You are currently browsing the monthly archive for October 2006.
We all got dressed up to go to the haunted house and halloween party at the community center. With most things still in boxes, we really scraped the barrel for costumery. Poor Ossian, what is she exactly? A cow-dog? And her parents??? Yikes.
98% of the kids at the party were either vampires, dead brides, or witches. Not us, no sir.
We didn’t expect trick or treaters on good Old Coast Wagon Road so were unprepared for the group of 4 kids that knocked on our door. I hid upstairs, unable to face the candy-less shame and Blase offered them some of Ossian’s toys. Once again, poor Ossian.
Today we set up a play and music room. Ossian walked in, looked around, and said “home”. It was the first time she’s said that in Petrolia.
She is in heaven. She’s been keeping busy feeding roti, throwing rocks in the river, drawing in the sand, cooking, painting, unpacking boxes, talking with the cows and deer, and driving trucks.
What? Plump, ripe blackberries at the end of October? Who ever heard such talk?!! They’re real and they’re all over our road (Old Coast Wagon Road, that is) and Ossian has a bit of a habit…. she seems to wear a permanent purple stain on her face, hands, and neck as a result of gorging herself these unexpected treats as often as she can.
The Mattole River runs through Petrolia to the ocean. It is low right now…lots of room to play on its banks. Birds are abundant and sunsets are unstoppable.
We missed the annual rye and tide race today due to a sleeping toddler. Naps are sacred. Our sanity depends on them.
The Rye and Tide is a frolicking relay race that is usually done in pairs with one bike shared between two humans. It starts at the Yellow Rose which is Petrolia’s closest thing to a bar. Participants leapfrog between running and biking all the way to the finish line at the beach which is about 7 miles down the road. If you don’t have a bike, no problem. Cedar Bear maintains Petrolia’s bike library and always brings a collection to choose from at the starting line. No partner? No problem either. There are usually a couple of singles at the starting line looking for a someone to match up with. As indicated by the “race’s” title, the drinking of a shot of rye whisky is part of the ritual. The race ends with a hot dog roast at the beach and more whisky while an award ceremony recognizes the top 10 in multiple categories with handmade trophies. Ossian came to just in time for us to catch the award ceremony which was officiated by a friend dressed as Gandhi who delivered the awards and speech in character.
Blase still bursts with pride over his two Rye and Tide trophies from past years.
Our first Saturday in Petrolia. By the time we got up, the Wilsons had unpacked half of the kitchen and started on the living room. They’re our beloved heroes.
A friend stopped by to welcome us with a basket of onions and pumpkins from her garden and an invitation to dinner and juice pressing the next night. “You’re here.. are you panicking?”, she asked. ” A little bit”, I confessed.
We walked to the community center at dusk for a lasagna dinner and cabaret fundraiser. We had to dodge a pack of drunken turkeys as they jerked and gobbled across the street. We were greeted with lots of Petrolia style love, authentic hugs, and warm welcomes.
Petrolia’s cabarets are part down-home talent show, part political theater, and part wildcard. There can be some esoteric, raunchy, comedic skits that are like a collision between Saturday live out-takes and Meatballs schticks but with some Waltons styling. Very hard to describe but a must-see.
Woke to an army of boxes demanding to be unloaded from our tired uhaul. I decided by tired default that we could unload the boxes.. it didn’t mean we had to actually unpack and commit. The truck had to be unloaded so that we could take it back to “town” to get our washer and dryer and stock up on groceries. As all long car rides are necessarily timed around Ossian’s nap schedule to minimize trauma and drama, we felt the clock ticking to clear the truck by noon. We also had our beloved Wilson family coming that night for a visit from San Francisco… so at least, I would stay through the weekend.
I stepped onto the backporch – noted that our trusty mousetraps were still there, thank god. A seven-plus feet tall man appeared at our chicken wire fence carrying a well used and mostly empty water jug. The morning light beamed through his hair which stood perfectly on end in a rustic, billy idol style. Darkly stained clothes hung from his tall and lanky frame. Old tattoos with blurry edges were scattered on his legs and arms. He had no teeth as far as I could tell. “Oh shit”, I thought, some unstable guy has wandered out of the woods and is now lurking in our yard. I grabbed Ossian’s hand and pulled her toward my body while anxiously looking for Blase…”Hey Brad! How are you?,” exclaimed Blase as he walked to the man and embraced him. “Hi Blase, great to see you…” responded the exremely tall man. They chatted and reminisced about their old basketball team that played weekly when Blase live in Pertrolia nearly 10 years ago. Blase introduced me to Brad – he’d been their secret weapon on the court. Brad confessed that he hadn’t played since Blase left but would play again if Blase got something going. Brad insisted on helping us unload the truck and within 30 minutes, he had brought more than half of the 15,000 plus pounds of our stuff into the house. He is a sweetheart and is our neighbor, living next door with his four skunky dogs – one of which had the most tremendous underbite I’ve ever seen.
As Brad left, our friends Drew, Amanda, and baby Ella pulled up. It was delicious to meet their new baby girl who was a perfect blend of the two of them. It’s always fun to see what kind of critters couples make. They brought a basket of hot muffins and butter. Doctor Dick appeared a bit later and gave a hand with the larger pieces of furniture. Drew helped Blase unload the rest of the truck and we were off to “town” by 1:30 with a cranky, tired toddler who finally fell asleep at the end of the Wildcat. We had to stop over and over to allow the crossing of deer after deer, some cows, a coyote, and a tiny fox.
We finished our town chores in time to see sunset from the Wildcat. Ossian kept saying “sunset, pretty”. She knows what she’s talking about.
Uhaul broke down on a precariously steep and sloping stretch of the road and had to be abandoned along with the washer, dryer, and groceries it contained. With no cell phone reception, we had no choice but to leave it blocking the road so we could get to a phone in Petrolia and call Uhaul. It was retrieved by their mechanics the next day. We were finally reunited with our groceries, once again, able to eat something other than ossian’s snack bars.
Of course, word went around fast that someone had left a Uhaul blocking the Wildcat. Once the connection was made between us new city folk and the Uhaul, our reputations preceded us to Petrolia.
We survived our 3 day trek from our home in Seattle to our new home in Petrolia, CA with an intact entourage of cat, dog, toddler, fetus, and tired parents. Our u-hual rode low as it towed twice it’s weight limit plus a car. Ossian chanted “follow” over and over as we followed daddy in the truck as he slugged along barely breaking 20 MPH on the endless hills.
Our last stretch of road was the Wildcat .. the winding, shoulderless, and unlit route that takes you off the 101 to Petrolia and the Lost Coast. It might be the most beautiful hour you can spend on a road. Through the redwoods you wind and climb until pastures emerge with their cows, deer, coyotes, and hawks. Glimpses of the Pacific Ocean become panoramic visions of blue on blue on green. You can’t believe your eyes. All of this is, of course, unless you happen to be following a tall, wide, and wobbling U Hual that barely makes the turns and creeps along at 14 MPH. Still lovely, but a bit distracting.
We pulled up to our new home this evening to see it for the first time. My first comment after briefly surveying the house was, “well, we don’t need to unpack our stuff.” At least there was an ample supply of used but re-usable mouse traps stacked in an ashtray on an old stove which awaited us on the front porch. No matter what, we had our mousetraps. I backed off on my earlier statement and decide we should at least spend the night – especially since the animals were weary and so was I and we were hours from any other destination.
Blase called the landlord to tell him we’d arrived and asked that we meet the next day because it was Ossian’s bedtime and we were all exhausted and headed to bed. He happily agreed and said he’d see us in a couple of days. We dragged in a mattress from the back of the truck and camped out for bed. At 9:50, we heard the crunching of gravel as our landlord pulled up to give us a drunken hello. In Seattle, we simply would have reminded him of our conversation, need for sleep, and plan to meet in the coming days. But in Petrolia, a town of 348, now 351, it would have been politically inept and likely a bad start for our nascent reputations in this small community. So, we greeted him and as he stepped onto the porch, our bewildered dog bit him on the leg. What a way to meet your landlord… or anyone, for that matter.
His drunken tour of the house and long-winded fishing stories finally subsided enough so that we could say goodnight and close the door. Ah, rest at last. Until the next car pulled up, louder this time, with a throbbing diesel engine left running and loud, enthusiastic yelling welcome from our friend at 11:15 pm. “Hi, shhhh, hi, shhhhh, good to shhhhhshh, see you – uh, the baby is sleeping, could you turn off your car, and shhhh, we should try to be quiet” – we bumbled. He stayed for an hour of fun visiting then said goodnight. Finally, we got to dive into our long-awaited first night in our new home which I thought might have to be just a one-night stand… or maybe everything would look a bit better in the morning.
life on the lost coast 