Hi Bloggy Friends !

Sorry about the short little hiatus. Was kind of busy like. I absolutely hate it when that happens.

When I was younger, I pretty much went with the flow. I never EVER followed a schedule. I partied. I ran. I did whatever struck my fancy…and my fancy was fickle LOL.

One time, I remember vividly to this day, is one of the reasons I really respected my mother in retrospect.

Now remember, I am the tag end of both the baby boomers and the hippies. I was born in 1955 and raised all over the world.

At age 15, I ended up in my mother’s home town, a small place in Northern California, famous at the time for making Playboy’s Top Ten Party College Towns across the U.S.

The town was Chico, California. The date was 1970. I lived on the enclosed back porch with my best friend Bronwyn. I am using her real name cause I haven’t heard from her in years, and in fact, would love to find her.

I had a vehicle. Driving while unlicensed wasn’t such a big deal back then. It was a farming community for the most part, college was sort of a sideline.

The car’s name was Leonard. He was a 1960ish Ford Ranchero. Three on the Tree, which for those of you automobile impared means that the vehicle was a standard transmission, 3 speed on the column.

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First gear didn’t work at all, Second gear was kind of iffy, sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t. Third gear however, was just skippy and worked all the time. When I say all the time, I mean all the time, because, well, I had to perfect third gear starts in that vehicle. (something I can STILL do to this day, start out in third gear. Comes in dandy handy when you are driving kids around juggling ice cream cones, coffee cups, picking up things that dropped on the floor and don’t have the extra hand to shift down into first at a stop light. I highly recommend it…)

Bronwyn and I hung out at the Bidwell Upper Park. Bidwell park had two parts. One cool, one not. The lower park was a winding road, paved, that followed the little creek about 2 miles through town. It was spotted with beautiful trees and picnic areas. It’s sole claim to fame was that the ORIGINAL Robin Hood movie was filmed there. My mother, age 4, was an extra in the movie.

The UPPER park however, was the home of every kid of driving age. It started out paved, turned to the right very sharply (I ended up in the ditch coming the other way one very drunk night a few weeks later), went past the CROSS, past Mudslide hill, and wended its way to the shooting range and golf course. There, the paved road ended.

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The gravel road was one well traveled. There were LOTS of swimming holes named cool things like “BARE HOLE” where if you skinny dipped, you were left alone. If you didn’t want your children to see naked bodies swimming, you simply did not go to Bare Hole.

There was Girl Scout Camp. Which crossed the creek with a pulley fed car across the churning expanse. Girl Scout camp, once you crossed the creek, and kept the aircar on YOUR side, was totally unaccessible by things like other people and cops. There was a beautiful meadow and sheer rising cliffs all around. The cliffs were about 2,000 feet tall there. It rocked for all the illegal things we wanted to do.

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Finally, at the end of the gravel road, was the old Oak Tree. Home to many, many keggers.

Even the cops didn’t come there. You had to park at the end of the gravel road, and walk. The keg got drug. It was a bit foamy when it got there, but we never minded.

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It was a Friday afternoon when Bronwyn and I left the house. We headed up to the Oak
Tree for a huge party. Now, you must remember. It was 1970. Gas was about $.25 a gallon, Red Mountain Wine was $.99 a gallon, a pack of cigs was $.50 and a bag of good Humbolt county weed was $10.00.

So, for less than $15.00 you had a party for several people. AND the gas to get there.

Sunday came. We finally ended up trying to go home. Pretty wasted. We could still walk, sort of.

I don’t ever drive drunk. But I did then. I am not proud of it. I was young and stupid.

We made it home. Got out of the car.

Now, WHILE we were busy partying up the weekend, my mother had done some yard work. There was a huge tree in the yard which had root rot.

She had called the tree people in and had it removed. In our front yard where there once was a majestic elm tree was now a HUGE hole. And, very deep. They hadn’t filled it in yet as they were awaiting the replacement tree. Makes sense.

We pulled up in the cul de sac that housed our home so to speak.

We exited the car.

We started weaving our way through the yard.

And fell in.

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It was very dark. And wet. Very wet. There were things like worms in there. Ewwwww. But we were so drunk and it was so dark we didn’t realize that at the time.

We started whooooping and hollering. Loudly, as only drunks can do.

We could sort of see over the rim of the hole. We saw Mom’s bedroom light come on. Then the hallway light. Then the bathroom light. Then the living room light. Then the porch light. Then the door opened.

Then Mom came out onto the porch.

She stood there a few minutes, not saying a word. Just looking.

Then, she slowly turned. Walked back into the house. We heard the lock close. The porch light went out. The living room light went out. The bathroom light went out. The hallway light went out. Then, Mom’s bedroom light went out.

And we spent the night in the hole.