Stories:
Lost
and Found
by
Liz Haapanen, 10/1/1977
But we, we have no
sense of direction; impetus is all we have. We do not proceed, we only
roll down the mountain like disbalanced boulders, crushing before us
many delicate springing things, whose plan it was to grow.
- Edna St. Vincent
Millay
It was late July of
1977. I was on a trek to southern California from my homestead cabin
deep in the wild Indian burial grounds east of Kneeland in Humboldt
County. I had with me my newly hand painted avocado green VW bug and
directions to John and Carol Azzaro’s place, near the Butler Cherry
Ranch. The map was way off, but discovering that took some trial and
error.
Dusk was settling on
the vineyards when I set my odometer and started up the McNab Ranch Road
from Highway 101. The light was low, giving that halo effect to the
trees and the fields. I passed some houses and then the road began to
climb, changing drastically into a deserted, unused road. Pretty soon
the ruts got so deep around me and the remnants of road so narrow that I
started praying for my tires not to slip off and find me stuck there in
No Man’s Land. There was no turning back. The darkness started filling
in the details.
There was a only one
very small trailer parked somewhere along side the road with a light
shining from the window, but it looked to me like an outlaw's hideout so
I continued to climb, amazed every moment by my progress.
Finally, the landscape
changed to sandy hills of very loose dirt and there I was driving up and
down, up and down on narrow roads between orchards. At the top was a
clearing and I could see a town lit up which I assumed was Ukiah. I had
no idea where I was, but I knew I wasn't about to go back down that road
again.
I thought I might camp
outdoors and stood outside for a while listening for the sounds of the
town below. I heard an owl, hooting in the distance and then I saw
movement near my feet. The night was alive with the rustling sounds of
invisible creatures. I got back into my green bug. Nothing like a metal
shell to protect me from my fears. My car was so packed and I was so
tired, that I just leaned the seat back a bit and suffered through the
night, asleep at the wheel, key in the ignition.
At the first glimpse of
morning light I started the engine and continued down and back up the
small hills with dirt so loose my car would slide. The engine died on me
a few times, and then, as I was going up a particularly steep hill, the
VW started sliding, and my best efforts did nothing to prevent me from
rolling down the mountain, sliding into plants growing there.
Fortunately, a tree caught the car in its firm embrace before it slid
too far down. I got out and assessed the situation.
When bewildered, with
nothing left to do, I pray. I prayed that I go in the exact direction
for help, not feeling very confident that I could even find any living
person out there. I began crying as I started walking. I felt like a
lost little girl. Pretty soon I saw a farmhouse and got so excited I
ran. It was early and no one seemed to be awake but I couldn't resist so
I knocked on the door and rang the bell. I waited. Pretty soon a very
nice old woman with long gray hair answered the door in her bathrobe. I
spilled out my tale with tears still in my eyes and she gently and very
kindly invited me inside. She set me down at the table as she went to
awaken her husband.
This is how I met
George and Ella Butler. They took me in, slowed down my chatter and fed
me breakfast. Afterwards, George told me he would get his forklift and
see what he could do to get me out of my predicament.
The sun was coming up
hot when George started pulling from above with his forklift, and I was
down in the bush sawing limbs from the bumper my car. I couldn’t help
but inspect the leaves and the flowers of the tree and recall
similarities to the illustrations I'd seen of poison ivy. I asked George
if the tree might be a cousin to poison ivy or poison oak. He quickly
dismissed this. He said they were all over the place and never bother
anybody. I was only curious as I had never had adverse reactions to
poison oak or poison ivy anyway. In good time we had managed the
impossible and got the car back up on the road. I was so grateful and
sorry to have nothing to offer except for my effusive gratitude. We said
our good-byes and I drove off.
Later in the day I
found myself happily telling the story to friends in the hot tub. And
then a week later, I was telling the same story back at the Humboldt
homestead, but by then my body was covered with welts from my eyes to my
toes. It was August by then and well into the nineties. Aloe Vera was my
saving grace.
The experience did
change me. Before this, I was never allergic to a thing. But afterwards,
I got an overblown reaction to poison oak simply by spreading FREE horse
manure on my garden. I learned what poison sumac looks like and that it
does grow in this area, but best of all, and despite it all, I got to
meet George and Ella Butler. They showed me the kindness of strangers
and I adopted them into my heart then and forever.
Liz Haapanen is a
writer and former editor of Sojourn Magazine who lives in Ft. Bragg.
