I wake from a nightmare of a treeless world. A huge slobbering black bear is chasing me on an empty, dusty, planet. He must smell the blood, the blood from my period. The earth explodes! The trailer rattles. I instantly awake from hell. Three logging trucks speed by. I get out of bed and go to the toilet to check if I had started my period. Abruptly, I remember that I had a hysterectomy twenty years ago. Evidently I am not quite awake yet. I finish in the restroom and go to make some coffee. I open the windows to get some air. Outside it smells like wet earth from the rain shower in the night mixed with a hint of pancakes and maple syrup. Only here would you find this aroma. An RV is parked by the propane tank. I must have slept in.
It takes me a while to shake the nightmare from my mind. Bubba comes out to fill the guest’s propane tank. He is talking in his loud, jovial manner, and laughs much too often. Who does he thinks he’s impressing? Is his fake, friendly display for my benefit? The propane-purchasing guest seems to be ignoring him. After the RV leaves and Bubba returns to the kitchen, I unhook the door and take the dogs out to stretch and shake off my bloody nightmare.
Inside at my table, I once again count my money.
Let’s see—canopy, $29.99+tax, around $35.00, $50.00 for groceries and calling card, $12.00 for duck seed, $5.00 for apron, $20.00 for gas, equals $122.00. I had $110.00 left, plus $75.00 in tips. That leaves me with $63.00. I believe payday is on Friday. Today is Monday. I better not spend any more money until then.
I cook myself some scrambled eggs with a slice of toast wondering what to do for the day. I could put up my canopy, take a drive to the creek and hike, call the family, empty holding tank, and, oh, watch Bubba build me a fire pit. That is, if he remembers that he said that last night.
I take the dogs out to the fenced area with my coffee in hand and think about where I would like my fire pit. It would be smart to keep it far enough away from the giant propane tank. Perhaps right there, in front of my picnic table. I walk around and turn the valve to empty the holding tank. I do not need to use the water hose anymore, since the water is now hooked up and I can fill it from a pump switch inside. With all this flushing, it should be squeaky clean by now.
Big puffy clouds fill the blue sky. I go inside to get the keys to my car. The large canopy box is in the back seat. After getting all the parts laid out, and reading the instructions, I begin to assemble my shaded patio.
I move the table and fencing closer to the side of the trailer, so that the canopy, table, and fence will be right outside, to the left of the steps, and connected to the trailer. I manage to construct the canopy, and use heavy rope to brace it to the trailer and picnic bench, just in case it gets windy. I am satisfied that it would take a tornado to blow this away. My trailer and picnic bench would go with it if that happens. I arrange the fencing so that I can just open the door for the dogs, they can walk down the steps without leashes, and be in the shaded, fenced area.
Breakfast must be over, because Bubba is leaving the kitchen and driving the golf cart in my direction. “WE GET SOME POWERFUL WINDS THAT BLOW THRU HERE!” Bubba is looking at my canopy.
“I’ve tied it down to the trailer and the picnic bench. I’m hoping it will withhold any wind.”
Bubba gets out of his golf cart to check out the construction. “YEAH, THAT MIGHT WORK.”
“That golf cart looks fun to drive.” I am making small talk.
“SCOOTER! IT’S NOT A GOLF CART! IT’S A SCOOTER! CAN’T YA TELL THE DIFFERENCE?” You can see the blood rush to his cheeks when he’s mad. It’s not very flattering.
“Sorry.” I say even though it’s not true.
Bubba is now looking at the steps. Bonita and Bandito are looking at Bubba from the fenced area. He begins to open and move the fencing out of his way to make room to move the steps. I panic that the dogs will escape, and wrap the fence back together and out of Bubba’s way. He lifts the steps like an elephant and slides it over to where it should be.
“Thank you Bubba! That will be so much better now. I sure appreciate that.”
Bubba spits out a stream of tar. “NO PROBLEM! I’VE GOT STUFF TO DO, BUT I’LL BE BY LATER TO BUILD YA A FIRE PIT. TERRY AND I WILL BE BARBECUING TONIGHT. WE’D LIKE YA TO COME DOWN AND JOIN US.”
“Uh, maybe Bubba. I’m not sure what I’ll be up to then. That’s very nice of you to think of me. Can I let you know later?” I already know my answer.
“YEAH, WHATEVER. I’M GOIN TO BE PLANTIN YA A LAWN HERE SOON.”
“A lawn? Really? Right here? In front of my trailer?”
“YEAH, RAY AND I BEEN THINKIN ABOUT THAT FOR SOME TIME NOW. I GOT THE SEED IN THE COLD STORAGE ROOM IN THE KITCHEN. HAD IT FOR SEVERAL MONTHS NOW. WE’LL HAVE TO WORK THE SOIL WITH THE TRACTOR FIRST.”
“Cool! A lawn would be extremely nice!”
“BETTER GO! “ Bubba goes over to the rear of the scooter and gets himself a beer.
“Okay, see you later. I’m going for a drive after a bit, but I should be home later this afternoon,” I tell Bubba.
“YEAH, THE FIRE PIT’S GOIN’ RIGHT HERE.” He walks over to a place some ten yards away from my trailer. I personally think it is too close to the propane tank, which has a warning on it (that I read on passing) that says, ‘Do not smoke or have open flame within 40 yards of this tank’. According to my estimated calculations, that spot appears to be only about 20 yards away. I also think it would be too far away from my table to enjoy it properly. I say nothing to Bubba now, but will approach the subject later.
“Thanks for moving the steps Bubba.” He drives towards his trailer.
As I stand there in a daze, I see the ducks playing at the water’s edge, and it makes me remember the duck seed in the car. I put the dogs inside and get my car keys. The steps are so much easier to walk up now! I drive the car over to the rear of the kitchen. The bag is heavy, so I slide it out and over to the storage room. It is left unlocked during the day. I find the large bag of dog food with the pan inside for scooping, and lay the bag of duck seed upright next to it. I open the duck seed with a pair of scissors hanging from a nail on the wall. Outside I hear the ducks quacking. They are getting louder and approaching the storage room. Sounds like I’ll get to see how they like the new feed!
“Well, hello there!” I say to the ducks. They are almost inside the storage room now, so I scoop a pan full and walk over to the lake’s edge. I toss the seed onto the ground. They love it! I stand there watching, and look over in the direction of Bubba’s trailer. My heart stops when I see his large frame far off in the distance, looking this way, with his hands on his hips. Why do Bubba and Terry make me feel so shitty when I try to do something nice? He goes back into his trailer and I drive to the front of the building to call Lori.
My radio is on in the car. At first I am not paying too much attention, since it is the news, and then I tune in when I hear about the fires in Oregon. It seems that there are several fires in the national forests of southern Oregon. More than 400,000 acres have burned! My God! That’s nearly half a million acres! The fires are still out of control at this point!
I am glad that Lori answers.
“Lori! This is Denise. I just heard about the fires! My God! This is horrible!”
“Denise! I’m so glad you called! You should be glad you’re not here. The smoke blowing in is horrible! It’s so bad, that we have to stay inside with our air conditioners going! Cars are even breaking down, due to the ashes clogging up the filters. Ash is all over everything! This is devastating!”
I begin to cry. I feel the tears on my cheeks. I remember my nightmare of a treeless world.
“Denise? Are you still there?”
“Yes, Lori, I’m still here. It’s just that this is so sad. Where will all the animals go? How much more will it burn? How did the fires start?”
“From what I’ve learned, they began during a heavy thunderstorm on Tuesday night. I think that’s the day you left Ashland.”
“Yeah, I remember that storm. I was camping.” I cringe thinking back on that night.
“How are you anyway, Denise? How’s the job coming?”
“Oh, it’s just fine. This can be a really busy place at times. I’m learning how to be a fast-fry cook, that’s for sure. There’s a guy here named Bubba. He’s a big ole’ logging type of good ole’ boy. I think he wants me, but I don’t want him! He has a bitchy girlfriend and they kind of intimidate me, but besides that, Billy and Ray are wonderful people and I’m glad I’m here to help them out. I think I might be able to make some good money this summer.”
“Cool! I’m glad everything is working out for you. You know you can come back here anytime you want. Maybe at some point, I can come see you with Tiki and the kids.” Tiki is Lori’s daughter. The kids are Lori’s grandchildren, Jacy and Kiowa.
“I’d love that! Well, I’m using my calling card, and I still have to talk to mom and dad and my boys, so I love you, and I’ll call you soon. I’ll be thinking about you and I’m going to get a newspaper right now.”
“I love you too. Take care.”
I call my sons, but can only say ‘I love you’, because they are both in the middle of a large real estate sale. I call my parents, but only get an answering machine. Mom must be on the internet. Finally, I get a newspaper from a stand next to the phone booth.
Since I have to move my car, I decide to cruise the area. I drive down the dirt road into the forest, to see where the trash is, and also see if there are any coyotes in there, being the curious soul that I am.
That funny feeling I had in my stomach the first time I walked in here, returns. I am blown away by the amount of leftover forgotten junk! Skeletons of a lost life, place, and time; discarded in nature, a cancerous growth from humanity’s carelessness. I am repulsed at the sight of it and have taken drastic measures to assure that I remain innocent of the crime of over-consumption. Practically everything I own can now fit into my car. The precious things, like photos of my sons when they were children, and the few things I treasure, are in half a dozen boxes in my parent’s garage.
I have no desire to own things anymore. My motives for this type of behavior range from complex to clear-cut and can be summed up from the mental list I have stored carefully away, which in itself is a contradiction and burden, storing ‘stuff’ inside my brain. Someday I will discard those skeletons too. Primarily, it is an environmental issue. We are guilty of draining the earth of its natural resources to produce stuff, and then we need to build huge houses, houses far too large for our needs. Of course this is done so that we may have a quick profit in order to buy, build and store even better stuff in a better house. We need to have our favorite stuff near us so others can envy our stuff and want that stuff too, and then we need to build acres of asphalt, cement, and steel to store all the extra stuff we don’t need, but can’t throw away. Sometimes our stuff is no longer wanted or needed, so it is taken to a large hole in the earth that we have dug to bury our stuff. We need something to haul our stuff around in, so we buy three or four of these just in case one breaks down. We all have one of these, so we need more asphalt and cement so that we have pathways that spread from one side of the country to the next so that we have quick access to buying more stuff.
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.