The Desert Gypsy - Not all who wander are lost

 

I don't know where to begin. I realize I'd best start journaling again or I'm going to forget this roller coaster of an adventure. I would start at the beginning but I'm not sure where that is! I guess it really began two years ago on my first snowbird adventure to Arizona. From the sighting of my first saguaro to the first breath of the arid Sonoran air I knew...I would someday call Arizona home.

Selling out and moving one thousand miles was a big step. Knowing I can be impulsive at times – I put myself in check by telling myself I'd spend another winter in Arizona before making the decision to move. My second winter as a snowbird confirmed what I had known in my heart. Aguila Arizona is my home.

I had been calling a five acre lot across from Crandall's, "my property" since I first came south. Again, not wanting to be impulsive and jumping at the first acreage I came across, I spent my second year snowbirding exploring much of the mid to southern half of Arizona from Prescott to Tombstone.

It is unlikely Aguila will make the most desirable places to live list any time soon. However, for me, it holds an inexplicable charm that feels more like home than any place I've lived in the past.

It was time to shit or get off the pot. I'd been sitting on the fence for too long. I'd been debating selling my place in Weiser almost from the day I bought it. My neighbor put it best when he said I've had one foot out the door since he met me. My neighbor. How could I leave the only reason I stayed as long as I did? The single hardest part of selling out would be leaving him.

Cindy put me in contact with the owners, Steve and Linda Grandov. The couple are full time residence of Arizona and live just up the road from Crandall's and "my property." They had bought the property for an investment and would be willing to sell it. Linda and Steve picked me up in their side-by-side for a tour of the acreage and to discuss specifics. I liked them right off. They accepted my offer and we agreed on terms to tie up the property until my place in Idaho sold.

The day after accepting my offer – I drove into Wickenburg for a Tractor Supply run. Donna Gill walked out of the store as I walked in. Call it fate, call it coincidence...I don't know. Donna is a realtor licensed in Idaho and Oregon. We actually worked together cutting hair years ago. She was likely a lot better at it than I was but probably didn't like doing it any more than I did. Now a punchy cowgirl in the cutting horse arena, Donna makes her living as a no-nonsence...get 'er done realtor.

Donna didn't blink an eye when I rambled off how I think I just bought a piece of property in Aguila and needed to sell my Idaho place as soon as possible. Long story short: We listed my place on Wednesday (actually my birthday) and accepted an offer the following Saturday. From there, a roller coaster of inspections, appraisals and escalation clauses that had me baffled, ensued. Donna assured me that the prospective buyers were the best/easiest buyers she has dealt with in 15 years. Idaho is the number one moved into state in the union. Property is getting darn near impossible to find. Theses buyers wanted my place and were willing to overcome any obstacle to get it.

I'd be lying if I said I didn't have trepidations about this move. Leaving Idaho – leaving my neighbor – summering in Halfway Oregon, the little town I grew up in. Living in Oregon period. I had no qualms about the Arizona end of things. It felt right from the get-go. Aguila was home. I just had to figure out how to get there. Clicking my heals three times and chanting "there's no place like home...there's no place like home," only works for girls named Dorothy with shaggy little dogs.

In the midst of all this...I manage to get myself into a relationship. And no...not with my horse. It's a whole story all in itself. To keep it as short as possible – the nutshell version: His name is Randy. He went to school with my sister and is a couple years her senior. My son tried to set Randy up with my sister. She was having none of it and would not hang out with him unless I went along. My sister made it clear she was perfectly happy being footloose and fancy free. My son then gave up on his aunt and gave my number to Randy. Like my sister – I am perfectly happy being footloose and fancy free. I pretty much suck at relationships. Randy doesn't ride horses and has no interest in them what-so-ever. He likes to ride motorcycles and fish..neither of which I have any interest in what-so-ever. He is nothing like what I would have imagined myself with....and for some reason, it just works. He's kind...we can talk about anything and he makes me laugh. It just works. I won't try to figure it out. There is no need.

So...now I'm selling my home of 21 years and leaving the state I love...moving part time to a state and a town that makes me break out in hives...buying property in Arizona AND starting a relationship with an actual human being. What could go wrong?

For the most part, I think I'm handling it all pretty well. I do, however, have my meltdowns. One in particular comes to mind. "Where the FUCK is my garbage can?" Yeah. My garbage can. I'd gone back to Idaho to move my contents and get the place ready for the new owners. During the listing, the cleaning ladyI hired to spiff up the joint for pictures had moved my garbage can into the garage. Or so she said. I looked. The garbage can was no where to be seen. I suppose I was tired. Randy and I had driven in from Alamo and I was too amped to relax. Not being able to chill and wait until morning to start this new adventure...I buzzed around the house cleaning, packing and looking for my damn garbage can. I looked everywhere including places it could not possibly be: Every room in the house, the garage, the pump house...upstairs...downstairs and in the crawl space....because you never know what them sneaky damn cleaning ladies are up to.

I fought back the tears. I hate to cry in front of people. I felt Randy wouldn't understand. He would take it personally. They always do. I was, I am...scared shitless of these sudden changes in my life. I consider myself always up for an adventure but involving others in those adventures is another thing entirely. My professionally cleaned house seemed to mock me with it's spit polished walls and streak free shine. I spotted a small piece of trash. I grasped it off the floor and wadded it in my fist in preparation to toss it into the garbage can. The garbage can that was nowhere to be seen. "Where the FUCK is my garbage can!" The tears could have filled that can if only I could find it.

I messaged my neighbor. He would know where that stupid trash can run off too. He had moved it down to his place on trash pickup day. Of course he did. He was always looking out for me. From the big things like being there when I lost my dad to removing a smelly garbage from the noses of potential buyers.

The days that followed were a whirlwind of boxes, moving dolly's and packing tape. I don't consider myself a hoarder but I definitely have more shit than any one person needs. By the time it was over, I had donated, given away or tossed out over two thirds of 50+ years of accumulation. By the fourth trip, the guys at the dump were picking through my trailer before I backed it into the household dump bay.

The new owners gave me one week after closing to be out. I was out three days before closing. My horses where the last thing I moved. Randy, with the help of a couple of his buddies, had prepared a place for them by building fence, installing gates and clearing out a small shed I get to use as a tack room.

Meltdown number two was about to occur as I wandered around Randy's house wondering how in the hell I was ever going to feel like I belonged here. Dead fish and animal mounts hanging on the wall stared lifelessly back at me....daring me to break down. I stared back at them...feeling nearly as lifeless inside. I don't think I can do this. I've lived alone too long. Randy seemed to sense my anxiety. I'm guessing the tears streaming down my face were somewhat of a giveaway. "Baby...I'm taking all that off the walls and moving it to a man cave. You do whatever you want with this house. I want you to make it your home." My home. Where was my home? Would any place feel like home to me?

One of the things I like about Randy is I tell him exactly what I am feeling and so far he hasn't given up on me. I don't want there to be any question as to the kind of freak I am. I've told him from the get-go what being in a relationship with me is like. I require more space and alone time than the most respectable of hermits. I will not lose my identity or independence for anything or anyone. My animals are more than pets to me. They are my family...my friends and my responsibility. A human can take care of themselves – our animal friends depend on us for everything. That is a responsibility I do not take lightly.

I am no good at relationships. Period. It's not like they teach that sort of thing in school. Or if they did – I was likely daydreaming about how to escape the playground and runaway to the mountains to live with my horse and my dog.

 I've tried, but my MO is always the same. Everything goes hunky-dory for a bit and one of two things happen. The guy tells me he doesn't like the shoes I'm wearing or I wake up feeling like a hippopotamus is sitting on my chest and I can't breath. That's when I break and run.

As I tell this all to Randy, he just sort of grins...tells me he thinks my shoes are fine and he won't have time to be smothering me because he'll be too busy fishing on the river in his boat. I can live with that and he's an awesome cook too boot.

I'm not going to pretend as if I'll someday wake up and magically call Halfway home..but I am getting more comfortable there with each day. I've met a lot of Randy's friends and they have gone out of their way to include me. Most of them ride...which is a huge plus – and even if they didn't...they are a good group of people I am excited to call my friends as well.

True to Randy's word – I've made a few adjustments to his home. I've tried to do so without erasing him completely. It's about compromise, I suppose. That's not something I've had to do for like....ever, actually. But, I'm finding that I don't need to feel like Halfway is my home in order to be happy there. As long as Randy can put up with my quirky, hermit-like tendencies – I'm ok with calling Halfway my summer home.

With the selling of my Idaho place complete and funded, we moved up closing on the Aguila property. I wanted to get started on it before the summer heat made it unbearable. I bought a shipping container to store stuff I wouldn't be using in Halfway, traded my four wheeler to the new owners for my arena and purchased a flatbed to haul it all.

With April 26^th as the closing date, I made arrangements to meet with the contractor that will build a mare motel on my property. He wanted to start as early as possible in order to finish before the real heat sets in and he heads back to Montana. I'd leave for Arizona as soon as the flatbed I'd purchased was available for pickup.

The flatbed was quarantined to be ready by the 23^rd. That would cut everything pretty close and I'd be struggling to get to Arizona before closing. I was relieved when Quality Trailer called to say my trailer was in and ready for pickup four days ahead of schedule. On April 19^th, Randy and I made a quick trip to Caldwell to pick up the trailer and haul it to Weiser for it's first load: my portable arena.

It wasn't strange at all meeting the new owners of the Idaho property. It didn't bother me in the least to see other folks moving in...which surprised me some. I guess it confirmed that I'd never really grown attached to it. They loved the place. My "TRUMP 2020 – NO MORE BULLSHIT" flag still blew in the breeze.

The entire arena of 63 panels and three gates fit on the flatbed with enough room for my forks on the back. I'd need them on Dave's tractor in Aguila to unload them once I got there. Randy and Kort strapped things down from every which angle. Pulling the load didn't feel much different than pulling my LQ...other than expecting everything to come unwound and scatter panels from Weiser to Halfway. We arrived in Halfway without losing so much as a bungie.

I would have liked to leave for Arizona sooner but had made an appointment with the mobile vet to cut Drifter on the 22^nd. I also new that Shade would not be making the trip with me. At 13 years old, she was deteriorating more each day. She could not stand up on the slick flooring in Randy's house. She needed me to help her up and down the steps. Some mornings she needed help getting her backend under her just to get up and off the porch. Lifting her in and out of the pickup had gotten to the point where it hurt her. Yet still...she always wanted to go. I could not bare to see her watching Hank and I go about life while she struggled to keep us in sight. Because that is what she always did...kept us in sight and kept us safe. It was her job and she did it well.

There is so much more to Shade's story than this paragraph. So much more than I am capable of writing at this time. For now, suffice it to say that on April 22^nd, I held 100 pounds of pure devotion in my arms as she took her last breath. Afterwards, I took her body to Tami's for cremation and got the hell out of Halfway and have not looked back.

On Friday, April 23^rd, Hank and I left for Arizona with my arena, tractor forks and a tote full of Dewalt cordless tools. We drove as far as Twin Falls and spent the night with my daughter and family. Athena already had plans to be out of town before she new I was coming. We were able to visit a couple hours before she left me with the kids. We had a fun night of brownies, popcorn and a movie.

4-24-2021: I was in no great hurry Saturday morning. I'd be staying the night in Ely ...a short 4 hour drive from Twin. Pete planned to take the kids to a lake outside of Hollister. I followed with the intention of hanging out with them before heading on to Ely. We spent maybe 5 minutes at the lake before the wind blew us back to the trucks. To hell with this shit...I'm from Arizona! I don't do cold!

We stopped in Hollister for lunch and thank goodness we did. My arena panels had shifted and leaned precariously to one side...breaking off one of the 2x4 stays. Peter loosened the straps while I stayed with the kids. After eating, it took both of us to reposition the load. Pete added another half dozen or so straps and tightened everything as much as possible. Surely that will hold until Aguila! It did not...