Greenwood/Elk columns

September 3 ~ October 29, 1992

September 3

Since my vacation ended I have been pretty much lock-wired to the gas pump.

Jeff Schlafer, the guy who is 'spose to work during my days off is off fighting forest fires, (Jeff is on the CDF crew out of Boonville). Last I heard he was over on the Shasta fire. So anyway, here I am, pumping gas seven days a week, and if that isn't bad enough, August is also the height of the tourist infestation.

Funny business, tourists.

I hate them. Well, not really but you know how they are, they got that attitude. They get out of the car, stare right through you and start looking for the bathroom.

Now, I live here, I work here, I'm standing right in front of them, I know where the bathrooms are, but do they ask me where they are located? NOT!

Off they go, looking around, walking around, heading into the middle of a clutch job, snooping here and there, dancing on this foot and that, in search of the potty.

'Nother thing. Why do they always come in herds? Why can't they space themselves out equally over the span of a work day? Why do they always show up just when I finally get back down in the grease pit, way back to the far end, trying to loosen the inspection plug on a differential. Either that or I am trying to slip off to the rest room for a quick piddle. Seems like nothing like a full bladder and the first sign of relief to bring on the crowd.

And the questions.

How much farther to Mendocino? Where is the closest straight road? What is the name of this place? How long does it take to get to San Francisco from here? Is there any way I can drive down to that beach? What do you do for a living around here?

Well, heck. They can't help it.

You try it. Go on vacation sometime and see how well you do, find out what kind of a jerk you are. How good are you at asking directions from total strangers or finding the potty without asking? I guess it is human nature, we can't help it. Go on vacation, become a geek.

Some "locals" are sneaking around, working on projects they can't talk about. Seems like the Great Day in Elk brings out the best and the worst in neighbors.

Floats. They are called floats. The Civic Club is up to something, some dim dark forgotten epic from the past days of Greenwood/Elk that we have all forgotten about. Now they are reviving that pack of lies, or possible fact, and making a production out of it on the back of a flat bed truck.

Last time it was the demise of poor ol' Dinty Doyle. This time, I gather it has something to do with the Hospital House, located here in Greenwood/Elk, and a dentist chair that is currently being stored inside a blanket, at the Elk Garage, for the past month or so. The Greenwood Pier is working on something bizarre, as usual, and I hear the Griffin House is thinking, "risque".

Speaking of the Griffin House, Leslie Lawson has been having fun trying to establish an Irish pub, here in Greenwood/Elk. She bought the Keene house next door and hired Barnett/Fanto to do the remodel conversion while slogging uphill through the coastal commission/ building department/ liquor control board hurdles. All was smooth sailing until one absentee owner/neighbor squawked. Never mind that they don't live here, "they might some day" and they don't want to have a pub full of locals watching Monday night football right next door.

Well, finally Leslie decided that rather than continue to bang her head against that wall, she would change her plans and use the Keene house for her residence and convert the front rooms of the Griffin House into an Irish Pub and dinner house.

Work is well under way and it should not be too long until good old Greenwood/Elk will, once again, finally, have a social place where the locals can gather and re-establish some community, thanks to the perseverance of Leslie.

Eijler Westh and Charlie Acker were out fishing off Mile Rock in Eijler's Dory when they saw a tall fin sticking up out of the water. Charlie told me that then they noticed a short fin about twelve feet behind the tall fin. One huge fish. When Eijler got home that evening he looked up that fish in his shark book. It had to be either a Great White or a Tiger Shark. The next day when Eijler was out fishing again, he found a dead seal with large bite marks on it. The teeth marks were two inches long. Remember, you read it here first.

Stopped by the Community Center, Sunday afternoon, a few hours before my column deadline. There was Herolde Searles and Steve Acker, taping the sheet rock and getting it ready for paint. They asked me if this meant they would get their names in the paper.

"Of course not."

September 10

I've been playing with my laptop computer. This little drawing of ROADCOW took me about three hours. (See how computers can save time! With a sharp felt marker I could have done it in three minutes.) But, the interesting part is, I "created" this image while parked up some old haul road off of Signal Ridge Road, sitting in my lawn chair alongside ROADCOW, well past dark, slapping the occasional mosquito, being distracted now and then by a moth fluttering across the fluorescent back lit screen while drawing this image with a "mouse". Rather bizarre when you stop and think about it, but it sure makes me happy. Technology in the woods.

Lasers in the jungle, Lolli reminds me. Well, yes but...

Enough of that, let's get on to the important stuff.

In case Bill Edison hasn't called you up at six in the morning, ten or twelve times during this past month, let me remind you ;

This Saturday, September 12 is our annual Great Day in Elk.

This past month, "Baby Doc" Edison has been absolutely out of control. Normally we don't have to put up with him until just before the final moments of Great Day, when he suddenly swoops into town, runs his bar for a few hours, hand the jigger over to local Goat Farmer, Ed Bird, and calls it a night, but this year was different.

I guess he got to worrying about things while he was back east, holed up at his yuppie enclave in Martha's Vineyard.

He knew the Community Center, back in Greenwood/Elk, was building an addition and it must have drove him nuts wondering what was happening.

Were those teenagers showing up on the job?, Was anyone keeping an eye on them? Would they get it done in time for Great Day? Is anyone making important 6:00 A.M. phone calls?

Finally he couldn't stand it any longer, cut short his sabbatical, packed up his bride, and flew back into our midst, way too early, by our reckoning, to harangue, cajole, intimidate, berate, bribe and B.S. us into doing what we were all doing anyway.

But now he feels better. He's happy. He is back doing what he does best. Calling everyone between six and seven in the morning, roaring into town around ten o'clock to berate anyone he happens to catch standing around, blow his horn a few times, sticks up a few more posters; basically he is just killing time until the San Francisco Chronicle arrives at the Elk Market, then, wham, he grabs one on the second bounce from the delivery truck and then roars back up to his aerie to, who knows what? Suck on his pipe and ponder that fog shrouded town down below, wondering if his latest batch of instructions are being carried out?

Well, in spite of it all, the real people of Greenwood/Elk have come through again. The Community Center Board, the Greenwood Civic Club, the Elk Volunteer Firemen, the Bed and Breakfast establishments, the artists, the teenagers and children, the craft makers, the whole kit and caboodle has pulled out all the stops for another wonderful time in our little community.

It's our annual party and everyone's invited.

The parade starts at noon, like always. The Cal Aggie Alumni Maverick Marching band is back, as usual, and believe me, it brings tears to your eyes when that fifty piece marching band fires up and struts their stuff in a little dink town like Greenwood/Elk. Awesome. Mendocino should be so lucky.

The locally made floats in the parade are always a treat, and the squadron from the Philo Yacht Club always comes through.

There will be a ribbon cutting ceremony for the new addition at the Community Center. The greased pole will be fending off challengers all day long, but someone always ends up with the one hundred dollar bill from the top. Cake auction, games for kids, lunch and drinks for sale. Later, the Volunteer Fireman's Barbecue "here's the Beef" Dinner and then on into the night with Makka, hot Reggae. Too much.

Finally it is over. Early Sunday morning, "Baby Doc" will cruise by the remains at the Community Center in the comfort of his air conditioned Volvo, laugh his goofy laugh, swing by the Elk Market, grab his Sunday Chronicle and beat a hasty retreat back up the hill before the clean up crew arrives, to, perhaps soak a bit in his hot tub, suck his pipe, maybe give a few thoughts to Pepper Martin.

Meanwhile, his subjects, far below in the fog, stagger out of where-ever they ended up spending the night, and begin the massive clean up. Another Great Day/Great Night goes in the bag.

September 17,

Great Day/Great Night in Elk is over. Labor Day Weekend is over. The Wedding from Hell is over. The continuous parade of Hertz Rental cars filled with Germans, heading for Mendocino, is over. The invasion of day glow spandex clad bicycle riders is mostly over. The Harley Davidson mounted Bikers for Christ have returned to "the Valley" in a cloud of blue oily smoke.

Ain't nobody left but us...and the occasional satellite dish capped, chrome plated motorhome, containing two polyester clad "Snowbirds" and one small white yapping poodle. They slow down, gawk left and right, then put the pedal to the metal and press on for Arizona.

I poked around town to see how we have fared during our summer onslot.

All was quiet at the Community Center. The trash was picked up, the bottles and cans, PC-ed, (sorted for recycling).

I missed the dedication of the new "wing" during Great Day but I understand it was dedicated to the Memory of John Frankel. Peg Frankel has been informed via phone. She has been in the hospital in San Francisco, having a very rough time of it, strokes, heart attacks and what not. Get well cards can be sent to 338 Funston Ave, San Francisco, 94118.

I saw the list of winners from the Great Day Raffle. One, I thought quite interesting, was Julia Rose Acker, winning a $180.00 gold earring set from Kelly Custom Jewelry. Juila Rose is what, nine months old?

Speaking of old timers.

Let us welcome Marjorie Ruthann Muto. Another old timer who was born here and has lived here all her life. Marjorie was born September 5, 1992 at 11:39 P.M. Jim Muto should know, he and wife Mary decided to have their second daughter at home, right here in Greenwood/Elk.

I heard the bell ringing at the Catholic Church the evening of the fifth. I later learned that Mary wanted to hear the bell since she couldn't attend services that evening due to pressing circumstances.

The following morning, on my way to the gas station, I saw Jim out in his yard with a cup of coffee, a pink balloon tied to the side of the house; one picture is worth a thousand words. Belated congratulations, I got caught up in Great Day stuff for a while there.

Something else I should have mentioned a while back and let slip by. Barbara VanFleet died August 24th. Barbara had a very rough last few years what with cancer and a major car crash. She pretty much recovered from the wreck but the cancer finally got her. Barbara died at home up on Greenwood Road. Condolences to the Van Fleet family.

The Interior of the Superintendent's Office in the mill/post office building is almost complete. It is beautiful and definitely worth checking out. I have been able to peek in while the guys were working there during the week, and you might too, otherwise the building is open to visitors three hours on Saturday, 10 to 1, and Sundays, 10 to noon.

The new Post Office, which will be built across from the old Post Office, has been under review. So far, the plans have been revised to stipulate a steeper pitched roof which will be more in keeping with the general roof lines in town. The bright outdoor night lights, which automatically go with guvmt thinking, have been nixed, I'm told, and the standard issue, chain link fence requirement, waved, let's hope. We'll see.

Final results of Great Day/Great Night are starting to dribble in. Numbers like 13 thousand gross are being bandied about. Whatever. It was a big effort by the Greenwood/Elk Community Center Board and the Elk Volunteer Fire Department and it looks like enough came in to pay all the bills and to possibly finish the new addition. Not bad in these fiscally tight times in the face of an election. Well done Greenwood/Elk and all you lovers of Greenwood/Elk.

Now let me see, I had a note about the Methodists around here somewhere. Ah yes. They were going to have a guest speaker the 20th of September, but now it will be the 27th, at 11:00. Who is going to speak? Well, why don't you come and find out.

September 24.

I received the following missive from our ol' buddy, Willie. Here it is verbatim:

"Dear Ron,

In reference to your column two weeks ago- Of course you are right that the 'Great Day' is a community affair. Without the 250 points of Greenwood/ Elk lights, it would never have happened. This was probably the most successful Great Day in history and now we can finish our building. What you miss is the " random kindness " that occurs by many people unspoken about in your article. Did you know that John Williams donated 5,000 baseball cards for prizes? Were you aware that Peter Lit of Caspar fame gave time and ingredients for the Margarita Bar? Did you try Loraine Toth's magical ice-cream sundaes? And what about those marvelous teenage girls who served so efficiently at the dinner? John's light show and Gary Moran's expertise made the dance a most successful event. Rusty Gates's cheerfulness and hard work during the summer of building the addition deserves mucho brownie points. Then a few days before show time, there was new Elkie Norm Rudman quietly building some classy window frames as Ted Galletti drove in with the hay for the greased pole... Yes, random kindness all over the place. The Great Day is more than Bill Edison, Bob Matson and all those big-wigs you hob-nob with throughout the day. It is many, many people giving their time unselfishly.

As for me- I'm off to Italy to enter a sanitorium in the Tuscany hills to" take the waters ". This is the same place in which Thomas Mann spent time in his declining years. I hope to recuperate there and be back in time for Pepper Martin. However, I will be calling you every morning at 6:00 a.m. to make sure the redwood siding gets completed before election day.

\tab\tab\tab\tab\tab Ciao,

\tab Baby Doc"

Thank you. Declining years?

I don't know how many of you folks listened to the Environment show on KZYX last Thursday evening, but I want to say, if you didn't, you missed something.

There was Judy Bari and Ernie Pardini, sitting before the mike and saying things that could be so positive for this county, I expected at any moment there would suddenly be a ZAP sound coming out of my radio, followed by dead silence.

I mean, Judy and Ernie can't really do what they are doing, can they? They actually make sense and offer hope during this election year when we are constantly being reminded by big media and big business that there is no hope. Judi and Ernie were talking about ways to restore our watersheds, the fish, and the economy of this broke, third world county. A way of restoring logger pride and environmental confidence.

Amazing. I don't hear anything like it from our elected officials. I guess it makes too much sense. But then, the grass roots of Mendocino always leads the way.

Judi and Ernie are on once a month, I believe. Check it out.

If that's too strong for your tastes, this coming fourth of October should be the first airing of "The Republican Power Hour", a half hour program, Sunday evening at 5:00 or maybe 5:30 staring our very own Great White Shark Hunter and Mole Ranch Magnate, Joel Waldman.

I can't wait.

The Greenwood Civic Club was out picking up trash along the highway last week. Later, Dean Wisdom stopped by to say that this time it really paid off. He found a twenty dollar bill, Prue Wilcox found a penny and Leah Almonrode found a dime, or vise-versa. Anyway, afterwards, they treated themselves to lunch at the Roadhouse Cafe.

Speaking of finding something. Elmer Whaley, working on the kitchen floor of the Griffin Inn, former Greenwood Lodge, was cutting out old flooring and almost fell into a nineteen foot deep open well that was under the house, unbeknownst to Elmer and the current owner.

Steve Garner has a show at the Winona Gallery in the Mendocino Art Center this weekend; Friday with reception, 5-7, Saturday 10-4:30 and Sunday 10-5. October 1st.

SMALL TOWN HANGS BY NARROW THREAD
AS FEMALES JOCKEY FOR POSITION

Let me see if I can describe the situation without saying anything.

For a day and a half last week, we were surprised to find the front doors of the Elk Market locked. Locals drove down into town from the surrounding hills to get their morning paper, only to find themselves milling around in front of the store amongst out of town tourists who were barred from their designer water and Brie. Later in the day there was more of a beer and cigarettes type group hanging around, but no matter their desire, all were denied by the locked doors. The setting sun found the VCR and ice cream crowd peering in the windows. Nada.

Bill Edison was able to talk Steve Davidson into bringing him a case of soda mix and a can of tobacco from out of town. Some folks were able to borrow a bit of milk here, an egg there, from the various bed and breakfast establishments. Others were trying to figure out whether they would rather go south to Manchester and brave the fluorescent glare of the S&B Market, or head north for a toke at the Albion Store. The tourists just drifted off in disbelief, "What the hell kind of town is this anyway?"

Well, it's our town. It ain't much but it's all we got and the Elk Market is all that keeps this place from being just a bend in the road, eight B&B's, and a gas station. Think about it, ladies.

The concrete slab, at the Greenwood Elementary School, was finished last week. Steve Hale donated the last yard. Gary Poehlmann and friends smoothed it out and trowled it off. Gary said it was great, "the kids were in school and they were able to come out and put down their hand prints". I stopped by later to inspect the job. Sure enough, 22 hand prints with their initials below each one, Class of 1992.

The town has received information that starting the first of November we will have a new fire rating, dropping from a 10 to a 7. This should reduce fire insurance rates for those on the town water system. Meanwhile, up Philo/Greenwood road, talks with L.P. have produced a new lot for a future firehouse. Eventually a building will be built to house an engine and a tanker. For more information about the town rating call Rusty Gates. For information about the firehouse call Lee McKnight.

Kathy MacDonald and Michael Nissenberg have a show of their hand-woven textiles, called "Twisted Fringes", at the Rookie-Too Gallery in Boonville, the month of October. Reception for these two fine weavers is October 2, 5-7.

Last weekend I had four days off so I decided to throw the dog in the cow and hit the road. I knew I had a Monday deadline for my column but now with my new laptop I could just fax from where ever I ended up. That was my plan anyway.

I spent the first day at Lake Pyramid, north east of Tahoe. I wanted to finish the column but found that I couldn't see the screen very well during the day because of the glare and it was too hot to sit inside the cow in the shade. Oh well, I decided to finish the column in the evening.

Shortly after sunset I set up the table inside the bus, plopped down the laptop and turned on the light. Boom. Forty May flies, four hundred May flies, four thousand May flies. I slapped and sprayed toxic chemicals and barred the windows, all to no avail. I had to give up. Technology overcome by insects.

The next day I moved down to Bridgeport to visit a hot spring I had heard about and to finish and fax my column. The hot spring was great. The column was finished and I found I could fax at the library, except, I didn't have a hard copy to fax.

No problem. I would plug my laptop into the library printer, print out a hard copy and fax that, but wait, their cable won't fit my plug. Humm.

Okay. How 'bout I copy my column off my hard drive and onto a floppy, then put the floppy in the library computer and print it out from there?

Okay with the patient lady librarian.

I put in my disk, call up the DIR on their A drive. There it is, my column, but how do I get it to print? PRINT bad command RUN bad command GO bad command DO IT bad command DAMN IT bad command.

Nothing I can come up with will get my column to print. I think about calling Eddie long distance but it is lunch time on the coast.

Defeated in a town of helpful strangers, I wear out my welcome, cut my travels short, throw the dog in the cow and head for the coast. Nine hours later, finally past smoldering, gridlocked Sacramento, I print out my column, on my printer, with my cable, at home, and fax the column from the Elk Garage where Bob Matson informs me that Jeff Schlafer was called out on a fire. I'm just in time to pump gas.

Ain't technology wonderful.

October 8th.

Urgent Notice

Save our Historical Methodist Church.

There is to be a meeting on Saturday, October 24 from 9:00 until 12:00, in regards to this.

The towns people and surrounding area's need to be at this meeting to prevent the church from being sold. It is a part of our community and should be kept for our use and as an Historical Landmark.

That is it as far as any news I know about. It is a sunny Sunday afternoon. I have a couple of hours in which to come up with a column, except, I don't know, it feels like I have spring fever or something. It is just not a great day to be column writing, much better to sit back in the shade and gaze off towards the ocean. But no. I wander around town to see what might be column material.

I see Marco McClean and Juanita enjoying breakfast on the deck of the Roadhouse and decide to butt in. We talk about MEMO, Marco's latest newspaper effort, which I like, and then various other items that generate much passion in Marco but cause me to yawn; I tell you, it is just a spring fever type of day. We finally end up talking about computers and how to get CPM disks copied over into DOS. I start to wake up.

You see, I have five, almost six years of columns in CPM. Now I want them in DOS. It sounds like Marco can help me out. We are going to get together this coming week and give it a try.

After breakfast, I bump into Mr. Huckaby. I ask him if he has finished writing my column yet. He says he will write it if I install a new door knob in his back door.

"I'll think about it", meanwhile, "Let's go for a walk and see the new siding on the community center".

Gerry and I walk out back through the 'Field of Dreams' and over towards the Community Center, past the foiled skateboard park. Ah yes, the skateboard park.

It seems there was a passionate effort by some of the younger skateboard fanatics in town this summer, to build a skateboard platform with a ramp at both ends. Construction was well under way when one day the absentee landlords showed up and discovered what was rising from the weeds of their property, 'out back'. Well, they put the kibosh to those plans, liability insurance you know and so, there the project sits, half finished, but there sure was a lot of enthusiasm amongst the short people for a while.

When Gerry and I think of the club houses we use to build on 'vacant' lots when we were kids, well, those days are gone.

The new siding on the Community Center looks great. The word is that the project is going forward very nicely now that Bill Edison is out of our hair.

Leaving Gerry Huckaby to fix his door, I head towards home and see a herd of Matson's sitting around on Mel and Jane's deck. There is Mel, Jane, Kristy, Becky and Nute, Matson's dog. I explain my problem of trying to write a column on this fine spring fever kind of day. Kristy say's she will write my column. Great. Go for it.

Kristy writes:

"It is Sunday afternoon. We are all stretched out on Grandma and Grandpa's porch. The dogs are wildly chasing each other around on the lawn and all of a sudden a CDF truck goes screaming by, interrupting our conversation about how much rain had fallen the previous week.

As we resume our conversation, Grandma decides our total rainfall for three days last week was 1.37 of an inch.

Earlier we had been discussing the poetry of Robert Frost and Grandma brought out her favorite Frost poem about the ocean. It goes like this.

ONCE BY THE PACIFIC

The shattered water made a misty din.

Great waves looked over others coming in,

And thought of doing something to the shore

That water never did to land before.

The clouds were low and hairy in the skies,

Like locks blown forward in the gleam of eyes.

You could not tell, and yet it looked as if

The shore was lucky in being backed by cliff,

The cliff in being backed by continent;

It looked as if a night of dark intent

Was coming, and not only a night, an age.

Someone had better be prepared for rage.

There would be more than ocean-water broken

Before God's last Put out the Light was spoken.

Becky wants to remind everyone Elk is boring, there hasn't been one drive by shooting since we've been sitting out here, only a purple car and CDF truck. Grandpa wants everyone to know his butt is getting sore from the wicker chair he is sitting in...."

Okay. Thanks Kristy. That's about all the room we have in this weeks column.

October 15th.

The bell rings but, by the time I get there, they are gone. Just another price check.

Folks swing through the pump island, take a look at the prices and keep on going.

It is frustrating to walk all the way to the front of the shop, leaving some half screwed on oil filter behind, only to see some rental car, the passenger sipping on a bottle of "designer water", whip back out onto Highway One and motor on towards Mendocino. Don't those folks know gas is cheaper than water?

Figure it out.

Ninety eight cents a pint for that imported water.

Thirty seven cents a pint for imported gas.

Another strange thing I observed this past week.

Last Wednesday; remember the beautiful fall weather we are currently having? Well, I said to one of the locals, as I pumped their gas.

"Sure is a beautiful day."

They said, "Yep, earthquake weather."

I thought, to myself, why is it, here in California we always have to have something to worry about, why can't we just enjoy and let it be?

Anyway, I got to asking various locals if they thought this was earth quake weather.

Joan Robison said no. "You can hear the birds sing. When the weather is like this but there is no movement, no animal sounds, no bird sounds, then you have earthquake weather."

Norm deVall said yes. "Last time we had an earthquake the weather was just like this only the ocean was more flat, no swell at all. Also the sky color and the ocean color was exactly the same, you couldn't pick out the horizon."

I was surprised to find that, over all, almost everyone said this was earthquake weather. Very few of us could just enjoy these warmest and nicest of days without worry.

Friday, about four in the afternoon, Sue Matson comes running out and said, "Did you feel it"?

"What?"

"The earthquake?"

Then a guy stops in for gas and said he saw the windows shake in one of the buildings in town. Later Anita Allegeart swings by for a gallon of gas (ball game this weekend) and said there was a huge "whoomp" sound inside the Garden Shop, where she works. Next, Judy Hale said she heard the tail end of some news report and that there was a earthquake seventeen miles off shore someplace.

Later I hear that no seismic recorders recorded anything, official thinking being that it was a sonic boom. Well, I don't know and now, three days later, I still haven't found out. Quitting time at the gas station arrived. It was Friday evening and Lolli and I were "out of here".

We loaded up ROADCOW and took off for Ukiah and the, "Crush is finally over", party at Frye Vineyards. I met some great people and we had lot of fun, then spent the night camped at our friends, Doug and Jan, in Talmadge.

The next morning we took off on a mini vacation up on the Eel River just down stream from Lake Pillsbury.

I'm now sitting inside ROADCOW, writing my column. It is a beautiful sunny Saturday morning. We are camped about a half mile below the Pillsbury dam.

In the evening Lol and I take a walk up stream and come around the bend to see the expanse of the Pillsbury dam stretched across the valley before us and a full moon hovering just above it in a salmon colored sky. Lolli said the purpley-gray mauve sky color, just above the moon is called "elephants breath". Whatever, it was a magical evening.

The next morning we pack up and take a drive to check out Lake Pillsbury. Not very exciting. It is about fifty percent full, or empty, depends on how you look at it. We see a sign that says, Sanhedrin. "Let's go there."

We take the turn off and start the long drive up the mountain. Along the way we speculate as to where we are going. We can see various high peaks around us. As it turns out we are on the mountain all the time. Just up and up.

We finally get to the very top and the look out station. It is well worth the drive, even though a lot of the drive takes us through the remains of the Sanhedrin Fire area. Once on top we can see Clearlake to the south, southeast, Ukiah to the south, southwest, the Pacific Ocean due west and Round Valley, Covelo, to the north, plus everything in between.

During our retreat down the mountainside, we tune in the presidential debates. We get KGO out of San Francisco and when that begins to fade, as we lower ourselves back into the Eel River Valley, I switch to a station out of Sacramento. Ah yes. Ross Perot. Give 'em hell, Ross it's Earthquake weather.

Save Our Historical Landmark

Important meeting with the Redwood Empire Methodist Mission Society to decide the fate of this landmark. Please come October 24 9:00 AM -12:00, to the Methodist Church here in Greenwood/Elk.

October 22nd.

I don't know who takes such good care of my column during typesetting and paste up, but I want them to know I appreciate it. Last week they added bold type to enhance the start of different thoughts and added a line to the last paragraph that I should have included but didn't. Thanks for being more awake than I am.

Not everyone treats this column as well. I called my brother, up in Seattle; I am trying to get a modem/fax module for my laptop, and I think I have him talked into taking a lunch break and going over to Ballard Computers to pick one up for me. Towards the end of our conversation I asked if he happened to read some item in one of my columns? No. He doesn't have time to read my column, he uses it to line the parrot cage.

Bill Courtney is going to repeat the Halloween party out at his place this year. Come one, come all.

Earlier in the evening you might want to take the kids up Cameron road to the haunted house at 5275 Cameron Road. The note I have says:

"The Ghosts have treats...if you dare!"

Final reminder: "All of Greenwood/Elk and interested persons are urged to attend the meeting this Saturday, October 24th, 9:00 AM -12:00 at the Methodist Church here in Greenwood/Elk.

Everyone should realize what an important meeting this is to make our wishes known that this historical site remain a part of our community."

Is it true that if the Historical Methodist Church goes on the block Kendrick is going to buy it and turn it into a one stop shopping center for religious travelers, selling everything from hand guns to incense?

I stopped by Kendrick/Isabel's Garden Shoppe and tried to sound out Anita Allegaert about the rumor. She gave me "that look", then switched the conversation over to a pair of white doves that were cozied up together just outside the side door. Anita said they were left over from a wedding that was held on the deck behind Kendrick/Isabel's house. She said, at the conclusion of the vows, the bride and groom tossed the doves into the air. The birds flapped over to the Garden Shoppe and have been living there ever since.

I had noticed the doves earlier in the week, flying and landing on the roof of the Garden Shoppe; now I had the rest of the story.

I asked Anita what their names were. She said they didn't have any so we decided to name them. After a few false starts we finally settled on Elf of Elk and her sidekick Raoul. Anita picked Elf, I picked Raoul.

Elf and Raoul seem to be happy and why not, the whole crew at the Kendrick/Isabel compound dotes on them.

Just think. If they had flown across the street they could have landed at the Mole Ranch and become soup. Joel didn't get to cut up the great white shark, but I bet he could have nabbed a couple of white pigeons. After all, he is the great "white" hunter!

Harold Searles and Eijler Westh have completed putting up the siding on the Community Center addition and they did a fine job of it. Now Steve Acker is rushing to finish the interior of the handicap bathroom before Bill Edison gets back from taking the waters in Venezia.

Edison had discovered, during Great Day in Elk, that the framed and sheeted handicap bathroom made a great beer storage room for his outdoor bar. He could stack up the cases inside and just pass them out the window as needed. Since Great Day, Bill has foot dragged all efforts to complete that rest room. But, now that Willie is out of town, the push is on to wrap it up and ace him out.

This election year is anything except dull. The bullet proof Bushman seems to be on the wain. The great white hope, Perot, inspires and then causes despair. Meanwhile, Slick Willie cruises on, and on.

I think Willie has it in the bag. That's my prediction.

But maybe not. What can I think when one of the long time local Republicans and one of our local new age feminist activists both tell me they are going to vote for Perot? And what about the young set watching MTV, being encouraged to get out and vote. What inspires them?

And the debates I expect to be dull are exciting. The debates I expect to be exciting are dull. Part of me knows this is all just entertainment and doesn't make any difference, part of me thinks that every cause has an effect.

In the near term, it is important. In the long term it don't matter at all.

Near term: Poison-free food, affordable shelter, sane neighbors, clean air, and drinkable water.

Long term: Those Teutonic plates are still crushing into each other, pushing our coastal crust down into the magma, recycling all the beer cans, batteries, and buildings, whether we like it or not.

October 29th.

Received a note in the mail:

"Ron, Teutonic plates are the dishes Brunhilde throws at Siegfried in Wagnerian operas. Tectonic plates are the things that move around underfoot and turn the earth to Jell-O."

Thanks Berna, I know that. It was just a test to see who is still reading this column.

This Saturday evening, "Treats...if you dare", at the haunted house, 5275 Cameron Road. Followed by the Third Annual Halloween party at Bill Courtney's. Party starts at eight. Philo Hayward's band starts at nine. Happy Halloween.

The Visitor's Center will close November 1. Will reopen next spring. Thanks for your support. Anne Daniels docent

Yippee, the weekend is here.

Should I go over to the Sierra's before the snow gets too deep? How about kayaking on Lake Mendocino, I could do that or, maybe go explore some more of the Mendocino National forest.

Oh drat, I just remembered. There is a meeting at the Methodist Church on Saturday. Something about whether to save or sell the church. I suppose I should go to that, I am, after all, the Greenwood/Elk columnist and folks do expect to hear about the town, now and then.

Saturday morning I reluctantly return to Greenwood/Elk, after a pleasant evening with Lolli. I arrive at the Methodist Church at 9:00 and, what is this? The sign out front says "Church Meeting 10:00 AM".

I stand around with a few other misinformed folks. We ponder the meaning of time and day light savings etc. Finally I wander off to the Elk Market for a cup of coffee and a sweet roll.

Back to the church. What a beautiful fall morning. A few more folks have gathered. We stand around and nosh. Catholics, Methodists, Jews, atheists, hippies, ranchers, sinners, columnists, just the usual cast of characters.

Now and then "a suit" walks past.

Out of towner.

Ten o'clock arrives and in we go.

We all settle into place. Three "suits" up front, eight or so "suits" across the back, friends and neighbors in between.

The "head suit", superintendent of the Golden Gate District of Northern California Counties, introduces the other "suits" from Ukiah, Santa Rosa, San Rafael and so on, then commences to tell us how it is. Fiscal this, budget that, property here, property there. The committee is going to do this and that...

Wait a moment, there is a question from the floor.

"Who owns the property?"

"We do" says the 'head suit'.

"Well, not according to our deed of record, you see, Donohue sold the property to Griffin in 1882, on June 11th, at 58 minutes past 2:00 PM. Griffin then signed over the property IN TRUST, in perpetuity, the way I read it, to five local men for the expressed purpose of establishing a Methodist Church here, etc. etc. and so on...."

It was at this point I noticed "That Look" enter the "head suits" eyes, the same look I have seen enter the eyes of "suits" from the California Department of Parks and Wrecks, the eyes of "suits" from Louisiana Pacific. That look that says, maybe we underestimated something here.

Ah yes, and it does look like such a nice little town.

Maybe in the seats of higher power, over in Santa Rosa, down in San Francisco, it is just a black and white question of jerking property around to meet fiscal needs, but out here in the sticks there are people who happen to regard "that property" in a much different light.

"That property" is a place locals have been taking care of and holding weddings in. Bar mitzvahs, baptisms, prayer groups, Christmas plays in, every since "the suits" gave up on it, back in 1987, and reduced it to chapel status. Sure it has had its ups and downs since then, but it has never been boarded up. It has always met the needs of the community, without a dime from "the suits".

Letters were read from the floor, letters from folks far and wide who were baptized, wed, spiritually fed over the years by this little church in Greenwood. They want it to stay a church.

There were statements from the floor about the local willingness to carry on and maintain the spiritual life of the church with or without the help of the Methodist Redwood Empire. Yes times are tough but the spirit is still very much alive in Greenwood and we can do it..

That's the trouble with this NICE LITTLE TOWN. The local rabble turn out, the local rabble remember, and the local rabble are eloquent. They have documents, papers, memories, relatives, all the way back to 1892 and beyond. This ain't some recent housing development tossed up on the outskirts of a city. We know who our neighbors are. We care about each other and the fate of this church.

This wasn't just a gathering of Methodists either, it was an average cross section of this community. Different beliefs, different politics, different economic fortunes (arguing all the time), but all friends and neighbors. This little dink town still has soul and history. Rare but powerful stuff, even in the 90's.

Once again, "the suits" return to their smoking cities, ashen faced.

I'm so glad I didn't go camping.

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