Downriver

The first thing I did when I rolled out a bed a little after 7 this morning was to open all the windows and doors. The air smelled like long ago, but not far away. I've always lived along this river. The sweet scent of dew and clover is what brought me here to share this memory of Humboldt Boulevard. On early summer mornings just like this, we'd open the front and back doors and a perfumed breeze would blow through the house. I'd be on Mrs. K. watch because first thing she'd fill all the bird feeders behind our protective gates. She was our landlord who lived in the mansion on the property. Of course, it wasn't a mansion by today's standards, but it was much larger and grander than our shaker sided box. Spending time with Mrs. K. was one of my favorite things to do when I was a little girl. She was as old as I was young and as fragile as I was sturdy. We both had white hair. Well, mine was blond. She always had her's pulled back in a tidy chignon and she only wore dresses and aprons. I adored helping her. She smiled with her eyes and laughed at all the things I said. I can still hear that laugh too. It was reserved and breathless. Often she'd reward me with a treat afterward, but time with her was the only prize I was seeking. Sometimes it was a scoop of the creamiest chocolate ice-scream, others it was a scrapbook session in her kitchen with Fanny her black and white bunny, and if I was truly lucky, it was a walk down to the river. The whole way she'd vacillate between pointing out beauties and dangers. She was afraid I'd venture down to the water's edge alone and get hurt or fall in. I'm pretty sure I only disobeyed her a handful of times and not because I was scared. Only because I didn't want to disappoint her.

The trails seemed so dense, long and steep when I was a kid. I wonder what it would be like to travel along them today. Would they be as I remember them, or would they be thin, short and flat?

We moved across the river when I was ten and my brother was seven. I remember how sad we all were to be leaving our colorful compound, but especially Mrs. Kay. At the same time I was excited to be getting my own room and going to a neighborhood school. In the weeks before we left, she always looked on the verge of tears. My mom reassured her that we were close and would come visit often, but we didn't. I think she already knew that our returns would be few and far between. She watched us grow up and then had to watch us go away.

I only recall returning a single time. My new bff, Megan, and I rode our bikes across the river and showed up unannounced. I wanted to show my friend the magic that was where I grew up. I missed it and I told her all about the trails and the raspberry bushes and the koi pond and my Mrs. K.

The photos below were taken by Mr. K. He had a fancy camera and was often snapping shots of me for my mom. I don't have a single photograph of Mrs. K., yet I haven't forgotten a single thing about her.

The irises were almost as tall as I was.

 It was a happy place...

 to grow up.

 In Mr. K's chair. That's a bust of him on the table beside me. On the other side was a huge picture window overlooking the bluff and the river.

This was my favorite area in their house. The koi pond continued from the yard into the house and the wall behind me was lined with built in fish tanks.

On my front porch. I started feeding the critters at an early age.

Mr. K. thought himself somewhat of a Hemmingway. I was obviously intrigued.