"Waiting is wanting, plus time." Beautiful. There's a version of this that comes back later in life too, the waiting between visits, between calls, and it has that same ache.
I enjoyed reading about those times when our connections were physical. I am fifty-four years old so I remember. Inspiring me to write a pre-technology story.
Love this stack! It was fun strolling down Heather's - and my own - analog life. Occasionally I practice living an analog life, but it doesn't last long.
I thoroughly enjoyed this piece, Heather. Reading this brought me into my own nostalgia about times spent in the Rocky Mountains including Glenwood Springs so many years ago.
Each college summer, from '63-'66, I had the great good fortune to get paid, working as a Park Aid at Prairie Creek Redwoods State Park. The nearest "cities" were Arcata (7,500), about an hour south and Crescent City, (2,700), about an hour north, both on 101. This 2 lane ribbon, was the only way to drive north to Oregon, or south to San Francisco, until you went 85 miles east to I-5.
The only telephone was a pay phone at the Park HQ, about 100 yards from our 12'-14' cabin, tucked under towering old redwoods behind Restroom#1. We had to share this magnificent facilty, including the only shower available, with random campers, tourists and whomsoever wished to avail themselves, (albeit, having first to pay the day use fee at the entrance station).
There was no tv, and sporadic radio reception at night. Choices were 50,000 watt Sacramento country station, and the local Eureka station, which made WKRP look professional. The cabin was shared with another Park Aid, randomly assigned by the Head Ranger.
It had a small refrigerator, a Coleman sized 2 burner propane stove, a sink, and faucet (no water heater), and 2 military surplus single rack beds equiped with mattresses measured in millimeters. No cupboards, only shelves. The only table was the campground picnic table, conveniently between the cabin and rhe toilets.
Currently, the State of California, which docked our pay ($329 gross, 1st year) $5/month for the privilege of this roof over our heads, would be held in violation of the minimum habitabilty standards of every Blue state's Residential LL/T Act.
These were some of the happiest days of my life, and in no way did I feel deprived of anything. I had escaped the miasma of the San Fernando Valley and UCLA; tellow Park Aids made fast, sometimes lifelong friends. I lived with a devout Mormon for the first time in my young life and learned a lot. A fellow Park Aid was later Superintendent of the Oakland Public Schools. Others spent their lives as loggers, mechinics, and a fisheries biologist.
I learned more reading Hesse, Huxley, Orwell, Stevenson, etc., than by any formal education. Staffing the entrance station, after gaining experience, seniority and the trust of the Chief Ranger, offered the opportunity to interact with everyone from Stanford football coach, John Ralston to Hog-riding bikers, taught me invaluable people skills before turning 22.
The immense calm and quiet of the Redwoods, a short walk down any trail radiating out from our abode, combined with the typical angst of someone in late adolescene, immersed in the Cuban missle crisis, the antics of Geo. Wallace, etc, (although the ranger uni was an amazing chick magnet) lent itself to, what seemed to my naive mind, sometime profound insights.
This is a great read and brought back so many memories of how alone (but not lonely) I felt as a 20-something just out of college in the 90s but also how different, how much more alive that felt compared to the uber-connectedness we have now.
I love this! I grew up in Idaho during the pre-Internet years, so I know all about waiting for things to happen. But this piece reminded me of how those happenings sometimes felt almost magical.
"Waiting is wanting, plus time." Beautiful. There's a version of this that comes back later in life too, the waiting between visits, between calls, and it has that same ache.
Wow, I loved this. All of it. These days, waiting is a luxury few of us know to miss. You capture it so well Heather.
"Everything about this day would slip away." That was the best part. It kept us there.
Gorgeous piece.
I enjoyed reading about those times when our connections were physical. I am fifty-four years old so I remember. Inspiring me to write a pre-technology story.
It was so helpful for me to remember what my brain used to be able to do.
Yes! I'm a teacher and writing about what kids could do back in the day (20 plus years ago) without computers. I'm writing about it now.
Well done. Lovely writing.
Wonderful piece to read in the morning while I wait… for the electrician to arrive. Waiting can have its own magic if you let it.
Yes!
Love this stack! It was fun strolling down Heather's - and my own - analog life. Occasionally I practice living an analog life, but it doesn't last long.
What a gorgeous essay
Loved this ❤️
I thoroughly enjoyed this piece, Heather. Reading this brought me into my own nostalgia about times spent in the Rocky Mountains including Glenwood Springs so many years ago.
Thank you! Writing it brought me back, too, so much that I’m planning a trip back to Glenwood Springs and the area.
Longing is one of my favorite words...
Love this piece.
This full moon has had me feeling very nostalgic and while reading I could feel that pull back (50 years) to my very spontaneous, adventuresome 20’s.
Each college summer, from '63-'66, I had the great good fortune to get paid, working as a Park Aid at Prairie Creek Redwoods State Park. The nearest "cities" were Arcata (7,500), about an hour south and Crescent City, (2,700), about an hour north, both on 101. This 2 lane ribbon, was the only way to drive north to Oregon, or south to San Francisco, until you went 85 miles east to I-5.
The only telephone was a pay phone at the Park HQ, about 100 yards from our 12'-14' cabin, tucked under towering old redwoods behind Restroom#1. We had to share this magnificent facilty, including the only shower available, with random campers, tourists and whomsoever wished to avail themselves, (albeit, having first to pay the day use fee at the entrance station).
There was no tv, and sporadic radio reception at night. Choices were 50,000 watt Sacramento country station, and the local Eureka station, which made WKRP look professional. The cabin was shared with another Park Aid, randomly assigned by the Head Ranger.
It had a small refrigerator, a Coleman sized 2 burner propane stove, a sink, and faucet (no water heater), and 2 military surplus single rack beds equiped with mattresses measured in millimeters. No cupboards, only shelves. The only table was the campground picnic table, conveniently between the cabin and rhe toilets.
Currently, the State of California, which docked our pay ($329 gross, 1st year) $5/month for the privilege of this roof over our heads, would be held in violation of the minimum habitabilty standards of every Blue state's Residential LL/T Act.
These were some of the happiest days of my life, and in no way did I feel deprived of anything. I had escaped the miasma of the San Fernando Valley and UCLA; tellow Park Aids made fast, sometimes lifelong friends. I lived with a devout Mormon for the first time in my young life and learned a lot. A fellow Park Aid was later Superintendent of the Oakland Public Schools. Others spent their lives as loggers, mechinics, and a fisheries biologist.
I learned more reading Hesse, Huxley, Orwell, Stevenson, etc., than by any formal education. Staffing the entrance station, after gaining experience, seniority and the trust of the Chief Ranger, offered the opportunity to interact with everyone from Stanford football coach, John Ralston to Hog-riding bikers, taught me invaluable people skills before turning 22.
The immense calm and quiet of the Redwoods, a short walk down any trail radiating out from our abode, combined with the typical angst of someone in late adolescene, immersed in the Cuban missle crisis, the antics of Geo. Wallace, etc, (although the ranger uni was an amazing chick magnet) lent itself to, what seemed to my naive mind, sometime profound insights.
So, yes, this brilliant essay resonated.
I felt every word. Really felt it. It will stay with me a while.
This is a great read and brought back so many memories of how alone (but not lonely) I felt as a 20-something just out of college in the 90s but also how different, how much more alive that felt compared to the uber-connectedness we have now.
I love this! I grew up in Idaho during the pre-Internet years, so I know all about waiting for things to happen. But this piece reminded me of how those happenings sometimes felt almost magical.