My stray had hitched a ride again, this time on Joshua’s lap. I eyed the cat through my rearview mirror and met his blank stare, then scolded myself for believing, even for a minute, that this innocent animal had the ability to outmaneuver me. It wasn’t Gabriel’s fault that we couldn’t coax Joshua into the Jeep without him.
Heavy clouds dominated the skies, and branches of oak and pine swayed in the chilly breeze with the vigor of feather dusters. What if it rained? Would the trip be canceled? I couldn’t bear the thought.
“If they cancel the trip and send us back, the world will not come to an end,” Dr. Mendez said, reading my mood.
“This trip is important to Joshua,” I said.
The doctor smiled.
“Okay, I’ll amend that. It’s also important to me.” I searched my mind for the reason I felt so strongly about this excursion but couldn’t come up with a reasonable answer. I just knew.
We had to go to the scene of the Tassajara fire, and it had to be now.
“Some things are beyond your control,” Dr. Mendez said. “I thought you had learned that by now.”
I gripped the steering wheel, willing myself to relax.
As we continued down Tassajara Road, I took in the austere landscape: no road signs, no graffiti-tagged concrete barriers or overpasses, and no promiscuous American Apparel billboards overhead. Instead, an unpaved one-lane stretch of dirt, gravel, and rock, with blind curves and drop-dead descents over a nonexistent shoulder.
“Living out here must be terribly inconvenient,” I said.
“It has its compensations,” Dr. Mendez said. “Just think. Here, people schedule their lives around the rising and setting of the sun. Clocks, with their constant reminders of minutes ticking away and their blaring alarms, are not intruders in their homes. Experience is literal rather than virtual. Life is not put on hold to be lived later.”
“Have you been here before?”
“I was raised near here.”
His revelation caught me by surprise. “Then how? I mean . . . What inspired you to go into psychology?”
He chuckled, likely accustomed to this question. “I was an avid reader and had a teacher who encouraged me. As I grew older, I not only wanted to understand the way of the red man but of the white man as well. I counted on the world of psychology to help me find answers to many of my questions.”
“And?”
“With every answer, came another question.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” My thoughts continued to wander, encouraged by the isolation of our surroundings. “Why wouldn’t you tell me about Earth Medicine?”
Dr. Mendez didn’t answer right away. Typical. In the brief time I’d known him, he didn’t come across as a man who favored quick comebacks. “Earth Medicine can’t be explained. It must be experienced.”
“So, does that mean you’ll never share what you know?”
“You might see pictures advanced beyond your understanding, challenging your access to their meaning. Who will be your guide if you practice it alone?”
Ben, Gentle Bear, Mendoza, of course. “What if I never find my way?”
“Doubt will get you nowhere.”
It seemed like I was forever applying my brakes to maneuver the hairpin turns on this primitive road without guardrails. Thank goodness for four-wheel drive. “Don’t you ever get scared? I mean, what if you never find the answers?”
“Most fears are imaginary.”
“Now, that’s a thought,” I said.
“Little things are teachers. Pay attention to Joshua. He is always learning in his quiet way. He watches, listens, and examines. The journey is never over.”
“I don’t want him hurt.”
“There is no change without pain.”
I didn’t expect—or like—this answer and frowned.
“Will you feel more at ease if I tell you that Joshua has an inner guide and that the Great Spirit is in his heart because he is not too busy to listen?”
“So, why doesn’t he speak?”
“Maybe silence is part of his path to wisdom.”
I chanced a glance at Joshua’s reflection in the mirror. He didn’t appear to be following our conversation, but then again, I had no way of knowing what Joshua was and wasn’t absorbing. He seemed occupied with the off-the-grid world unfolding around him, his eyes orbiting back and forth, his hands stroking Gabriel’s fur.
The road was slippery due to a recent shower. When the Jeep’s tires hit potholes, muddy water shot up and landed with splats on the windshield. My Jeep was being put to the test, as I would be soon. Where the road ends, mine continues.
I turned to Dr. Mendez. “Did you live like this?”
“Yes, and I loved every minute until I reached my teens. Then I wanted to experience the so-called real world. I thought I was missing out on something important.”
“Were you?”
“In a way, yes. In a way, no. I am lucky. I had the opportunity to experience both worlds and the opportunity to compare.”
“And?”
“I realized that happiness comes from within and travels with you no matter where you live. Inside, I carry what I learned here as a child, which provides me with a place I can go when I am laid low by life’s complications and questions.”
My face burned as something deep-felt surfaced. What was it about his words that bothered me? “In our fast-paced world, we do fine until we hit a snag.” I said. “Then, when we stop to think and ask questions about the purpose and meaning of life, we have no place to find the answers.”
“We have our churches,” the doctor said.
“But for many, church only happens one day a week and, even then, is harried and full of deadlines. People get up early, feed the family, get dressed in their Sunday best, and before they know it, are snapping at one another on the way to their spiritual experience.”
“What a picture you paint.”
My heart pounded as though I were jogging instead of driving down the muddy, pot-holed road. “My question is, where’s the time for meditation and reflection?”
“Good point. I suppose something can be said for life close to nature, which provides the spiritual connect we often seek in churches, temples, and mosques.”
“No electricity, no cell service. A little too rugged for me.”
“You cannot have it both ways.”
“I like my cozy home and my big tub.”
“Which you have missed how much in the past week?”
“I haven’t had time.”
The doctor shifted his weight and stared out the window.
Once again, I caught Joshua’s reflection in the rearview mirror. How I longed to hear him chatter and laugh like other children. “Everything okay back there, Joshua?”
Dr. Mendez turned and glanced behind him. “His smile cannot get any wider without leaving his face.”
As we pulled into the ranch, I spotted Ben standing next to his mud-splattered pickup. I waved through the Jeep’s now equally muddy windshield. He waved back and headed our way.
Dr. Mendez stepped out of the Jeep and, to my surprise, gave Ben a bear hug as if reacquainting himself with a long lost friend. The doctor was a good five inches shorter and maybe ten years older, but otherwise the two men were built alike—compact and rock-solid.
“Doc and I go way back,” Ben told me.
Dr. Mendez put his hand on Joshua’s shoulder, drawing him into the conversation. “Marjorie and my little friend here are responsible for my return home.”
Ben knelt in front of the child. “Last time we met, you were about so high,” he said, raising his hand three feet off the ground. “I’ve picked out a horse for you. Want to meet him?”
Joshua peered toward the stables and nodded.
“Is that your cat?” Ben asked.
Joshua turned to me, and his eyes locked onto mine.
“Gabriel hitch-hiked his way into our lives,” I said. “And he’s become quite attached to Joshua.”
“Then come on, sport,” Ben said. “Let’s go find a nest for your little friend.” Over his shoulder, he instructed Dr. Mendez and me to transfer our gear to Pete. “He’s the cowboy loading up the mules and will be your guide.”
Pete looked like one of the bad guys straight out of the old Westerns my dad and I used to watch on TV. His hat, neither black nor white, was a dusty, sweaty brown. More bone than muscle, he had hollows below his cheeks and around his eyes. He looked tired and underfed, the kind of man I’d make room for if I met him on the street and would fear if I met him alone after dark.
No friendly smile of greeting from our prospective guide. Occupied with his task, he ignored us altogether.
Great. We’ve got Perfect Pete for a guide.
Undeterred by Pete’s appearance and off-putting behavior, Dr. Mendez introduced himself and handed over his gear. I followed suit and listened with growing admiration as the doctor bonded with this intense man.
“Two more travelers’ll be joining us tomorrow,” Pete said, “plus another guide, but with the Doc’s help leading the mules, I can handle the first leg of the tour on my own.”
Two more travelers? Why hadn’t Ben mentioned it? Did Pete need the extra money? If so, I would have chipped in more. This wasn’t part of my plan, as just about everything else that had occurred since my arrival in Carmel Valley. For the sake of my peace of mind, I let it go.
We were about to become part of the Los Padres National Forest, 1.75 million acres of tranquil paradise and five hundred miles of riding trails, yet I felt excitement rather than fear. Was my Native American blood strong enough to identify with the surroundings in some way, or did the call come from outside? How would nature speak to me? How would I respond?
Dr. Mendez broke into my thoughts with an order to saddle our mounts. We walked to the old barn where the horses were stalled. Joshua stood next to a horse not much bigger than a pony, stroking its neck and forehead. The cat made do in a saddlebag on the horse’s side. Most cats would be meowing, or at least clawing their way to freedom, but not Gabriel. He seemed perfectly content where he was.
Ben led me to the palomino I’d ridden before. I stroked her neck. “Hello, Blondie. So, we meet again.”
Dr. Mendez approached a horse similar to Ben’s paint. “I see Beauty is still alive and kicking.”
“She’s old,” Ben said, “but still a great trail horse. Figured you’d enjoy riding her for old time’s sake. Go ahead and saddle up.”
I stood by, hands in pockets, until Ben took notice.
“I’ll get what you need and show you how it’s done,” he said.
When he returned, he handed me a blanket. I spread it over Blondie’s back as I’d seen Dr. Mendez do with Beauty.
Ben hoisted the saddle over the blanket with a warning. “Blondie expands her belly during cinching. Then, when you think you’ve got the belt good and tight, she deflates it, leaving the girth loose.” Ben poked the horse’s belly and quickly tightened the belt. “Keep this in mind, or you and the saddle might slide off.”
I swung into the saddle and caught up the reins. Then I reacquainted myself with Blondie as Ben made final adjustments to my stirrups. “Pete’s been guiding around here for years and is one of the best. Loves the earth and protects it. He’s a bit fussy for a cowboy, but you’ll like him once you get past his porcupine exterior.”
No chance of that. “Thanks for arranging this, Ben.”
He smiled and waved me on. “Better get going. Pete’s waiting.”
“Later,” Dr. Mendez said, lifting his hand in farewell.