Vicarious Living

Last night my brother David and his wife Chris went to see Michael Franti and Spearhead at Chico State, in a venue that only holds about 1,000 people. That is twice they have seen them since we all saw them together at Power to the Peaceful in September. I hate missing a show, although realistically if I weren't sick I would be working and unable to go anyway. It makes me happy to see them loving Michael like I do. It makes me happy to see them driving 90 minutes to a show on a work night. Driving to Santa Barbara or San Francisco to see a show on a week night used to be something I did regularly. I never thought I'd quit wanting to do that, but the past few years I won't even travel on a week night for Franti. Somewhere along the line, sleep became more important than the shows. Old age creeping up on me, I guess. I'm glad my big brother will still travel on a week night!

Next week David and Chris are going to spend Thanksgiving and Chris's birthday (Happy birthday, Chrissy!!) in a cabin on the Smith river. They will not be far from "The Ranch." Our parents bought The ranch in 1964. We called it The ranch because the sign above the gate said "Sissi Q Ranch." It was 60 acres on the north fork of the Smith River. The older couple who had lived there before left the house fully furnished and equipped, from dishes to linens. I remember being confused, at 4, about why our summer place was so much nicer than our house in town. The house was gorgeous, all knotty pine and ceiling beams. There was a loft overlooking the living room, and an upstairs reached by a ladder that pulled down out of the ceiling. The Smith River ran through the property, crystal clear, clean and wild. Near the house was an enormous old wooden bridge. You could stand on that bridge and gaze down into the river, which was so clear you could see every fish and rock clearly. There were three swimming holes on the property, and whenever I need to go to my happy place I go to one of them. It is the most beautiful place on earth. It is 26 miles on a winding, narrow mountain road to the nearest civilization. There was no other private property near us, and when we went up there it was peaceful, quiet, and amazing. In the early years it was rare for a car to drive by. The ranch was a huge part of what made my childhood magical. I spent many happy hours swimming and playing in the river. I made rock forts for lizards I caught and would briefly imprison in a cat carrier until I could move them into their new home. I caught water snakes and wore them as bracelets around my wrist. For a few years my sister and I had our horses up there and we would ride. I remember riding to the lower meadow with my brother once and coming across a world that was literally covered with lady bugs. I put my hand down on a tree stump and my hand was instantly covered with millions of them. We would spend the fourth of July up there, and Daddy would set off fireworks that would light up the night sky and the mountain across the river. When the old bridge wore out and they were going to tear it down to build a new one, Dad negotiated and instead they built the bridge upriver a bit and the old, majestic wooden bridge became ours. The bridge dedication party with my parents' old friends was something to remember. One year that old bridge buckled under the weight of snow and ice during a harsh winter and it collapsed into the river. Apparently the noise was deafening and scared the caretaker half to death. I never went up there after the bridge fell, and after Dad had his stroke we ended up selling the place. It has been on the market on and off since. For a long time I thought I would never go up there again, because it would make me too sad. That changed a few years ago. I want Casey to see it, because it means more to me than any place on earth or any childhood memory. The breathtaking beauty of the place will be the same, whether it belongs to us or not. I have always felt so blessed that I grew up in a place full of mountains, redwoods, rivers and rhododendrons, and that we also had The Ranch. My father's love of the outdoors was a blessing to us all. The older I get, the more I miss Northern California. If it weren't for my stupid cancer, Casey and I would be going with David and Chris next week. I've told him we will need to plan a similar trip next summer. I want to see The Ranch again, and I want to be with my big brother when I do. For now, I will live vicariously through their trip, and count the days until I am well enough to make one of my own.

Namaste,

Jill