Cardinal Meadows. "A Journey of Faith in a New Place."

                                                               Cardinal Meadows.

'No. Absolutely not! Both God and I knew why. I was 25 years old. I didn't want to die alone in a basement.'                                                

                                                                      Episode 1

"Now the LORD had said unto Abram, 'Get thee out of thy country, and from thy kindred, and from thy father's house, unto a land that I will shew thee...")

There was no "WELCOME HOME!!!" banner taped across the garage door. My father had passed away when I was twelve. My mother had been recently re-married to Jay- a soon to be retired police sergeant. Jay was a take charge guy who not only liked his privacy, but who liked being addressed as "Sergeant." Our home. His terms. Returning home, I could stay, under the condition that I live basically as a tenant in the basement. A real basement would have been nice, compared to the small dank room located at the bottom of the stairs behind the washer and dryer ( An omen of a future where my life would be stuck in perpetual spin cycle). It wasn't long before despair multiplied, like the spots of mold clinging to the ceiling. For the next 4 years, I felt like the journeying Abraham, wandering a desert of odd jobs and one date romances (women are so very impressed with guys who live in their mothers' basement.) I was about to give up all hopes of having a normal life when, when I latched onto, what I thought was a "sign" from God. I'd hoped it was from God anyway, as everything I owned was now stuffed into hatchback of a car that was nearly as old as I was. I was driving West to a small red dot on a map. My New Jerusalem? The mountain community of Cardinal Meadows. I wondered if I could make it in 4 days. Somewhere between Amarillo and Albuquerque I took a business loop off the highway and found a diner where I ordered "The Special"- A double jalapeno cheese burger with a side of chili fries. Strictly small town- "East Coast," a "Jalapeno burger" sounded intriguing. Minus the drone of "Air Espanola," Wacky southern preachers and "All Country Music- All of the time" that had hijacked my car radio, I took a few moments to reflect over the last couple of days. Reflecting, coffee and jalapeno's don't mix well. The heavy grease of lunch churned with the uncertainty of the situation. I had to ask myself why was I so attracted by the flowery language in the Internet Real Estate guide. I'd bought a house based only on 3 tightly shot photographs and a description that included- Mountain retreat, income producing fruit orchard and a great place to fish or write the next best seller. Sure, I was naturally impulsive, but this was way beyond anything I'd done before. I would have only been mildly interested in the advertisement at first, but the "catch," the "sucker punch?" Short and sweet, and it came at a weak moment- "Owner Will Carry." It was too good- "Not" to be true. Without exhaling, I downloaded, signed, and next day parceled a purchase agreement. The deposit check nearly sucked the guts out of my savings account. Oh, how often I'd imagined myself in the light of Thoreau, living off the land in monastic simplicity, a wizened sage, penning a small yet awe inspiring book. I would of course, poo poo the accolades, reviews and incessant pleadings from the talk show circuit to grace audiences, as of course it had become an international best seller. Had imagination and visions of grandeur overtaken common sense? Should I have prayed more about it, or even, god-forbid, taken my mothers advice? No. Absolutely not! Both God and I knew why. I was 25 years old. I didn't want to die alone in a basement. Weary eyed and frazzled, after 5 days of "rest stop sleeping", (a technically flawed description) I started up the 12 mile grade that led toward my "final destination." How ironic the thought of those two words side by side (final and destination) given the threatening geography I was traveling. What a crazy road. I couldn't risk pulling off to the side. The road to Cardinal Meadows was as twisted as the knot in my stomach. The arbitrary lack of guard rails wasn't nearly as frightening as the cars that were piling up behind me. This wasn't anything close to tameness of the Pennsylvania turnpike. I was in the middle of wishing they'd stop honking their horns, when I spotted the small sign where the highway split into two. It was emblazoned with an arrow to turn right. "Cardinal Meadows 3 Miles. "How embarrassing. Everyone in the line of cars that was riding my rear, were also taking the turn down the steep grade into the valley. You would have thought it the start of a Nascar race. The entire line of cars passed me at break neck speed. Some of them were yelling, as they sped past. I distinctly heard the words "Idiot" and "Flat-lander" and could not in anyway misinterpret the distinctive (and somewhat prophetic) single fingered sign language, the first directed at me by a couple in a sedan and another via ancient prune of a woman, driving an even older green pickup truck. It all spoke of "Welcome Stranger." I wonder if Abraham ever had days like today.