tigerlily

i have a secret spot. one of those sweet places that prove you're truly a local if you know about it. (altho with recent guide book publications, seems like it's not so secret anymore). but this place, these hot springs, are pretty remote, and far enough away from urbanity to retain that feeling of discovered treasure.

i drive through the mountains, an hour from my folks house, on 299 east, and pass landmarks, with names that just by their very resonance transport my consciousness out of whatever city mode i might be in. 'buzzard roost road'. 'fenders ferry'. 'salt creek'. 'round mountain'. 'hill country community center'. i pass the hills, just starting to green, littered with giant lava boulders that pummeled to the ground when mt lassen blew it's top off in the 1800s. lava rocks and volcanos, plus numerous rivers and creeks are a good indicator that you'll find lots of little trickles of scalding sulfery water meeking out of rocks and sandstone bluffs. makes a hot spring fanatic like me get all goosey.

i turn on big bend road, and drive slow around the icy hairpin turns where i've wiped out in the past. there's a little dusting of snow through the flatwoods, but pretty dry every where else. i pass the isolated house with the seasonally decorated mailbox, that changes with every holiday. this time, of course she has one painted with leaves, with a fake turkey perched on top. i wonder if her husband is the postman. as i get closer to the town of big bend, i pass another oddity...a house with a small white bandstand out front, and a lifesize painted wooden portrait of a white haired man in country garb and the words, "cecil turner--good ol' nashville music". during the summer, ol' cecil sits out on the bandstand in a chair with his guitar. all. day. long. a couple times i've found him singing into a microphone, to an audience of blue jays and pinecones. i've always wanted to stop, because you KNOW he's gotta have a good story. but i never do.

i pass the local store, with various and sundry goods priced twice as high as anywhere else, and the lone (broken) gas pump. across the street is the trailer owned by a family with 5 dogs and 13 cats and tractor chains, who were my saviors one xmas eve when this silly girl tried to go four wheeling in her ancient two wheel drive ford f150. at the end of town the county maintained road ends. off to your left, right before the cattle grate, is the 'drunk tree'. a picnic table, a fire pit, an old oak tree, and the same funky ass dude sitting out there. sometimes he's at the store, an old, fat, native american with pock marks that put the moon to shame. he's quiet and dirty, but he belongs.

i park at the bridge a mile outside of big bend, and hop the fence, ignoring the rusty 'no trespassing' signs. my dog leo is exuberant with memory of where we are, and he gallops down the path. until he's caught up short by the horses that live in the field. curiousity gets the better of one, who pursues leo around a tree, trying to get a good sniff. after a game of 'here we go around the mulberry bush', the horse decides that the fuzzy coyote may pass.

the winter rains haven't really started yet, so i'm able to walk down the dry creek bed, past the indian burial ground, and arrive at the sandy bluff overlooking the river. AND the stone pools of decadent wondrous water. it's early in the morning, but someone is already there, his dog barking our arrival. i'm a little leary...lone female, lone strange man, out in the middle of nowhere...sketch factor high. but kosk creek springs are unique, in that all my encounters with people i've met there have been delightful adventures. so with my radar up, i approach openly. the dog, a young female ridgeback, puts up a good alarm until she succumbs to my jedi ear rub, and then we're friends. the guy is submerged in the water, late 40s, early 50s, thin hair and frame. shaky. "speed" i think to myself. "not right now...but a lot in the past". next to him is a vial of pot and a one hitter. antennae out, i sum up the situation.

weird. but harmless. i can tell he's local. it's cool.

this is my first take of "cosmo" (altho his given name was jim, i find out. james actually). "i'm from illinois," he tells me with a hick drawl. "i failed a drug test on a job in wyomin', and came out here for vacation, and i've been here since." i remember stories about a strange man living at the springs from a couple years ago. "i heard somethin about a guy that was living here at the springs and growing pot. you know anything about that?"

he smiles, "that's me. i'm livin in a trailer now. this here pot's from my back yard. two plants got me 8 pounds."

aaah, i think. so this is the guy. scared off some of my friends. said he had a shot gun. supposedly crazy. a couple of them were so sketched out, they won't go back. good. now it's my turn to scope it out. this is my territory, and my sacred place. and i want there to be room for both of us.

we smoke pot, and he immediately looks up at the clouds. "can you see the signs in the clouds?" he asks. his dog keeps coming over and giving me kisses. i'm in love. she's in love with leo, who is doing his very best to avoid her at all costs. "how can you teach a dragon to play with dogs?" he says. "how can you?" i ask, thinking it's a joke. but that's all he says. "i've had a strange life." he continues, "my mother's maiden name was bible. and i grew up reading the bible all the time. it took me until i was 42 to realize that not everyone hears the same voices i do. the voice in my head. i thought everyone could hear the voice of god. but they can't. and you can't go tellin people bout it neither. i made that mistake in illinois. i didn't want to tell em, but they made me. two days later i was in a mental institution. an asylum. they called me baby jesus. i wrote poems about my pain. how painful it was to be in there. i went up in front of a panel of psychiatrists. they told me i was schitzophrenic. asked me if i smoked pot and used methamphetamines. and i did. but when they heard my poems, it made them cry, and they let me out."

cosmo jim went on and on, about how no-one understands. about how the solar system really revolves around the north star. about the tall tree in front of us named 'chief' that one night emitted sparks that turned into a new galaxy. about how people have come to spy on him, and how he talks to himself a lot, and about the blackberry bushes that talk too. he offers to make me lunch back at his trailer, but i politely decline. he's just so happy to have someone who will listen. "i'm craaaazzzzyyyyy" he says, "nuts! i can go to a place i've never been to before, and i'll just know things. the earth tells me."

"that's a wonderful talent to have" i say. "but i'm not surprised people don't understand."

the ridgeback, 'trinity', starts up her alarm again. "hi doug!" says cosmo james to the dude walking up. this guy looks familiar. i must have seen him around before. his haggard face makes him look older than he is, probably late 30s. with shoulder length strawberry blond hair and an amythyst necklace, he's more hippy than hick, which is a good sign. cosmo decides to leave and i bask in the silence for a while. when i look up, doug has gotten in the pool, and we begin to chat. and he tells me everything i've ever wanted to know about these hot springs, the town of big bend, the local people. he confirms that cosmo is harmless, except when he forgets to take his medication, and then they have to call the sherrif. when he talks about the town he always says "we". like "we all get along with cosmo just fine" and "soon we'll be havin the xmas play put on by the kids". at population 150, this is a town still small enough to have a sense of ownership and community. i find out the public school has an indoor swimming pool and a greenhouse, all heated with geo-thermal power from the hotsprings. the more i hear, the more my wheels start to turn. wouldn't that be a sweet job, to work at this school, in this paradisical place. i wonder and wonder. he tells me property up here is prime for farming, you can get a small lot for 10 grand.

i find out doug works at the hot springs down the road, an old, old resort that has been in land dispute for years, but is up and running again. i haven't been there for ages, back when i would sneak in. he tells me it costs $10 now, but you can do work exchange, live there and use the pools. i wonder some more. hmmm...next spring maybe? doug says he's heading over there, would i like to come? at first i turn him down. i'm burnt. i'm tired of strangers. but as i head back to the car, i start to kick myself. an offer from a local should never be turned down. this could be opportunity knocking. doug takes a short cut, and heads me off by the bridge. i ask if i can still tag along. and off we go.

the springs are better than i remember, with amazing new pools added on in funky handmade variety. doug has been there for 3 years, when he came up on vacation from berkely and decided to stay. seems everyone i've ever met at the springs has the same story. came to visit and never left. "i think the folks in town have accepted me" he says proudly. he takes me all over the property, through damp cold woods and muddy paths, to raw, undeveloped hot springs down the river i didn't even know existed. by the time we are finished, we are fast friends, and he hugs me goodbye, admonishing me to return in the spring to do work exchange and take a break from my city life.

i think i just might.