A Decision... (Part 3)

As I write this, I can't help but feel that I have inadvertently misled my readers in the name of this short series of posts. The "decision" I referred to in the title was not so much a decision I had made, but rather a decision to be made. I am no more sure of what I'm doing here now than I was on that day that I first walked into Ventero, or even the day that I left my dear friends' home in Missouri and hit the road.

Also, I must apologize for the tardiness of this post. My intention wasn't to string everyone along and keep everyone on the edge of their seats as to what happens next. To be honest, the reason this post is so late is because part 2 was really the end of the story as I was planning on telling it, but it is far from complete. I was honestly hoping to have come to some decision by the time I hit part 3 so I could tell everyone my plan. As mentioned though, I still don't have a plan, so in lieu of that I'll jump ahead a while and let you fill in the blanks.

I am laying on the couch in the same room of the inn that was offered me that night 2 weeks ago to the day. It's very hard to believe it's been two weeks, really, the time has absolutely flown by. I have already checked the dates twice, and unless the beer by my side has been spiked, the numbers seem to add up.

Last week, Randy had asked me if I had ever chopped wood. "Not because I'm asking you to chop wood for me, but I've found that you city folk seem to enjoy it," he quickly added. I told him I would love to give it a try, and a couple of minutes later I was getting a lesson in how to wield a splitting maul. Pulling a rather large chunk of wood from the second large pile by the side of the inn, Randy explained the intricacies of selecting an easily-split log.

"You see this crack here?" he asked, pointing to a thin split in the top of the log. "That shows you that it's probably dry enough to split, and it also shows you where the weakest part of the wood is. You have to take advantage of those natural weaknesses. Now watch this."

He grabbed the maul and held it, his right hand towards the bottom of the handle, and his left just below the sharp wedge at the top. He looked at the log, paused for a second, then swung the weapon up and back behind him.

"FUCK YOU, LOG," he shouted as his feet came off the ground. The head of the maul came crashing down dead center into the wood. I could not help but laugh at the sudden outburst, and he turned and laughed with me. "It's great for letting out some frustration," he said.

A few more of those deft blows (minus the comedic cussing), and the rather intimidating log was split in two, then four. The chunks were now small enough to fit into the wood stove that is used to heat the main section of the inn.

Before long, I was wielding the maul and hacking away at the logs myself. In the time since, I have been quite enjoying my daily wood-splitting hobby. As violent as the task would seem, there is something very peaceful about swinging that maul in the cool valley air, surrounded by mountains. My hands are currently blistered as I type, with a layer of skin torn off in some places due to my eagerness in splitting a couple of particularly stubborn logs. For all my discomfort though, I have something to show. There is now about a 4 day surplus of firewood for the stove sitting by the wall on the north side of the inn, and the pile is growing by the day. I have something real to show for my work. Not something intangible, not a difference in which pixels are blackened on my monitor when I visit my banking website, but wood that will provide heat to keep the place warm.

I think this is the draw to this place, this life. It's not about your bank account, or your home, or who you know. The median household income out here is $14,000... enough to get by. Most still live in small but nice adobe homes. And as for who you know, everyone knows everyone else, so that's not an issue. This valley is not about living a life of excess, it's simply about living life. The vegetables at the store on Main St. are grown by local farmers. The beef at that store was likely born, raised, and killed all within 5 miles of the place. The wood I have been chopping was brought here by a local kid who has started his own little delivery business.

That kid is not sat at home, playing his Xbox, bitching because mom is telling him to tidy his room. No, he's out on the property with a chainsaw, pulling down and trimming and chopping trees so he can earn his way in the world.

Anyway, I think I am digressing... I'm not sure, actually. Maybe this was the whole reason for this roadtrip, to find this place. It is, after all, the antithesis of the things that drove me to drop everything and hit the road in the first place. Hmm...

Today was also my second shift at Ventero, my first being a few days ago. The decision to volunteer there was an easy one, considering the cause it stands for. I have, however, tried to be clear to Randall and Jeremy that I have no idea how long I will be here to help out. It's difficult to show such indecision though, after giving Randy a month's rent in advance.

We had been hiking one of the mesas in the middle of the valley, looking for garnets. The previous night, a close friend of Randy's (and a great contributor towards Ventero), Jan, had visited and told us over dinner that some old geological reports from the 60s had shown that a couple of dikes halfway up the mesa had garnets throughout them. Our gem-hunt was in vain, but it did not stop us from enjoying a good 1500 foot ascent to the top of the mesa. On the way back to the inn, we had been talking about my options. As he got out of the truck to fill up on gas, I handed him $200. He did not ask for it. In fact he seemed shocked, asking me "are you sure?", as if I had made some sort of decision that I may need to think over some more. I had not really made a decision, except that I should probably give him some rent just in case I did end up staying. Even if I left, I am sure the money would have gone to buying art or coffee supplies for Ventero anyway, which I was fine with too.

Be things as they are though, I did not leave. I'm not entirely sure why I'm still here, but I am. That seems to be the way with this place. No less than 4 people I have spoken to have stories eerily similar to mine, one of which was a hitchhiker I picked up on the way to Ventero today.

"So what brought you to the valley?" I asked him.

"I don't really know," was his reply. "I was only supposed to visit here from Santa Fe, and, I guess I just never left. I've been here for about a year now."

Another was Bill, the man who donates his sound system to the coffee shop once a month for open mic night, though his story had a more religious overtone. "My wife and I came out here to look at a property," Bill explained. "We were at the place, and we both heard it. God spoke to us and told us that this is where we belonged."

Now, I didn't hear the voice of God (nor any other voice for that matter) but something is keeping me here. I have no idea how long this nebulous force will continue to keep a hold of me. For all I know, by noon tomorrow I could be packed up in the Honda Civic and on the road once again. Or, other than visiting with friends and family over the next few months, this could well be the place that I call home from now on.

A friend recently asked me, "are you happy?". The obvious answer was yes. "Then why would you consider leaving?" she inquired. I had no good answer. I guess I'll leave when I become unhappy. It may be a while.