Hidden Trails Road | Fat Wallet Refugee

The trailer on Hidden Trails Road had actually been our home prior to the construction on Eddy Street. So we really just moved back after a short sojourn.

It was on the old dirt road where we got our dog, he just wandered down our driveway one afternoon, no tags no collar. He was never properly trained and I liked to wrestle about with him.

Dogs need to be trained. We had been a cat family up until his arrival and I just assumed he would manage himself like the cat did.

He ran off one day and was found a while later down in Port Hadlock missing a leg. It was a gruesome sight after the surgery, him hopping about. I recall thinking at the time that dogs were kind of stupid.

I still feel that way. I smile when I see them and I think they’re cute in their own way, but I wouldn’t want one. I prefer cats.

Back to the trailer now. There was a new family living in the studio across from us. It was my best friends elder sister I think. I may be mistaken on the time and dates. I did visit several years later and may be confusing the dates.

Before the new couple moved in, there was a family that lived there and the father had a flight simulator game on his computer that quite enjoyed playing.

I would sometimes play with the young boy, Forrest, much my junior. We both enjoyed Power Rangers I think. The daughter, Kali, had one of those old all-in-one Macintosh computers with the dual disk drives.

I recall our mothers were all friends and sort of networked out childcare. I can remember days and nights spent visiting many of the other children.

My junior year I mostly rode my bicycle to school. There was a school bus stop, but it was such a long walk to the street I could never make it on time to be picked up.

In a jewelry class at school I met up with a former friend, Jaime Freitas, who used to live down the street from a much earlier home. It turned out she was living down a private drive directly across from Hidden Trails.

If I had taken the bus to school during my junior year, I would have met her sooner. A later incident at school ended the friendship.

In my senior year, I started staying with my father in Darby’s boatyard. I lived in a camper and rode to school each day. It was much closer to school and easier to get around.

On Friday and Saturday nights, I worked a part-time job as the doorman at the Port Townsend Dance Collective which was hosted by Jeffrey at the masonic temple uptown.

Jeff got me involved with the Big Brothers and Sisters program as it was being implemented. I wasn’t entirely confident I could do a good job. But didn’t feel comfortable turning him down. I never liked disappointing people when I was younger. I rarely stood up for myself.

I think at some point the program merged with Island County and Jeff was no longer involved. I let them know I was only there as a favor to Jeff and didn’t wish to continue.

As you might imagine, that did not go over well with the staff. I believe I heard something along the lines of “think of the children.” It was very uncomfortable but I think I must have been firm about my decision because I don’t recall going back.

I’m off on a tangent here. Best stop before it becomes my life’s story.

Continued in F & Fir Street

After breakfast on Thursday, I decided to walk across town to my old house on Eddy Street.

1265 Eddy. It was part of a first time home owners project. There were six homes to be built, 3 each on two different streets. The future homeowners took part in the construction process.

I recall afternoons after school visiting the work sites where my mother was busy hammering nails and hoisting lumber.

After construction I lived in a big two-story home with a nice yard, a tree out back and my dog. I had my own room, we had a guest room for company.

A friend of my mother visiting from Canada stayed with us once. And another friend lived with us for a time in the guest room. She had a little one-eyed cat, I think it’s name was Fafnir.

I would ride my bicycle to Grant Street where I attended an alternative school program called ICE. It provided some classroom instruction for home schooled children. After graduating ICE, I attended the local high-school through my sophomore year. From then on I rode the bus most mornings, unless I slept in.

My mother worked at the nurse’s station at Jefferson hospital for a awhile but she couldn’t continue.

The housing was an inventive idea, but we couldn’t make the payments on the mortgage and sadly had to sell the home. We got very little after paying the bank back. After that we lived in a single-wide trailer outside of town on a gravel and dirt track named Hidden Trails Road.

Continued in On Walkabout: Hidden Trails Road