WATSONVILLE

After driving a while and then a mile or so on gravel you come to the mail box at 6082 Rollenhagen Rd., off the beaten track between Grand Rapids and Muskegon, Michigan. A left turn puts you on a two track drive with a 15 acre meadow on the left, and a deep gully full of maples and hemlock on the right. A hundred yards farther you can see the tan paint of the barn through a maze of more trees and a red pickup truck or a tractor, or small bull dozer parked there. As you close in on the place, through trees on the right, the two story, tan house with a gambrel roof begins to take shape. I call the place, Watsonville.

For all legal and official purposes, this is where I live. Most of the time I’m somewhere else and the people who own the property come and go without fanfare. Duane and Laura Watson have the upstairs, back bedroom. Other Watson’s, son Ben and brother Doug, dwell in the basement. Now that daughters Kelly and Jaime are married it leaves three bedrooms unoccupied. One of those rooms is mine. It isn’t always the same room but I merit a closet and haven’t had to sleep on the sofa yet. When visiting family or friends beat me to my regular room, I just bump down one room across the hall. 

Days begin early here. Duane, a teacher, is usually up by 4:00 a.m. and covers the 12 miles to school by 5:00. Laura is an administrative assistant at the same school but doesn’t leave so early. Bedtime comes early too. I’m usually the only one up when I drag in at 9:00 or 10:00 p.m. I sleep until 6:30 and am the only one in the house when the sun comes up. Wait; that’s not altogether true. Helix, the calico cat usually follows me into the bathroom, jumps up on the counter top and waits for me to turn on the water. I make the faucet trickle as he prefers running water. After he drinks his fill, he jumps down and I can take care of my morning chores. His name derives from DNA structure; yeah, biology teachers. 

I have to remember to close my door every time. Oliver, the long hair, tan cat learned years ago that the latch on my door doesn’t catch every time and if he leans against it, sometimes it opens. He likes to sleep on the pillow as he sheds. He’s named for Charles Dickens’ character Oliver Twist. He’s the only cat that will crawl up in your lap and solicit affection. Mango is the old, yellow & white, battle worn, veteran, barn cat with scars to prove it. He’s earned his place in the house and is old enough I don’t know the origin of his name. 

While we’re on animals, Sanford is the most recent critter: a 2-yr. old Chiwawa-Terrier mix. He thinks he’s 10 ft. tall and bullet proof and he is a good watch dog. He covers the front yard and meadow from his perch in the bay window and he can hear a crumb hit the kitchen floor from outside on the deck. We have a new generation of chickens in the coop. Last spring’s raccoon invasion resulted in the loss of all 14, free range, laying hens and 9 raccoons paid the ultimate price for that indiscretion. We are beginning again with a redesigned, coon-proof chicken house. The new pullets stopped peeping and started clucking a couple of weeks ago and should start laying soon.

The house is heated with a high tech wood furnace, located out by the barn. A thermostat controls the fire box which heats water to 170 degrees, fed underground into the house. It goes through a heat exchanger in the traditional, forced air furnace and heats the house, then recycled back to the fire box. With another heat exchanger in the hot water tank, we use 170 degree water to heat well water to 105 degrees. 

The meadow is planted in either rye or oats for the deer in winter and the wood pile needs to be replenished regularly. So there’s always something to do on Rollenhagen Rd. Sometimes I cook. Sometimes I help with outside chores. Sometimes they just like having me around. When people want to know where I’m from, I don’t know what to say. I usually say something about all of us coming from Africa, a long time ago. But if they need coordinates, Watsonville. is what I tell them.