I’ve been on a Pop Culture roll recently what with all the Michael Jackson hoopla. And I’ve got a tribute to another, more unlikely icon lined up, but I thought I’d get myself back to Sonoma for this post. Since that’s actually where I’ve been for most of the week. Ripening fruit, a broken truck and a leaking water pipe to the main irrigation system have all conspired to keep me hanging around here instead of in San Francisco. Which is fine, as it’s beautiful, hot and sunny. There are worse changes of plan. Except for a very strange incident that happened a few days ago and that I still can’t get out of my mind.
We were driving past one of the prettier intersections in Sonoma, the convergence of two tree-shaded, vineyard-lined country roads, each leading to some of the more famous wineries in these parts. Suddenly the passenger door of the car in front of us flew open and a woman shot out and landed in a crying heap on the road. I’d caught a quick glimpse of the foot of the man who kicked her out, one of two who had been sharing the front seat with her. The two men pulled the car up about 20 yards ahead and watched menacingly as I got out of our car and ran to see if the woman was all right.
She was quietly hysterical and, at first wouldn’t talk to me when I asked her if she needed help, if she wanted me to drive her to a hospital or if there was anywhere I could take her. To my repeated question, “Are you badly hurt?”, she finally replied, “Well, this is not the first time this has happened.”
I asked if I could take her home and she answered, “I can’t go home, my mother kicked me out.” I asked if there was a friend I could take her to and told her she should, under no circumstances, get back in the car with the two men who were still parked and glowering at us from up ahead.
“My problem,” she said, “is I’ve lived in Sonoma all my life. Twenty six years.”
From looking at her, I would have said she was closer to Forty. The ropey thinness, the bulging veins and the hospital ID bracelet perhaps indicated some sort of drug problem or recent detox stay somewhere.
She got up, dusted herself off, offered her hand and introduced herself. I introduced myself, and again begged her to let me take her somewhere safe. She pulled out a set of keys and said they were to her storage shed where she had her “stuff”. Then she walked off down the road. By this time, the menacing young men had taken off, hopefully not to return.
I’m not naive enough to think that, for everyone here, Sonoma is the paradise I’ve found it to be. But it was unsettling to come up against a “parallel Sonoma” quite so closely. I’m also not sure what this encounter means, or if, indeed, it means anything. The late great Quentin Crisp, in his role as movie critic, asserted that “movies must always follow an interconnected logic. Life is under no obligation to do so.” This must be one of those moments.
I can only hope that girl was momentarily embarrassed by my presence and she does, in fact, have a safe place to go to.
Whew! Heavy. I’d better leave you with some flowers from the Insectarium, which long-time readers of this blog will know to be thick plantings of native flowers that attract the natural pest control efforts of our best insects and birds.
If only it were as easy to repel other predators — including those men in the car and whatever demons are plaguing that poor girl — with large plantings of flowers.
Part of the Insectarium.
Bee coming in for a landing.
These flowers are almost done.
But the lavender has just started its riotous bloom
We lived down the road from a family whose sons took turns robbing the local liquor store and across the way was a family with five kids I used to play with whose dog had puppies in the closet and they never cleaned it up! Of course this was back in the 70’s before the doctors and lawyers drove up the property values and Sebastiani was the best wine in town, but hey, we didn’t have a meth epidemic back then! Sounds like some are still flying their white trash flag high! Did you ever read The Little Friend?
I know we’re a bit out in the boonies, but we aren’t quite on Tobacco Road yet John! Although I did run across an essay by an ex-drug addict who is now in a writing program in Sonoma State College. She told how the place to score in the 70s used to be the old Food Town on the Square. It’s probably where the art gallery is now with the $20,000 artwork.
Heavy, indeed. My sister has a friend who is a mess (I’ll just leave it at that) and my sister keeps picking up the pieces. It’s frustrating to watch – it’s hard not to want to help this girl (and my sister can’t turn her back on her) – but she really brings it on herself. It’s sad.
How nice of you to get out of your car and check on the girl. I have to admit, that in the city where I live I’m not sure if anyone would have been that kind or that brave. People are scared to approach other people, especially with menacing men looking on.
That was really very nice of you.
You can be a lot braver on a road in Sonoma when it’s a sure bet a tourist bus or a wine country limo will come around the corner at any minute.
I’m sorry that your rural paradise has shown a bit of underbelly. It is more jarring than in the city, because you don’t expect it. Unfortunately every societal ill is still present, just usually hidden. Of course even in the city you don’t expect a scene like that in front of you.
Love the insectarium. I planted two bigger and two smaller lavender plants along the front walk this spring. Looking forward to years of spread. Last weekend we moved the “Sage that ate Highland Heights” down here and off to the side of the front stoop (much nicer than the weeds that were flourishing before). It was sold as an annual eight years ago. My kind of plant.
Bit by bit settling in after a year.
That was a very eerie encounter. I would have been ruminating over it myself. Did she really have a place to go. Was her “stuff” illegal “stuff”. Was she really on “26”
Unfortunately with the way she is living her life, she may never make it to 40. Sad.