Behind the Redwood Curtain
"So where IS Yoda, already?" Each time we rounded a bend, I was sure we'd see it.
"It's near the reservoir, right?"
And there it was. Father Junipero Yoda. In all his dune-colored glory. It was right after the Yoda House, a strange bubbly stucco house with rounded roofs and organic form, straight out of Star Wars (the first one which is always Star Wars One to me, not Episode Four.) The house used to be white but now it's a bright, dark orange. Much less Star Wars; much more Moomin.
"There it is! Yoda! He's pointing the way. 'Use the force, Luke.'"
"'Pull my finger, you must. Quick, Brother Juan. Pull my finger,'" Big Dog as usual, had buttholes on his mind. I play along.
"'Hurry! Brother Miguel, come pull my finger.'"
"Are you Yoda or Serra?"
"'Why will no one pull my finger? Oh, Dear Lord, will YOU pull my finger?'"
"'Oh, why not. Everyone's asking me to pull his finger. First Adam, now you.'"
* * * * *
It is early spring in Arcata. Our little apple tree is just beginning to bloom. We missed out on the daffodils, but there are wild onions and little purple flowers everywhere. A stray tulip is trying to bloom in front of the house.
The unseasonably sunny weather we had for the first few days is waning. There's more mist and fog in the morning and sporadic rain. And it's cold. We have no internet connection, no phone. We really are hidden behind the redwood curtain. So if you don't see many new entries for a while, you know why. It's not because I'm zoned out of my mind in the forests.
Wait. Today's April 20th. Okay, so maybe I am.