Some of you may know that we live here in Oregon on a beautiful little acre valley of wooded land with creeks and ponds and trails. In a few spots the trails are narrow, so narrow that the new roof on Mr. Electric Car cannot quite make it through with the new roof! In one peaceful corner this is a problem. Sitting there in all of their mossing (in western Oregon, even though it rains a bit, things don't really rust much -they grow moss) glory sets two mechanical dinosaurs named The Sub and The Big RV. Now the Sub in another life was a 1959 GMC School Bus from Shaker Heights, Cleveland, Ohio. It was part of my second 'Oddesey' from the East some 33 years ago. A noble beast it made it here to the Bonny Slope and then its Mighty Musty Troder (Trusty Motor) burst in an opera of mechanical chaos, just after it arrived under the Doug Firs. In the mid-80's I converted The Sub (bus spelled backwards) into a lovely little home with a tower on the back, complete with wall paper and stained cedar trim. For years she sheltered me through the uncertainty of the Regan years. It is now been 15 years alone, serving only to store items from an earlier part of my life. Asleep, waiting.
Resting close by is The Big Rv. She started life as a 1971 Travco and was the proud steed of a governor of Pennsylvania when new. No children graced her seats like the Sub and now she is filled with the ghosts of dead politicians. No one really knows what happened until the early days of the new millennium when we found her, via the internet, living in the Appalachian Mountains on a nature preserve. Sad and neglected and full of mice and rotting things we saw the hidden beauty and brought her back from the sunless backwater to Oregon with the notion of taking her to Aticama - the first of the Atomic Age Surf Shacks. Thomas John was an infant and The Big Rv served as his loving crib. A sweet time in life for sure. But, as things have a tendency to do, she was left alone under the the Really Big Willow Tree, near the Sub as we moved to bigger spaces. One stormy wild and windy night over 100 running feet of the giant willow fell upon her - breaking her nearly in half! Torn fiberglass and steel were no match for tons and tons of water logged wood. The Dream of Aticama for her was over. She sat and I tried hard to ignore the cries night after night. A mighty tribute to the men and industry of the 60's and early 70's, she will not die though. Mechanically she is ready, now looking like the Hunchback Of Bonny Slope she waits on an unknown future.
Which brings us to today. The area between The Big Rv and The Sub has collected lots of stuff throughout the years. My memory is foggy and I do not remember what lies under the ivy, down limbs, plastic and debris. It must all be cleaned up to allow passage for Mr. Electric Car and his vital material transportation. Mr. Giant Dumpster is waiting far up the driveway to receive all of the dead stuff clogging the North West Passage. To this end I began cleaning the area yesterday. Ugly. Ugly work. Sad and filled with other types of ghosts - ghosts of things made right here in the USA before we got soft and lazy.
Do not worry. The weather is lovely and spirits are high. And I found my camera, now if I can locate a few batteries for it.......