1713 – 1718
I woke up in the night itching my wrist. The skin felt hot and tight. I took an antihistamine. Then another in the morning. That wasp sting just keeps on giving. The Benadryl made me groggy all morning.
I was completely out of stove fuel. No hot coffee this morning. Woe.
All around there were signs of civilization. I could hear the buzz of freeway. The forest view was sectioned by roads. What a difference a few straight lines make. I was out of the wilderness and back in people land.
I walked by a trail side fancy house. Beside the four car garage was an enclosed garden gone to seed. The deer fence was easily 20 feet tall, topped by whole untrimmed logs. It looked fantastically expensive. There was a faucet and picnic table for hikers that somehow looked unwelcoming. Maybe it was the Monument Yes sign. Whoever lived here, they were the opposing side to all those Jefferson Staters who feel a National Monument would be too constricting.
I got a message from a friend from high school. She lived near Ashland. Surprise, surprise, I don’t have to stay at the hostel!
I got another message from someone I met on trail, asking if I wanted her to send me a leftover resupply box. Uh, yeah!
I got to Callahan’s Lodge and nestled into the grotto. Pretty soon a truck pulled up. “Gretchen?” “Yup, that’s me.” It was my friend’s husband. “Yeah, I remember you,” he told me. “We went to high school together.” Oh. I might have been a little too self-centered back then to pay attention to actual other people.
He took me to do some shopping at the Natural Food Store. As we drove up I-5, he pointed out all the agricultural fields and greenhouses full of cannibis. During harvest time, the town gets a huge influx of hippie “trimmigrants.” It’s still sort of the Wild West because the prices change all the time.
It’s a brave new world, this new dope economy.