I was about to blog about Bridgeview Winery in Cave Junction, but my new novel got in the way. I’m sitting out on my deck writing about terrorists in Afghanistan kidnapping my main character. On the other side of the hedge of bamboo, blue spruce, and locust trees in my back yard, someone is trying to start a car. The starter cranks again and again–breaks into the story I’m writing. Lord, how that brings back memories!
Back in the early 80s, when Eithne was nine, I think, we visited Cave Junction and Grants Pass. It can’t be a coincidence that I rented a place in Cachagua, Carmel Valley, that same summer. Cachagua was a lot like like Cave Junction, and the place we rented was on the Boronda Creek Ranch, between Cachagua Creek and Boronda Creek–rather like our spot between the Illinois River and an unnamed creek in Cave Junction. It felt like coming home. We did 4-H. We had goats, but that’s another story.
I drove a used, yellow Datsun B210, and it kept breaking down. That car ate starters! The starter cranking over and over again on the next street made me remember. I know that sound. When it happened, though, I wouldn’t be in this cozy Roseway neighborhood. I’d be stranded out in the middle of nowhere, miles from the nearest house, or phone–no cell phones in those days. So, I would walk and walk and call Triple A.
It’s quiet now; I think the people on the next street have given up or called AAA. Triple-A sent me a letter that year, threatening to terminate me from road service because I called them too many times.
Next post: Bridgeview Winery