Hi, Sue. What a lovely story...I have lived in my current neighboorhood for only 7 years, so I don't have the same sense of being rooted in a place that you do, but my mother still lives in the house where I grew up, and I do feel some of that when I go to visit her. It's more of a melancholy experience though, because most of the people who lived there when I grew up are long gone, and the neighborhood has gone to seen around Mom but she won't leave it form somewhere "bettter". At 76, she is pretty settled in, such as it is.

I do have one memory about when I was a child that is somewhat interesting, and yours reminded me of it, because it takes place where I grew up, and where I still often go to visit Mom. It will be wordy, but it's worth it (I hope).

At about age 10 or 11 we both liked to ride horses. This would have been in about 1967 or 1968. We would ride our bikes to a riding stable in the foothills near home and rent horses for the day. We'd take our lunches with us, find a place to stop, and eat up in the hills. This was long before play dates, soccer moms or any of the organized activities that kids are locked into now - on our bikes, we had the run of the 10-mile radius around our homes, as long a we were home by dinner (and woe betide you if you were not!). Anyway, one day we stopped to eat lunch on a curious flat wooden structure we found, perfect for sitting on. As we ate, part of it gave way and it turned out to be the cover of an abandoned well. Pretty dangerous. When we went home we told our mothers, and mine in particular was pretty upset that the stable owners would allow this on their property. She went over there to demand that they board it up properly and learned that the land we were on actually belonged to a rancher who rented out his land to film Westerns. My mother was taking the census that year (stay at home mom trying to earn some extra money), and it happened that the rancher was in her census territory. She went marching up to the ranch house in full indignation, only to find a frail old blind man in a filthy, hot, fly-specked room attended by several strange "hippie girls" as she called them. She felt like something wasn't right and decided that maybe causing a scene about the well was not a great idea. We were forbidden to ride there again.

Some months passed before we learned that our favorite riding place had actually been the Spahn Movie Ranch, the old man was George Spahn and the "hippie girls" were the Manson Family. We used to see them panhandling often in Chatsworth, the town just below the ranch, but at that time and place they weren't that unusual.

All these years later I wonder what might have been in that abandoned well. There were a lot of people who went missing up there, and a lot who were never found.

My friend's mother eventually wrote a piece about our experience that was published in the LA Times some while back. We had long since lost touch but of course I recognized it right away. Interesting how place is so tied up with memory - I never think of this story unless I'm over there, and then I can't get it out of my mind. Weird!

xxxoo

-Janine

Sue,

This morning was beautifully sunny and the perfect temp still a bit cool but it will be warm by this afternoon. I had to pick my daughter up at school and talk to her guidance counsellor. For the first time in a couple months I felt comfortable enough to leave Dick alone for a few minutes. Getting out of the house by myself, even if it was just long enough to get to the school, seemed like a treat. Full of the warm fuzzies I too was thinking back on the people I have known. Specifically I was thinking about the people around us when Dick stroked. We had been work-camping at an RV park for only two months yet those people surrounded Dick and myself with care and love. It is amazing what richness can come from evan a short aquaintance. Now even though we no longer have contact those memories can warm my heart.

Ruth