Mimi's story . . Chapter 14 Weaverville California, July 1956 to June 1957

It was a short year but filled with many adventures, and unusual life-impacting experiences.  

Both Win and I had minimal experiences in the mountains, especially living in the snow.  Win had experienced some snow in the streets of Brooklyn, but snow was a new experience for me, an L.A. girl. 

In preparation for living in the mountains, Win decided it would be good to get a dog.  We went to the  Santa Monica Dog Pound .  I saw a darling little puppy,  6-8 weeks old.  I loved him.  He appeared to be part German Shepherd and Airedale.  I said “That’s him, that’s my dog .”  But, the attended  explained, they had just brought him in, and could not let me take him.  They suggested we take another dog, or come back in four days, and see if he was unclaimed. 

On the fourth day, we were there when they opened their doors.  I rushed over to the kennel  where I had seen him,  and was heart-broken.  He was not there.    Fortunately, one of the men  recognized us.    We were about to leave, he rushed up to me with a big smiling, he said, “We saved him for you.”  

Finally the day was here.  With had completed a needed  Driver’s Education class for his teaching assignment.  We piled all our belongings, everything we owned: clothing, books, bedding, toiletries and kitchenware into a 4 x 6  trailer.  Pulling the trailer behind a two door coupe Studebaker, we left our little, studio apartment in Venice.

In the heat of summer,  traveling through central California, no air conditioning,  the little car did well.  Win did well too;  however ,  mountain driving was new to him, especially pulling a trailer on the winding roads.  He had never  pulled a trailer before.  

Weaverville is on the southern tip of the Shasta Trinity national Forest. We traveled   north on Highway 5.  We passed Fresno,  Sacramento , and Red Bluff.  We turned west at Redding.   We had just passed Whiskeytown and French Gulch when the car did not have the power to make the steepness of the mountain. The drag on the car was just too much, and the car  started sliding  backwards.  Win maneuvered the car to the side of the road, but the dirt made it more slippery, than the road.  As he tried to stop the car with the hand brake, the trailer slid over to the cliff side.   

“Get out of the car,” he yelled.”Now, get out now. “  Grabbing Rama, I open the door and jumped out.  Then I realized Win was still in the car, holding onto the wheel.  He wasn’t planning to get out.  I started yelling at him.   “Win, Let it go. Let it go.  Forget  . .  everything .   Get out!”  

Just then a small gray truck pulled up in front of our car.  The driver parked and without saying a word,  quickly hooked a chain to the front of our car, motioned for Win to release the brake, and pulled the car onto the highway.  He then motioned for me to get back in the car.   He pulled both the car and the trailer over the mountain.  Then just as quietly,  again without a word, he unhooked the chain, got in his truck and drove away.  

I believe in angels.  I believe in Guardian Angels.  I believe on that day, we were helped by an Angelic being.  The circumstances, and the timing, were just too strange not to acknowledge Divine Grace.
We saw no other cars. 

 I often wondered what would happen if help had not arrived at that exact moment.  Win said he could feel one of the wheels on the trailer was already slipping going over the loose gravel edge. 

We drove into Weaverville feeling very fortunate to have made it there.   Weaverville is a logging town in the center of a national Forest.  I was absolutely charmed by all of  it.

The one grocery store and a County Library were across the street  from each other. The post office was  a few doors down, separated  by small offices for government city, county, and federal agencies. There was a Catholic Church and a Congregational Church.   There was also the tourist attraction of a Chinese Josh  House,  a house of worship for the Chinese workers.

I had just started exploring the invisible world.  One of the last books that I read at UCLA, just off the stacks, for fun, was “30 Years Among the Dead” written by Carl August Wickland.  (February 14, 1861 - November 13, 1945) 

Wickland was a psychiatrist, in paranormal research.  Originally published in 1924, The book recounts Dr. Wickland's efforts to cure his psychiatric patients by spiritualist methods. His wife Anna was a powerful medium, and Wickland became convinced that some of the incurable patients institutionalized at his facility were suffering from spirit obsession.

The book is full of examples and verifications of spirit obsession convincingly enough to me which started me on investigating further the whole concept.   The physical body contains a spiritual body which apparently can act on its own.  

I also made friends with some of the wives of the teachers.  One experience was picking wild blackberries.  Some of the ladies asked me if I wanted to join them.   The weather was warm. Bring a bucket.   I dressed with short sleeves, and quickly found out that was not a good choice. It was a blackberry field of bushes, an abundance of juicy berries  hanging down from the trees.

I came home with a bucket of blackberries, but with arms pretty scratched up.  At least I made it home.  You know the feeling when you feel somebody's watching you? You look around, because you can't get over the feeling.

Rama and I had moved away from the ladies. I was trying to get the berries on the edges of the bushes, so as not get scratched. Suddenly I had that feeling of being watched.  Rama was alert and looking towards the deeper forest.  We were not on the edge.  We had entered a little bit into a darker section.

I could see the ladies, they were not looking towards me, but I still had the feeling that someone was looking at me.
I looked down to grab the handle of the bucket and realized I was standing on the footprints of a big, very big bear.  I was actually forging in a bear's patch.  That was who  was looking at me.   

Very slowly, with no quick movements,  I started backing away from the bush.   I called to Rama in a low, calm voice.  There was a field between me and the ladies.   I thought if I started running, it might excite the bear to attack.   Instead controlling every step, I walked slowly towards the ladies.     

Warning them about the presence of the bear, they did not seem too alarmed.  They explained  they pick berries in the sunlight, out in the open field, which bears don’t like.  Hum m . .  Win thoroughly enjoyed the berries right out of the bucket and the pie that I made too.  

The big lesson was how to live in a summer mountain cabin on the north side of the mountain, in the winter with no fireplace, or heater.  It was cold.  During the two-week Christmas vacation, we warmed up by visiting family in Los Angeles.  Returning home we found the water pipes had frozen solid and broken.   Water in the kitchen sink or bathroom would not flow and the toilet could not be used.   We had to rough it outside.

We called the owners of the cabin, who were not too happy about having to repair broken pipes.  No one had warned us about leaving the water running so it would not freeze. We would have done it, if we had been told to do it, but really, who goes on vacation for two weeks and leaves the water running?  

In the process of melting the frozen pipes, the plumbers allowed the water to drain down the mountainside, which included the gravel driveway. Unfortunately the road froze, slick as glass, a condition which lasted for a quite while.

The cabin itself was cold.  As a kid, I remember starting many campfires in our backyard in East LA.  All we needed was a metal container.  We found a large discarded oil can, set it on top of some rocks on the floor, gathered wood and kindling and I confidently started a fire in the house.  Soon, we had a nice fire going, a very nice fire.  Unfortunately, we had not counted on the smoke.  The cabin was filling up with smoke.  We could not open the windows up of fast enough.  Nor could we drag the oil container out fast enough.  Smoke penetrated our clothes and everything else in the cabin.  I had built fires outside, never gave a thought to the smoke.  I had never lived in a house with a fireplace and chimney, neither had Win.

Win and I both really love the area, the trees, rushing waters, clean air, little traffic, and nice people. 

Ice cream made from newly fallen snow is a sweet memory.  The  “home-boy shop teacher” and his wife invited us to dinner one night and served homemade ice cream from snow for desert.   What a treat. The secret was knowing where to find and what texture and condition the snow should be in for "snow ice-cream".   They knew all about flora and fauna,  wildflowers and wild life.  He and his wife and family were both brought up in these Trinity-Shasta mountains.  This was home.  They were very gracious. 

We looked at the possibility of homesteading, but found it was a rather closed community.  Clerks would disappear from their desks.  No one seemed to know anything, regardless of the title of the office.  If we had been looking now, with the resources of the computer, we probably could have found our answers.  

The weeks and months rolled bye. Rama was wonderful company.   As a football and basketball coach, Win frequently was out of town.  Rama would sleep at the foot of my bed, ears straight up, like telescopes, rotating to the sounds.  He was still a puppy, but he took his responsibilities seriously.   He would stay on duty until Win got home, then flop off the bed  in the most exhausted manner imaginable.  

Rama also had another friend that came to visit, but he only stayed about a week, and I never learned his name.  One evening we came back from a walk, Win, me, and Rama.   It had gotten colder and Win hung  a little blanket over the doghouse door.  Rama was ahead of us, stuck his head past the blanket curtain and started wagging his tail.  My husband and I were really puzzled.   What was in there and why didn’t Rama care that someone was in his house? 

With tail wagging, Rama backed up. 

Although Rama knew where Trixie lived, he never went over there by himself.  Trixie had been a little lax in coming over. I wondered about it.    One morning after Win had gone to school, I looked out the window to a sight that still astounds me. It is an indelible image in my mind.  

Little Trixie was sitting outside on the dirt drive-way, between Rama on one side, and the Hound on the other side.   They were facing a circle of dogs, maybe a dozen or more, looking at the three of them.  They were still, all like statues.  I knew immediately Trixie was in heat. Clearly, the Hound and Rama were protecting Trixie.

The size of the circle of dogs indicated  the three of them were in danger.  I know puppy Rama would have died protecting his little friend.  He could not have done it by himself. The presence of the big Hound changed the scenario.  Neither Rama nor the Hound had tried to mount Trixie.   

I did not know what to do. All I could was pray.  I was afraid if I went out there, it could ignite a reaction, unpredictable by all accounts.   Since that incident I have read many stories of animals, who appear in time of need and perform angelically.  

After awhile, the dogs quietly dispersed.   Rama, the Hound and I took Trixie home. I explained to the owner, what had almost happened. As we walked back to our cabin, the Hound walked away from us.  He never returned to visit. The angel dog warrior had fulfilled his assignment. A babysitting-duty, but he did a good job.

Rama and Trixie continued their daily play times.  Sadly, I began to see that something was wrong with Trixie.  She did not seem to have the energy to play.  She did not want to play.  She would visit, but would  just sit.  Rama would drop a bit of food in front of her, or a piece of rope or stick to entice her and play tug-of-war with him.  Once I heard a bit of noise, like a trash can rattling in the drive-way.  Rama had a pie tin in his mouth and was dragging it noisily back and forth in front of Trixie to get her to play.  It was obvious that she was not feeling well.  I carried her home.

Sadly the owner had not given Trixie her distemper shots, and sadly little Trixie died.  I tried to keep Rama occupied and made a point of going someplace every day.  I’m sure he missed her.  Sometimes he would just lay on the porch with his nose resting on the ledge looking towards their play area.

Changes were ahead for both of us, sadly for both us.  The ground was still frozen but the snow had melted.  Rama and I were returning home from one of our walking excursions along a stream. 

Strangely, Rama did not want to follow me.  He kept pulling back, sometimes disappearing and then suddenly showing himself, at a distance.   He had never done that before.  He also started pulling at my sleeve, pulling me back, standing firm.  I was confused. I stopped, then started walking. Again, he grabbed my sleeve and pulled me back.  We were going home to make dinner.   He knew we were going home.  He knew the pattern, just a little short cut over a stream. A third time Rama grabbed my sleeve and pulled me back.

Then suddenly, Rama stopped pulling and looked passed me, as if he were looking at someone. He changed immediately, quietly followed me over the stream, and walked obediently, close to me.   

As we walked up the road to the cabin, Rama ran ahead, maybe 10-15 feet. We were both on the left side of the road. An isolated truck surprisingly was coming down that road.  It was dusk and his lights were on.  Rama had stopped running looked up expectantly towards the lights, and then just as suddenly ran directly into the truck.  I thought maybe he had been blinded by the lights, but he was running towards the lights on purpose, and then stopped, almost as if he were waiting to be hit. He went between the front wheels, and died instantly,  hit by one of the back tires.  

I couldn’t believe what had happened.  I rushed over to comfort him, hoping, he was still alive.   As  I wrapped my arms around him, even though his body was still warm, I could feel his heart was not beating..  Nothing was broken.  There was no blood, but he was dead.

I realize now, Rama knew he was going to die. He knew and he was afraid.  That was why he did not want to go home. Reviewing all of the circumstances.  The driver said that he would have to use dynamite to bury Rama where I wanted, but the ground to his great surprise was as soft as sand.  Win arrived as the decision was being made.

I am comforted realizing that an angelic being was with him, directing him by the stream and also the exact moment to run into the truck, not to experience pain in passing to the spirit world.  We buried Rama by the cabin where we shared many happy moments.  I look forward to seeing Rama on the other side.  He was a joy, a sweetheart. 

The next morning, my friend Sally rushed to tell Win, the horrible dream that she had.  She said, it woke her up. She dreamed that Rama had been hit by a truck and killed.  She described where it had taken place, and that I was crying and crying. My husband had to tell her, it was not a dream.  That was exactly what I had happened, and that I was heart-broken.

The school year was coming to a close, and Win’s contract was not being renewed.  It turned out that a homeboy was completing his California teaching certificate and they had only needed Win to fill in that one year slot as basketball and football coach.    

The timing was good.  Win had read about the aerospace industry and the great need there was for engineers.  He had the G.I. Bill available to him and decided to go for it. He applied at UCLA and was accepted into the Physics department.  Quite a jump from Physical Education to Physics.   

We packed up our 4x6 and left the beautiful Trinity mountains, filled with lots of memories, a deeper respect for the spiritual, and a life time friendship. Nick has since passed away.  My daughter, Tawn and Sally's daughter Valerie were college room mates, and still stay in touch, as Sally and I do. 

It was much easier going down the mountain.