30 Years in a Housetruck

Chapter Four - Page Thirty Four: 1976

Looking back, Nineteen-hundred-seventy-six was to be a pivotal year for me in many respects. I would make associations and acquaintances that would shape my future for decades to come.

The year started off with some very pleasant late-January weather, with clear sunny days and cold starry nights. Since the Schoolhouse was situated on the northern side of a fairly steep hill, the opportunities for sun there were limited. Frequently, the occupants of the household would be out on the deck of the house reading or sunning, sitting or standing in slivers of sunlight that came filtering through the canopy of tall fir trees to the south of our lot. These sunny pools would move as the day progressed, and since any one of them was barely large enough for one person, everyone would periodically shift to the left a step or two every few minutes to stay in the light. When the particular sunbeam that you were standing in moved off the end of the deck, you'd have to go back to the west end of the procession, find a new shaft of light, and start over.

Many of these days, I got on my old Schwinn Corvette bicycle and rode about a mile east of the house, and over to a side road were the sun was shining fully. I found a fairly private area alongside a small bridge where I could sit and read or write letters, gathering rays with my shirt off. There was no traffic on the road and it was quiet and private, and I could hear and watch the Camas Swale creek running under the bridge.

By this time, I was taking a class in yoga at the community college, and making regular use of the gym's sauna to loosen up before class.

Woodley and Anne had once again separated, and mutually decided to seek and no-fault divorce. Woodley began keeping to company of a young woman (about 18 or 19 at the time) named Julie who was attending the University of Oregon, and whom Woodley met in his art class. Together they decided to take a skiing class, and Woodley took to referring to her as his "snow bunny".

In an effort to scrape up some income, and because I was continuing to take welding classes at the college, I purchase an old Forney "buzz box" AC arc welder from Sarge, in fact the same welder that I had transported to Oregon when I moved up. The intent was to do some small projects and perhaps put out a shingle "Welding by Sparks" to attract business.

February 1st, the Creswell Museum had a centennial "open house". Of course, we all decided to pay them a visit as a group, and I think it may have freaked the curators out a bit having a big load of hairy commune-ists converge on their quiet exhibition. We all put on nice, clean clothes and made sure to not have too much mud from the yard clinging to our boots. Everyone was on their best behavior too, so they really had nothing too much to worry about. We all marveled at the old, grainy photographs of our old home that were on display. There was one wrinkled old lady who volunteered that she had once been a school teacher at the Schoolhouse back when it was in use by the school district, and that the young woman on the front steps of the building in the photograph was her. Also on display was a pump organ that used to be at the Schoolhouse in the olden days.

After leaving the museum, we went home and stood in the same place as the photographs of the old photos, marveling at the passage of time and our luck at living somewhere historically significant. A big party was called for, so we had a dinner, lasagna, garlic bread, and home-made strawberry ice cream.