Many people have the notion that it’s really important to have a place to go to on the weekends, to get away from the humdrum of their daily routine. Enter the idea of a weekend retreat for the purpose of relaxation and enjoying the great outdoors. Really good concept – however, there are a few drawbacks regarding this marvelous “let’s get away from all” routine.
A sub-six section of my family – third cousins twice removed – owned property in a remote Redwood Canyon about 12 miles from the Pacific Ocean. The facts are the property goes back as far as 1860, maybe more, when the first lumbering operation took place in this magnificent secluded area of gigantic redwoods, which was ravaged to build the booming town of San Francisco. After lumbering operations stopped, some enterprising individual subdivided the land into one acre plots in a rather narrow Canyon, with a medium-sized Creek, placidly running except in the winter, from the top of a 2400 foot mountain, to 100 foot waterfall and meandered through the remainder of the occupied Canyon. It was pretty fantastic in the wintertime. Outright scary! In the early spring, steel-head salmon used to come up the Creek all the way to the waterfalls, but not anymore. The skill of the Army Corps of Engineers took care of that problem by redirecting the mouth of this little tributary to build a military road that went nowhere and never got built. However, the salmon may be back. (As a political comment, clearly nothing is changed, we still spend money on roads to nowhere.)
As a kid I had fond memories of our occasional visits and what a great deal of enjoyment the surrounding area provided: fishing, crawdad catching, swimming, snipe hunting and running around in the redwood forest with an occasional trip to the ocean. I had always dreamed that someday I would have my own place in this tranquil departure from civilization. Maybe I should change the word “dream” to the word “fantasy.” As a kid you have to remember nothing is ever quite as it seems.
There were very few people living in the Canyon on a full-time basis. It was mostly weekend or summer holidays where people would come in and stay for a couple weeks, but then pack up and go back to their normal routines. There were probably 40 or 50 “summer places” of varying size and quality. Some of the families would move in and stay there for most of the summer, but normally leave when the weather seriously reduced outdoor activity, or when school was about to start.
This little community had what could be euphemistically called a homeowners association, another term for “you are required to work your butt off on the roads, creeks and anything that would impede the ability to get into this remote Canyon.” Ergo – the concept of the “work weekend” which was mandatory for all homeowners. The junior grade residents were not exempt from this activity, but were normally relegated to cutting brush away from the road and cleaning out certain areas of the Creek. This is of course is an oxymoron, because we spent more time screwing around in the Creek than we did working. I’m sure it was adult psychology being applied, keeping us from being something defined as a “pain in the ass!”
The only fun part of this was on Saturday nights when there would be a big barbecue down by the new pool near the old swimming hole and afterward we would all play what was called “flashlight tag.” Most of the older adults had retired to do whatever it was they would do without the kids around. Based on some of the laughter coming from the various cabins, I got the impression that the adults had a game of their own, which they did not wish to share with the younger generation. Keep in mind, this was long before sex education, females were not liberated and were not even allowed to play “stick in the mud” with the boys. (If you don’t know what “stick in the mud” is, check out the web. Most of our attitudes were “they are here and had to be tolerated.” We thought chauvinism was one of King Arthur’s knights. Needless to say, my attitude forever changed in the next few years – not by social pressure but by a non–cultural definition called puberty, which was the worst two years of my young life.
Being young and innocent, I didn’t realize that the older “youngsters” were playing a game called “Beer Can” flashlight tag, whose rules were basically boy finds girl and both disappear into the night and wait for someone to find them, while secretly hoping they didn’t. I didn’t think much of this, one way or another because at that point, in my short little existence I wasn’t interested girls. “Duh!”
One of those evenings, while hiding, I heard this scream and then a big splash over in the area where the old natural swimming hole used to be. Being trained as a Boy Scout, I ran over and heroically shined my regulation BSA flashlight into the creek area, totally ready to dive in, to earn my life saving merit badge, and discovered that one of the girls had fallen into the Creek. By my best estimation and limited knowledge of anatomy, she was missing some of her clothing. Like in most of her clothing. She promptly told me to “turn off the damn light” and her partner mentioned something about “get expletive deleted lost!” I do remember my first thought was this game has taken on a new twist! Over the next few years I became very interested in playing flashlight tag and discovered it was much more fun to have a girl as a partner than one of the guys or hiding alone. I was tired of hugging trees.
A few years later, for some reason we did not go to the Canyon on a frequent basis, maybe once or twice a year to attend some big shindig. Like most things in life, time forces different priorities and perspectives. Although I never lost interest in those youthful events and endeavors, I didn’t seem to miss going there. Unfortunately, as I grew older, I discovered other activities and elements of life while in high school, such as girls, football, baseball and cars, but not necessarily in that order. Plus, I usually had a job during the summer months. After graduating from high school I made the decision that I wasn’t ready for college, meaning I didn’t have the grades, and essentially wanted a certain level of emancipation. I ended up in the Marine Corps and didn’t see the Canyon again for at least four years.
After my military obligation was over, I went back a few times, but unfortunately things had changed or perhaps I had changed. It was still a beautiful place, but as a young adult it did not fit my current lifestyle as an erstwhile part-time college student and full-time chaser of the females. One of my first questions to the opposite sex was “have you ever played flashlight tag?”
Before Blue-Eyes and I were married, I took her up there a number of times and she just loved it. We stayed with friends and I rediscovered the beauty and ambiance. Several years after were married, with three kids and our first house with a mortgage, we began to investigate the possibility of buying into the Canyon. We found a place whose owners had moved to a different state and hadn’t used the place for well over two years. Although it was a tight fit monetarily, we figured if we watched ourselves it could be done. The cabin came furnished, at least for the most part although it had the need for a couple of extra beds and household stuff, but that was easily resolved. It was just short of a turnkey event.
So, dream come true! Not so fast there JJ. We bought the cabin towards the end of the fall and did get to spend some fun times setting things up and getting organized and making a list of what had to be done to corral our ambulatory two little ones. Number three was only about six months old. Our first house was small, two bedrooms, one bath and required very little weekend maintenance. So, for the first few months we would spend most weekends fixing things as we wanted. When the weather turned wet, we would go up maybe once a month or maybe even less. Thankfully, people that live there year-round were kind enough to check on the various cabins and had a list of phone numbers if there were problems. So, my thoughts at this point were “JJ, this is snap city, a no-brainier and you got to love it.”
The next spring was the beginning of what could be called “the worm turning.” We went up there in late February. The weather was beautiful and we had a great time wandering and hiking up to the falls, and well beyond to what was an abandoned auxiliary airfield on top of the mountain, built during World War II. We didn’t spend much time in the Canyon until April. I was extremely surprised at the unnaturally rapid growth of the vegetation surrounding the cabin, including multiple fallen trees, limbs, and various and sundry flora that required considerable trimming.
I did not have the knowledge or tools for this newly acquired responsibility and spent a considerable chunk of change needed rehabilitate our “get away from it all and relax” investment. I didn’t have a clue as to what was really required and discovered a whole new world after talking with some of the other cabin owners. Plus, I’m one of the ego, left-brain types when using most tool stuff, and subscribed to the theory that “if all else fails, read the manual.” The only garden tools I had at home were a water hose, power lawn mower, a rake and a shovel. And I had trouble with those! No manuals! Blue-Eyes took control of the mower after watching me spend an hour trying to get it started, commenting “Not only are you weird, but you’re a total klutz.” She had not played fair – she had read the manual.
So, starting in early spring we began spending most weekends in the Canyon for rest and relaxation. Blue-Eyes’ job was to stock up the kitchen, clean up the accumulated dust, and make the perpetual “honey do” list and watch the curtain climbers. My job was to clean up the winter debris and clear out the multitude of brush and stuff around cabin. I also had to determine how best to discourage a family of raccoons who had taken residence under the cabin. Keep in mind, the place had been relatively unoccupied for approximately two years. I’m sure the “diminutive bandits” were upset because someone had invaded their home. You might ask, as others did, “Why would you want to do that? They’re so cute and lovable!” Well – they’re not cute and lovable when they decide to play their version of “flashlight tag” all around the patio and roof in the wee hours of the morning.
I tried a number of non-lethal things to extricate them during the few first months, with little success. That June they just disappeared. Mother Nature in action had prevailed. I think they eventually found other accommodations with less noise and distractions during their sleeping hours. Possibly the raccoons had a “let’s get away from it all” routine for the weekends. Hell, why not! If I were a raccoon, that would be an inviting concept. They didn’t even leave a goodbye message nor any apologies for the multiple garbage can raids or for having supplied sleep deprivation during their tenure. I later discovered my failure at varmint extrication was seriously and negatively augmented by the kids who were secretly – meaning “don’t tell Dad!” – feeding them leftovers and only stopped when one of the larger “cuties” became extremely aggressive and scared the living hell out of the two good Samaritans and Blue-Eyes as well. We still got the occasional visitor, but the accommodation contest was over. I naturally congratulated myself on my ability and skills to conquer certain elements of the great outdoors, but too late for my merit badge.
Over the next four years we did have many extremely memorable and fun weekends communing with the trees and becoming avid “tree-huggers.” But like all things, time has a way of creating unknown circumstances and adjustments.
Watch for part two, it gets to be more fun, but not for JJ.
Moral of the story; “If it’s national Arbor Day, take a tree to lunch.”
J.J. Addingnuttin 
I liked your post so much!!!