Another one of those kind of wheel-spinning days. There were so many of them and I was almost chronically disgusted and depressed though there were bright spots here and there.
Mar 13, 1965 Sat
I stayed in bed late again but not too. Got up at 8:00 and made biscuits for breakfast. They were big fat ones and everyone liked them. We drove out together to do the chores. Drove up for mail--nothing!! Dusty, how could you? I was counting on you. Should’ve known better. I did the midday chores--a Plymouth station wagon passed, honked twice. Was it? I don’t think it was Moonspinner… We ate lunch and talked--endlessly. Oh, I could just scream, throw dishes on the floor and pitch hissy fits At 2:30 we finally went to get hay. I saw Maureen in Cottonwood. Don’t know what she’s up to lately. Got thirteen bales of alfalfa with some grass, real heavy. We all drove out again. Fed the herd up on the hillside this time. Got the home chores done with the aid of some small Indian girls. They are cute, sharp little creatures I think I really want to have a boarding school, camp, foster home or some sort of deal like that. We listened to records all evening. Mom felt bad so I did the dishes. Supper was not much. I drew a luxurious 4,000 sq ft house and began another explanatory letter to Dusty. He’s got to fit in some way. He could. Oh, I wish. If we don’t do something by summer I’m not sure what I’ll do but I really can’t stay here forever. None of us can. Where are you tonight, Dusty? Were you down here today? I must check the coffee can tomorrow I guess. I’ve got to see him soon and give him the story etc.
"Talks" were the bane of my existence. Normally it was a) a conflict that Mom and Dad were having and often got pretty unpleasant b) a 'lecture' or bawling out that Charlie Mike and I got for failing to do something we were supposed to or failing to do it 'right' in one way or another or c) debating some wild-ass plan that deep down I knew was utterly futile and useless but at times would briefly awaken a small spark of hope and an effort to believe it might work out. The problem was, the talks were always belabored to death and repeated a dozen times until I felt we were ridimg a dead horse that was beaten to a mush. The main speaker was always Dad and he was a total master of overkill and followed a complete refusal to listen to much of anything in opposition or doubt.
I am vague on who the little girls were, We did have some neighbors who had moved into the vacant or semi-abandoned lower Clarkdale houses from the small shacks and huts up Bitter Creek toward the cement plant, an area that apparently belonged to the local Yavapai Apache tribe. Eventally they regained lots of property in the Verde Valley. The children seemed to be interested in horses and at times would be eager to help me--often more of a problem than a real aid but they tried and were not obnoxiou kids. When kids were good, I really enjoyed working with and trying to teach them some and did entertain notions of making this part of a future career.
I do not recall what was bothering Mom besides the usual conflicts but I helped on supper and cleaned up afterwards. I really did not mind that as a rule.So much time had now passed since I finished school and so many wishful dreams and plans had fallen apart. I knew I had to leave eventually, preferably sooner than later, but still had no idea how I could support myself or what I ought to do. The overall situation was growing more desparate and hopeless as time went on and some kind of final disaster seemed inevitable. Indeed it was, but at that point was still some time in the future.
I am not sure where the message can was at this point. Later I located it down at the end of the river road where my trail dropped off into the river bottom to go along the bank and then cut through a field over to the pasture. An old hollow stump was a good place for it but at this time, I am not sure. I never knew if Dusty had been in the area that day or not but I imagine the answer was no. I had now not seen him since mid January and it seemed a very long time, but I had weeks more to wait, the rest of March, all of April and almost all of May.
A few photos, first two views from the west side, looking down at the river and across to the pasture which was below that ridge on the far side. The river road ended just below the gray area which was the tailings pond, irrigated to keep dust down. At the end of Tuzogoot is where the trail went down into those cottonwood trees along the river. .Next is Mom at about this time and then Dad with the 2nd Ford pickup; Charlie Mike was checking a tire or maybe airing it up.
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