by Jan Chaffin
- Disclaimer: The views expressed are mine alone and do not necessarily reflect the views of my employers.
Chapter Eighteen – Finale
My State Park Summer is technically over but I’m scheduled to work until the campground closes at the end of October. After that, it doesn’t look like I’ll be needed at Cowell, but possibly at Ano Nuevo; with pupping Elephant Seals, it gets busy in the winter. It’s further away but seems like a fun place to spend the day.
In November, I plan to return to working three days a week selling appliances at Sears and have even asked to go full time. I will be at the mercy of an unknown retail schedule each week with shifts anywhere from 9am to 9pm. If there is a day or two of Parks work available per week, I will consider it but I can potentially earn a better living at Sears (assuming I sell enough appliances).
I guess I’ll survive the season at Henry Cowell but “you’re never out of the woods…” as I keep learning in various humbling, hard ways. It has been a demanding job running the kiosk on my own at the mercy of all sorts of campsite misadventures. My patience has been tried and sometimes I failed to deliver splendid customer service. Sometimes it was all I could do not to hiss and spit. But overall, I enjoyed discussing the trails and park resources with visitors. I remain in awe of the park and have made some new friends among the staff. Most are tremendously dedicated and routinely perform heroic maneuvers.
My runs have become less arduous as I work earlier and darkness descends sooner. I no longer set out on two hour trail adventures before work and still haven’t successfully completed the Big Rock Hole loop. I realize it might have to wait.
This summer has brought many changes and has affected me and loved ones unexpectedly. My cousin Betty passed away, then my cousin Gragg followed by Betty’s Mom, my Aunt Gladys, then my cousin Debbie These were dear, close members of both sides of my Virginia family. I was now the last Chaffin – the first line of defense against mortality. Most of my life has already been lived and the rest is probably not going to get any easier.
I was deeply impacted by the White Supremacist riots in my hometown in July. Those wounds are still fresh.
I randomly discovered massive wood rot after last winter’s heavy rains. My house is falling apart and I’m in a bind trying to find timely funds and repair expertise.
The neighbor who owns the dear cat that hangs out at my house told me that the church, which was the reason the Circles were designed and has been a part of our community since forever, had just been stealthily sold to a high density housing developer.
Another neighbor’s dear cat was bitten in half by some wild animal and left for her to discover in my yard. This has led me to panic about the well-being of the cat who loves me but is not mine, so, with his owner’s permission, I started keeping him inside at night if he was still on my porch at dusk. None of these activities are well-conceived, just emotional reactions to helpless worry. Each decision brings comfort yet creates havoc for the cat, my neighbor and me.
And one sunny afternoon, as I am sitting with the cat on my front porch, I hear the dreaded screech of an out of control car coming around the circle. At about 50 mph, a Toyota Corolla skids towards us heading up the sidewalk into my yard, instead destroying my noble Civic parked out front.
The cat dashed out of harm’s way while I just stood in disbelief. This was the second time in ten years a young drunk driver had destroyed my Honda in front of my house. I knew I’d never get enough to buy a decent replacement. I was angry and sad and all out of sorts. After considerable searching, I found a lovely Mazda 6 but paid more than I received from the settlement. Nostalgia won for a while and I decided to keep the Honda as a second salvage vehicle because it still sort of drove… Until it wouldn’t start one day. That was the sign I needed to let it go.
Over the past several months, I’ve watched my savings and my interest in hard work diminish at about the same rate. I’m tired of always working low wage jobs but I live in paradise. It could be worse. So that’s about it for my State Park Summer, unless it isn’t!