whisk on a High Wire: entry eight

Lives here parallel the river. In contrast to areas where life struggles without water, this area has an abundance of lakes, the great flow that passes town yet underneath all of this trouble lurks. The aquifers are dropping and wells are dug as deep as 800’ before hitting water.

I am entering the flow of this community. I have yet to set roots having ripped mine out of my now old home 69 miles away. The foundation of the restaurant gives me grounding enough to want to settle in.

My building could be here 200 years from now pending breaches in dams up river or fires that threaten our area every summer. Some materials in the building are already 100 years old like the 10” thick floor made of 2X10 fir boards that were once walls in a granary. Feet will echo through the years long after they’ve trod over the floor to get to their favorite table. Already I’ve gotten to know some of the established families here. People who’s names appear on road signs, who’s ancestors settled here in the mid 1800’s and since then.

There’s a humility well-rooted people exude that shows in their steadfast attitudes toward their place in a community. It’s hard to get them to talk about themselves even though you genuinely want to hear their stories. They tend to keep their opinions to themselves in order to keep piece in their lives. Past is past and any crisis to be dealt with today will be dealt with, today. They wouldn’t call themselves pillars but to an outsider they stand tall by mere fortitude. It doesn’t take long to see how many boulders had to be moved, how many tree stumps dug, how many blades broken in the impossibly hard clay it took to farm this area. No matter how many tools and pieces of equipment they have had to work with, all needed high maintenance and repair to complete the tasks. Well casings broken, wells collapsed and even gone dry necessitating the digging of a new one have been the legacy of these farmers.

Add to the mix of the so-called “locals” are the ex-pats from the city who’ve moved here to build their dream homes along with their dreams of becoming gentleman farmers. With cranky knees and fragile backs they take a few final gasps in trying their hand at farming. Grapes are the new popular crop so orchards are ripped out and vineyards put in creating a new texture and beauty to the landscape.

Then there’s me, here to feed them all and all of the others in the mix, the drop-outs, the simply retired, the young. And the old, and Elmer but not Elmer. Elmer died today. He didn’t make it much past surgery. I will have to open the café without him but he will always be there with me and since I can’t serve him, I will serve his community.