When the time came to leave Saint Helena, we had to make it out of the driveway. Two ninety degree turns. Somehow, though, we all thought the exit would be easier than entering.


I woke Jay when we were ready; he had driven to Mendocino and back the night before, including driving into and out of the Mendocino Woodlands Park to get Heather—twice—on rutty dirt drop-off roads. So as when we arrived, our genial host appeared relaxed but capable in his "lounge wear".

He and Andre worked out a plan.

















I retired to the toilet, as they put it—the plan and the Bounder, all 36'—in motion.
My retirement from the action was of necessity, as well as cowardice. I knew the outcome would be positive; I just didn't want to add any anxious vibes. Thus closeted, hopeful, I began to hear a repeated screeching. I imagined the gnarly branches of the walnut trees creating a gauntlet through which Andre and Jay must guide the motor home—avoiding them was part of the plan. Yet here was this frequent, intermittent high-pitched screeching intruding on my peace. As were my colorful fantasies.

When I finally ventured out to the driveway, the motor home was in position to head down the driveway. But Andre was backing it up, then coming forward incrementally, and repeating the process and the screeching. At one point he and Jay exchanged knowing manly glances equal to, but not, the thumbs-down gesture. Actually, Andre wrinkled his nose cutely while subtly shaking his head. No.

I was able to ascertain that it wasn't the end of the world, our trip, or our exit. And I forgave myself immediately and completely for that notion, considering our history on the road. Days of rain had caused the problem—damp brake pads ("like running your finger around the rim of a wineglass," Andre says), and so Andre proceeded to the end of the driveway, preparing to exit.



Relieved, I started the Rav and drove into position behind the Bounder, having been momentarily distracted from my emotions around leaving Jay. Yet the next moments brought those farewells, and then the tandem left turns of Bounder followed by me driving the Rav onto the busy road. And away.
















The brakes dried as we drove away past hills and fields of ordered vineyards, bright with sunshine, green grass and yellow mustard blooming between the rows.



















While Andre attached the motor home, I tried to tend my spirit: to hold the joy of being in Jay's life and let go of the sadness of moving physically away. I took pictures, the rows braced me, the blossoms on the tree by the brown stone wall claimed a small part of me. There. Then.