Yellow Hills and Crazy-Making Wind

It's the season of yellow hills and relentless wind. Yesterday I attempted a bike ride but it turned into a stroll. I saw a family of wild pigs by the creek, a cocky young coyote loitering at the cattle guard, and a plumply handsome quail perched on a fence post. This is a place where wild meets settled, but wild prevails.And this morning I was sitting at my desk scratching poison oak rash, the remnant of a recent brush against the brush, when the phone rang; it happened to be someone who knows this ranch well -- Tony Ochoa, who lived here as a boy in the 1930s. Tony hasn't been able to get out here for awhile, but the ranch is a part of his soul, and he can see it in his mind as clearly as I can through my window. I told him it's all yellow and blue now.

"Yes, it was always in mustard at this time of year," he recalled. "Sometimes the mustard grew so high you actually had trouble seeing the cattle. Once in awhile, even a rider on horseback would disappear."

Tony is a combat veteran of World War II, but he's a warrior now, too, as he deals in his brave and dignified way with the challenges and infirmities of age. Growing up in the outdoors made him strong and resilient.

"Maybe that's why I'm still around," he tells me. "I spent my young life out there with my dad, and it was a healthy way to live. Everywhere we went, we walked. We climbed hills, the steeper the better, and exploring was fascinating - we called those our outings. We ate right and went to bed early after our chores were done. No one ever said, 'Don't do this' or 'Don't do that'. It was always DO this, DO that. And if I didn't know how, I learned."

I feel honored when someone like Tony checks in. I think of him every time I drive up the road near the state park, where a palm tree he planted more than seventy years ago still stands tall. (It was singed by fire in 2004, but survived; I sent him a photo as proof.)

Truth is, I feel a bond with all who have lived here before me, understanding that we are only guests passing through, with all the humility and respect that this implies.

"Istafiate," says Tony. "Mugwort. That's what you need for the poison oak. You'll find it growing near wherever you got into it."