move on to, like, Montana, where all the other Californians were moving to at the time. (Please don't, said Montana. Oh well. Anyone seen Bozeman lately?).
I remember the first time I saw her. It was a hot summer day. I was walking down the road in the then undeveloped valley. She blew past me in an old white Subaru, two pit bull heads hanging out the windows, tongues flapping. She stopped at the creek where I was headed, that day without my own dogs. After stopping, she flung the back door open and her dogs, obviously used to the routine, came flying out, bounding down to the creek where they splashed into the cool, clean water. She was a robust woman in a worn white flowered sundress wearing an equally worn straw hat. The brim of the hat was rimmed by curls from her brown hair. I adored her immediately. (One of my characters in Stem and Leaf Plots is modeled after her). She looked at me and somewhat grudgingly said, "hi there". Her name was Holly. She had lived in the still wild valley for 20 years, but now the valley was full of for-sale signs. I was only a sign of things to come. She wasn't happy about it. Her dogs were rescues. There weren't many places to let two pit bulls out of a car to just be free. Great dogs. Loving dogs, but we all know, this doesn't matter with pit bulls.
We didn't become friends because she wasn't interested. A few years ago, I stopped seeing her. I imagine the development on this once wild rural road got to be too much or did something else happen? I'll never know because she never told me her last name or where exactly she lived. Our interactions were random and kept short--by her. I miss her and I wonder about her. Where did she go? How are her dogs?
A few weeks ago, a well-dressed woman I have never seen before was walking down the road through the now far more developed valley. I passed her on my way to the same spot on the creek, my two rescue dog's heads hanging out of my old Subaru; my old pink sundress and my straw hat that I sat on years before. I still wore it. This new woman stopped when I got out and let my dogs out, as if afraid of us. I didn't feel like chatting. I just headed down to the creek. I realized as I drove home after, now I'm the wild woman in the old Subaru with the two dogs. Wonder where I will go?
I remember the first time I saw her. It was a hot summer day. I was walking down the road in the then undeveloped valley. She blew past me in an old white Subaru, two pit bull heads hanging out the windows, tongues flapping. She stopped at the creek where I was headed, that day without my own dogs. After stopping, she flung the back door open and her dogs, obviously used to the routine, came flying out, bounding down to the creek where they splashed into the cool, clean water. She was a robust woman in a worn white flowered sundress wearing an equally worn straw hat. The brim of the hat was rimmed by curls from her brown hair. I adored her immediately. (One of my characters in Stem and Leaf Plots is modeled after her). She looked at me and somewhat grudgingly said, "hi there". Her name was Holly. She had lived in the still wild valley for 20 years, but now the valley was full of for-sale signs. I was only a sign of things to come. She wasn't happy about it. Her dogs were rescues. There weren't many places to let two pit bulls out of a car to just be free. Great dogs. Loving dogs, but we all know, this doesn't matter with pit bulls.
We didn't become friends because she wasn't interested. A few years ago, I stopped seeing her. I imagine the development on this once wild rural road got to be too much or did something else happen? I'll never know because she never told me her last name or where exactly she lived. Our interactions were random and kept short--by her. I miss her and I wonder about her. Where did she go? How are her dogs?
A few weeks ago, a well-dressed woman I have never seen before was walking down the road through the now far more developed valley. I passed her on my way to the same spot on the creek, my two rescue dog's heads hanging out of my old Subaru; my old pink sundress and my straw hat that I sat on years before. I still wore it. This new woman stopped when I got out and let my dogs out, as if afraid of us. I didn't feel like chatting. I just headed down to the creek. I realized as I drove home after, now I'm the wild woman in the old Subaru with the two dogs. Wonder where I will go?
