Home Again

Funny how I never feel like writing until I am out in nature.

Scout and I are camped in my favorite spot, nestled in a canyon at the foot of Mt. Laguna, for the next two weeks. Compared to other places I’ve been in the past two-and-a-half years of vandwelling, it’s just another beautiful place. Nothing special, really. But it’s special to me because this is where I first discovered my love of nature.

A dozen years ago, I had been a shut-in for several years, only going out for groceries and necessary errands. Nearly every time I went out, I wound up with a migraine from exposure to the fragrances worn by others. My life had become more and more constricted as I tried to avoid people and their perfumes.

Then I came across an ad for a granny flat in a home that had never been ‘pesticided’ (another one of my triggers) fifty miles from San Diego. I had just bought a car after being awarded disability and getting a large back check, so I drove out to see the place. Maybe the clean air would help me feel better.

I could smell the refreshing essence of eucalyptus trees (just like Vicks VapoRub!) as soon as I got out of the car. The granny flat didn’t work out for various reasons, but I became friends with the owner, a tiny, elderly Belgian immigrant with a strong French accent. Her name was Nicole.

A few months later, Nicole asked me to house-sit for a week while she went on a health retreat in Mexico. I will never forget that week: the soft autumn glow, the quiet rustle of aspen leaves in the breeze, the hummingbird that hovered for a moment, checking me out — heaven. It was the beginning of my recovery.

I did a little exploring while I was there and found myself walking down a narrow road past an enclave of summer cabins to this place, a small meadow at the bottom of a canyon, shaded by spreading live oaks. Enchanting.

Later, I drove my son out here to show him where I wanted my ashes buried.

“Really, Mom? Here?”

“Yes, here. At the foot of this tree.”

After I began my vandwelling adventure, this was the first place I came to camp. I come back here every chance I get when I’m in San Diego. It feels like home.

The live oak tree where I wanted my ashes buried, like many others in this area, is, ironically, dead now and has since been cut down. All that’s left is a big, grey stump. Japanese beetles are rapidly destroying a formerly thriving forest. A few birds can be heard singing but not nearly as many as the last time I was here. The silent spring predicted half a century ago by Rachel Carson is coming true; it’s not silent yet, but it’s quiet — too quiet.

It’s still beautiful, though, in spite of these signs of decline. Following the recent El Niño rains, a thick carpet of tall grass waves in the breeze, turning the usually brown landscape emerald green. Scout loves to run through the deep grass, stopping to munch on the tender leaves a bit too often. She later throws them up.

I had been thinking of San Diego as my home base, spending the majority of my time there and just taking ‘trips’ now and then. But now that I’m out in nature again I see that I really need to be away from the city more than not. If I want to write, and I do, I need to be where the muse is.

And it’s especially clear from the way Scout transforms from a fearful dog into a deliriously happy pup out here that she needs it too. The city is convenient and comfortingly familiar, but I need to cut that cord.

For the next month, though, we are stuck in the vicinity; I’ve signed us up for another obedience class. Yes, we are dropouts. This time, I am determined to do the homework. Scout is too strong for me to handle when she is excited (dogs/cats) or afraid (skateboards/garbage trucks/noisy traffic). San Diego might just be the skateboard capitol of the world — they are everywhere. If Scout hears that familiar sound she drags me in the opposite direction, tail between her legs. (I bought a Thunder Shirt in hopes of calming her anxiety but it did no good.)

I don’t know why I find training Scout so onerous. She loves it and it only takes a few minutes. What I don’t love is the boring repetition and the slobber all over my treat-holding hand by the time we’re done. Have I mentioned that I HATE getting my hands dirty or wet? Yeah, I might be just a touch OCD about that.

For the next two weeks, I’ll drive back to town from our campsite for our Sunday class, and work with Scout in camp every day. She’s super-smart, picking up the first lesson very quickly, so it’s on me to be consistent for a change—no excuses! I missed yesterday (excuse: had to drive back into town to see a doctor about my surgical incision that STILL won’t close—turns out it’s infected; antibiotics prescribed.) This morning, my excuse is a migraine but it’s fading now so after our nap, we go to work.

But oh, it’s good to be home.