It’s been a quiet week up here on the mountain, my little slice of heaven in the great northwest.
A few things happen over time, and if I don’t deem them news worthy, I don’t include them in my updates. Such is what has gone on the last few weeks. Ernest T and Sherylee, whom I wrote about in my first book, moved back to the area. First, they were just outside of town, living in a camping trailer parked in a local business’s parking lot. Then, shortly before it snowed, they moved back up on the mountain to the cabin he had built their first year here (this was also my first year). From talking to them, their sojourn to Chili didn’t pan out as planned, and they only stayed in Idaho a month before moving to Texas. Two years later, they sold their home there, moving elsewhere, and eventually ending up back here this past summer. They remind me of the poem by Robert Service, “The Men That Don’t fit In.” It begins: “There’s a race of men that don’t fit in,/A race that can’t sit still;/So they break the hearts of kith and kin,/And they roam the world at will.” (You can find the entire poem at http://www.famouspoetsandpoems.com/poets/robert_william_service/poems/12384 ) Sounds like a poem that explains my life, until you read further and discover that they are men who cannot ever make headway, because of their own shortcomings. They rail at the world, crying “why?”, and failing to realize they are their own downfall. Ernest T and Sherylee are the same way, never settling anywhere long enough to get ahead, before they think the grass is greener somewhere else. True to form, it wasn’t long before they decided that living up here again wasn’t going to work, and they decided to move yet again, this time, to Arizona. That decided, this week, they packed a storage trailer, loaded it and a car onto his flatbed, and left on Friday.
The tale of them getting the trailer off the mountain is one only my son can know for sure, I got the information second hand from him. I was in town doing laundry, waiting on the lovely wife to finish cleaning her bus from the last activity run she had driven. My son had also been in town and had headed home before us. He made it to our road to discover that Ernest T had been backing their trailer down from their cabin and had managed to bury it right there where our road met the main logging road. My son was able to get around it, and went home to drop off the items he had picked up in town before heading back down to watch the show. This time, Ernest T had his second pickup hooked to the front of the one attached to the trailer and was attempting to, once again, back down the mountain road. I will stop here for a moment to say that he is a truck driver, as I was, with possibly more miles driven than I have. He should have known better than to back a trailer without any brakes down a snow- and ice-covered mountain road. A half mile down, the trailer, having a mind of its own, buried itself once again. It should be noted that it’s amazing it didn’t end up over the side where it would have dropped off about 80 feet, dragging both pickups with it. My son had to force them to agree to put one truck in front, as it should have been, and the other in back as an anchor. Now, Sherylee is a high-strung gal, prone to panicking easily, and she really wanted my son to drive the anchor truck, which he wisely refused to do. Instead, he drove alongside her on his four-wheeler, instructing her when to turn and when to brake. Meanwhile, the lovely wife and I are waiting at the bottom, not knowing what is going on because I can’t get in touch with my son. We kept expecting to see a pile of trucks and trailer, in a massive ball of wreckage, rolling past us as we waited. Instead, they managed to make it down, Sherylee a nervous wreck, and get everything unhooked. To say I’m sad to see them leave would be an overstatement. Though nice folks, I am glad they’re gone. Hopefully, it’s for good.
Well, that’s all the news for the week. Bye for now.