Point of Origin Pt. 5

It was before she was pregnant. Before we were we. The time when couples tacitly agree to experiment with the alchemical components to see what can be created, revise the recipes and review the outcomes. We were in the old Nissan traveling across the one lane, sometimes paved Bear Camp Road from Grants Pass to the coast. We had the top and doors off and I stopped several times along the way to maintain the aged beast with brake fluid and motor oil. We climbed higher and higher into the sunshine pouring over the coastal range of mountains, showing her all my favorite spots along the way.

"Here at Taylor Creek, we go skinny dipping, but only in late summer, the water is too cold otherwise."..."We go rafting from here down to Graves Creek because the upstream is just too slow and boring." and "I lost a tire here once." or Mike and I got a 3-point here two years ago."

When we reached the summit I had stopped to deal with the rig. The warmth of the sun sent the smell of bark, needles and cones up into the gusting breeze, blending with hints of cool sea air, sweet grass and red clay. We were overlooking a massive interior valley that showed no sign of human intrusion, listening the the Douglas Fir trees sing tributes to the wind, and saying little. I was holding her hand, seeing her hair dance across her face in my peripheral vision. A thought struck me and I pointed out to a spot near the bottom of the valley.

"Right about there, I think.", I said.

"What?" she replied. Her voice was quiet and soft.

"Our house" I said, as the idea grew on me. "I bet there's a creek right about there."

Her brow furrowed a bit and she turned to me. "There's no road. How will people get to the house?"

"They can hike in!" I said, growing amused. I'd never had a problem being alone. She was not cut from that cloth and it showed. "We could put a helicopter landing pad there, your folks could fly in." I added, just to prod her. I wasn't entirely serious of course, but it was not entirely jest, also. I had already grown weary of the family drama.

Those moments and comments lead to a longer conversation, one that took years. Eventually Tati and I, to at least a small practical degree, ended up changing positions on. She wanted less and less to do with people while I became far, far more social and political. Let's amend that. To a large practical degree I became quite public. I even dragged Tati and our son, Suzie and our foster daughter into the public eye, while Tati worked diligently to protect our privacy and divorced herself from her entire family.

We continued along that road, losing elevation as we dropped down into Agness and then Gold Beach and the cool temperatures and fog. We were ill prepared for the change and Tati wore my jacket, making it smell of her perfume. She teased me about the Nissan but I think she might have been terribly impressed with my knowledge of the area and the backroads. She never fed my narcissism though, I was doing well enough on my own.

I was entralled with the wet and green of the fern and Snap Dragon, Sal-Lal, Sitka Spruce and Huckleberry and Azalea and moss and the rugged, rocky cliffs and wind swept beaches where southern Oregon and the Pacific Ocean do battle. The smells and imagery seduced me, as they always do. But Tati grew cold, the fog and damp settled into her until she could no longer go without suggesting we return. We got to her home near dark, where the air was still warm.