Kindness of Strangers

Tow Truck Drivers

Mark and I packed the Ark and headed for Roseburg this weekend. We have been through the city, about two hours south of here, several times, looking for food on Sunday afternoon and have always been disappointed. But, Mark thought we could move out of the rain clouds blanketing the valley and find some new trails—which we did. We had an amazing hike along the ridgeline of an old ranch, now managed by the BLM and found a small campground by the Umpqua River for the night. As always, I chatted with strangers in the campground; we all agreed that the occasional downpours which infinitely preferable to last summer’s drought.  After an excellent night listening to rain on the roof of the Ark, we headed further into the mountains to hike waterfalls.

Then the transmission felt funny. We stopped at a small store, Mark went in for juice, and I tried to move the gears into first—but... We were stuck in second gear. I turned the engine on, eased the clutch to see if it would budge, but no. Whacked it. No luck. Slipped backwards a bit. Nothing.  It is not uncommon for the Ark to break down far from home; we only drive long distances. We have broken down all over the country.  In fact, when we stopped in Cottage Grove on Friday morning, I felt a bit smug that the transmission was working. It has died not once, but twice, in Cottage Grove.  Mark called AAA. Half an hour later, the tow truck was hitching up the Ark. By then, I had it in neutral.

“So,” he asked, “what do you want to do? I’m towing you to the only place that’s open, but they don’t do transmissions. There’s a place down the street that does, but they are closed until Monday.” 

“Great,” I muttered. “Any ideas?”

“Well,” the driver considered the options. “You can drive it slowly to the other place on Monday. It’s only two lights away. Or…you can rent a U-Haul and a trailer and bring it home.”

“Could you take it home?” Mark asked.

“AAA only goes a hundred miles…”

We pulled up to the one open shop in Roseburg. The mechanic on duty laughed. “We can’t fix that! Maybe a U-haul home?”

Our driver looked at us. He did not drop the Ark on the streets of Roseburg.  We climbed back in the truck and headed to the U Haul.

“I guess I can drive a U-haul with a trailer…” I said. Mark did not even offer.

“Well,” our driver considered the options and did a little GPS research. “It’s probably cheaper for me to drive you home than for you to rent a U-Haul.” And he did.

The Beaver

A week and a half ago, the ancient willow in our neighbor’s yard came down, in two chunks, in the middle of the night. We were all sad to see it go; no one wanted to cut down the remaining dramatic tall stump, but it had to happen.  Last Saturday, the tree came down, leaving a stump about five feet around and four feet tall in the back driveway of our neighbor’s house. This Saturday, Jean walked by it on the way to the grocery store. Someone had carved a life-size beaver into the side of the stump, turning the sad remains into  Art.  We have no idea who did it or when.

Ark Appeal

       

    “That guy just waved at you,” Mark pointed out as we left the elk viewing area.

            “Yeah, I waved back. It’s the Ark, you know. It attracts guys. You don’t believe it.” But it is true. The Ark, a 1984 VW Vanagon, brown and tan, attracts guys in the same way that Mark’s southern accent attracts women of a certain age. It’s amazing—he’ll hold forth on compost and chicken tractors during garden tours and the circle is spell bound, and I know it’s not the chicken poop they are thinking of.

            The Ark has always attracted male attention. Truck drivers smile at gas stops. Men wander over to discuss my “rig” in campgrounds and allow that they’d be just as happy with a van, but the wife….she needs a little more space, so they have a monster RV. (Yeah, I know, there’s a huge difference between my van and an RV built on a bus frame, but there you have it.) Mechanics give advice and even allowed my friend Sherrie and me to sleep in the back of the shop one night. They have even lent tools on occasion. 

            It is not a fancy rig. She drives like a truck, with a huge steering wheel and gear shift that requires a full arm motion, not a flick of the wrist, to operate. The view from the driver’s seat is excellent, even on a road full of SUVs. The engine and transmission are solid. There are newish tires and good brakes. I just replaced the windshield. There’s a bed with good pillows and bureau with a camp stove slid underneath in back, ready for camp cooking or afternoon tea.  But, there’s a dent on the sliding door because of a huge blind spot. There’s paint peeling from being too close to a house fire one night. The bumpers are wonky. The green shag rug is truly gross and there is often hay in the corners. The gas gage does not work—but the odometer does! She really needs a serious bath and the driver’s side window rattles in the breeze when open. But there is something about it, the sturdy, hard working, square body, that evokes the Open Road, Adventure, and Escape from Every Day Life.

            Later that day, we were about to leave the Umpqua Discovery Center. Mark was waiting patiently for two elderly couples to tuck themselves into their silvery late model car before he climbed into the driver’s seat.

            “How old is that rig?” one elderly gentleman inquired.

            “1984.” Mark answered, a little stunned. He’s not used to the attention.

            “Still does the job,” the  man nodded.

            “Yup,” Mark agreed and swung inside. He smiled.

Zucchini Rice Casserole – the season has begun….

Cook about a cup of brown rice, or use leftovers from the night before, if you are proactive in food planning.

Chop one nice onion and one medium sized zuke and sauté in olive oil. Add salt and fresh ground pepper, two or three cloves of garlic.

Beat 3-4 eggs, fresh basil or marjoram, and perhaps some feta cheese. Mix eggs, veg, and rice together and pour into a casserole dish or a large cast iron skillet. Bake in 350 oven until eggs are set and a little brown.

This can be eaten hot, warm, or cold. With salad and a blueberry pie—the oven is already on and heating up the house, after all—you are feasting. And there is one less squash in the bottom  of the fridege.