The Quarry

(Another story from A Fortunate Life – by Ali Van Zee)

In the gentle, green, rolling-hills landscape of Hwy 101 past Cloverdale,

Hopland and Ukiah, the ugly scar of the rock quarry south of Willits never fails
to fill me with a sadness that sits heavy in my stomach – in my heart. For
years, as I make my twice-a-month trek from the Bay Area up to the North
Coast to spend time with my mom, I have watched the systematic destruction
of a once lovely hillside covered with redwoods and oaks and other lesser trees.
I can hardly bear to look at it and yet I can’t take my eyes away. I see the trees
that are left, barely clinging to life; some toppling over as their roots are
undermined, their colors fading to a deathly pale. “Stop!” I scream at the giant
dirt-eating rock killers. “Stop gnawing away at this beautiful hill. Can’t you
see what you’re doing?” Of course, no one answers – they don’t even see me
drive by, surrounded as I am by other cars heading north and south on this
surprisingly busy stretch of road.
There’s a “weigh station” at the top of Ridgewood Summit (highest pass on 101
in California at around 1953 feet). It’s hardly ever open, but occasionally I’ve
seen CHP cars there. Whenever I do, I briefly entertain the idea of stopping to
see if I can make a citizen’s arrest. That’s right. I want to arrest those idiots at
the quarry for intentional destruction of beauty, of life! Can’t you just see it? I
pull up in my Lexus Hybrid, step from the car, tossing my long, tawny hair as I
walk with complete purpose up to the 3”-thick (at least) glass window to make
my case. I’m thinking I wouldn’t get very far and could end up somewhere in
Sonoma, counting the number of quilts in the pads lining the cell! But the idea
of arresting those butchers just feels so good.

Fantasy behind me, I continue up to Willits and then cut over to the coast on
Highway 20. This is not a road for the faint of stomach. Actually, no road
getting to Mendocino is easy. There are three ways to get there: Highway 1
which is twisty-turny, stunning and takes forever (great if you have someone
you like riding with you); Highway 128 which is twisty-turny, stunning and
takes about an hour and a half from Cloverdale; or 20 – which is twisty-turny,
broodingly dark at times, but the quickest, even though it’s two hours from
Cloverdale….how does that work out? I don’t know – it seems the quickest! I
guess it’s because you spend so much time on 101 where traffic moves at
(mostly above) the speed limit.

Anyway, I do love Hwy 20. I feel a real sense of anticipation every time I turn
on to it. When you reach the top of the mountain that separates the inland
valleys and vineyards from the coast, the view is breath-taking. Although I’ve
never stopped to take a longer look, I do take it all in for those few moments
before the descent begins. I’m in a hurry, I’m always in a hurry, and I just
want to get there…I need to get there.

My larger-than-life-heroic father died almost ten years ago. It’s left a huge void
in my life and I’m still filled with sadness when I think of all we both have
missed being able to share in the ensuing years. We were close – closer than
close (in a good way, ok) and he saved me from a terrible fate as a little girl…
my biological mother. Instead, he married my mom and together, they both
saved me. I actually begged him to marry her and have been grateful ever
since (my teen-age acting out years evidence to the contrary). The bond we
have has grown increasingly strong since my dad died and I can’t imagine life
without her! It’s coming – inexorably, as it will for all of us – but I’m in no
hurry now…not for this.

My mom was an extremely successful business woman with real natural

brilliance. She was a quiet visionary who didn’t mind letting others take the
credit for what was really her work. And, she has been the ‘glue’ that has held
not only major projects in San Francisco together, but people as well. Her list
of friends is as legion as her accomplishments and everyone who meets her,
loves her. At almost 95, they still do! That’s because she still has so much to
give, such wise counsel to offer, a rapier wit that can fly right by if you’re not
quick enough to keep up. I may be a hospice nurse and familiar with death
and dying, but I want my mom to live forever. And, I want as much time with
her as possible which is why I make this drive every 10-14 days or so to spend
5 or 6 days at a time.

As I make my way down the other side of the mountain and continue along
James Creek into the redwoods, I often think of how lovely her life is and her
amazing sense of gratitude. She absolutely breathes gratitude in and out with
every breath and never fails to stop and appreciate her home, how the light is
just right, her gorgeous flowers and beautiful art. That it’s a tiny house now
compared to the one my parents were able to build in Mendocino years ago, is
of no regret – it’s perfect for her and reflects her in every angle. I love to be
there with her – to dote on her, cook for her, cut and style her hair, do ‘girlie’
spa treatments for her, promising to smooth out the relatively few wrinkles she
has. I watch over her…like a…mom. How easily now the roles reverse. With
no formal ceremony to pass the torch as it were. We’ve just quietly slipped into
our new roles and enjoy our time together.

I reflect on so many memories as I make my drive – my pilgrimage, really – to

her quaint little house with the beautiful gardens. There is much to draw on
from all the years we have had. Yet, as I pull onto her street, and into the
driveway, my mind suddenly sees the rock quarry – the rock quarry of her
mind, being slowly eaten away by short-term memory loss, and I want to
scream, “Stop!” “I want to make a citizen’s arrest!” “The beautiful landscape of
her mind is falling victim to the cell-eating mind killers and they must be
stopped!” It seems so unfair to me and my heart breaks every time I pull into
the garage…until I walk through the door and see her beautiful face and hear
her laugh as she throws her arms around me to welcome me ‘home’. I’m so
close to her I can smell the sweet perfume of gratitude she exudes and my
heart fills with joy one more time.

I’m still thinking of doing something about the rock quarry off the highway
though…