Land of the Unforgiven

Passing through Canon City, Colorado driving Hobo, our self-contained recreational vehicle in 1979, we stopped for pancakes at the Ranch House. Silver dollar pancakes were their specialty. Lick your chops flapjacks. Nothing like ‘em before or since.

The town itself was a little scary because the main prison seemed to cast a pall over it. Plus, dust was everywhere it shouldn’t be. Gave the place an eerie feel, like the land of the unforgiven.

Lucky for us we were moving on toward Salida, headed for Coaldale. Our friends, Dr. Ernie, and his wife Rosalie, invited us to stay in the guest house at their ranch. Well, they called it a ranch, but it was a beautiful house on a hill butting up against Bureau of Land Management property. Acres and acres of open land with trees and scrub. Nothing else for miles. Just a view. Ernie would say, “Have a look. You can see whatever you want out there!”

We never agreed to stay with people before, so this was a first. We were very independent, hotels or our R.V. But Rosalie was our five-year old daughter’s Godmother of sorts, and it was Rosalie’s birthday. All she asked was to have Jennifer with her, so we complied.

Rosalie had been a mentor to me my first year of teaching junior high. Without her, I never would have made it to the second. We’d sit in an attic alcove she knew about on the third floor of the school during lunch. She’d smoke and I’d whine. Then she’d say something profound, and I’d feel better, go back to my classroom, and get on with the business of teaching kids who didn’t want to be taught.

The scenario continued until one day she told me she was getting a divorce because her husband planted the onion bulbs upside down. I thought that was ridiculous and told her I didn’t believe her. She said it was sort of true but really, she had fallen in love with the surgeon who removed her gallbladder. Thus, Doctor Ernie entered the picture.

Ernie was thirty years older than Rosalie, divorced and knowledgeable about art, music and philosophy as well as being Chief of Staff at the local hospital in Berwyn, Illinois. He had escaped from Prague and made it to America on the last boat out of England, so he had a few rough edges. Only added to his charm.

The ranch was their get-away from Lilian, his ex-wife, his grown children who hated Rosalie, and Berwyn, Illinois in general. Rosalie’s ex was apparently still busy waiting for the onions to come up, so he wasn’t an obstacle.

Rosalie was so happy to entertain us at the ranch. She cooked salmon and even made Baked Alaska, which I had never eaten. My daughter loved all of the attention. My husband and Ernie got along well. We were like a little family.

Usually, Ernie had a policy guests could stay three days because like fish, they would start to stink if they lingered any longer. But we were invited to stay as long as we liked and returned many times through the years. They would also stay at our home in California.

We wound up traveling together in Rv’s and even went to Mexico. Nobody planned on Ernie getting really old. But it happened. He had a hard time seeing and became short-tempered, which made Rosalie sad and bitter.

I didn’t know what old felt like then and I wasn’t very understanding. We had a falling out over something silly and our communication became less and less. In retrospect, I think it was my way of protecting myself from losing people I loved to the inescapable fatality of age.

First Ernie died. Then Rosalie. They left us quite a bit of money. It took me years to figure out why. Though dialogue fades, perhaps memories of beautiful views remain and grace the young with forgiven for their stupidity.

— Mugsy