THE NORTHERN CAMPSITE page 57

My northern campsite was seven miles north of Ash Fork. G.B. pulled the pink trailer half way up the mountain side, below the White Elephant quarry, then settled it under wind-twisted old juniper trees.

He filled the trailer's water storage tank and connected the propane tanks for the fridge, stove and water heater. To guarantee ample water for the shower, G.B. had his carpenters build a stand which held two water barrels behind the trailer. I thought he was carrying my water supply to an extreme when he had the men brace a third barrel in the fork of a juniper tree by my door. But G.B. knew I would run out of water, no matter how much I had.

The first morning at my new campsite, for a special treat, I fried a pan of bacon, onions, potatoes and an egg.

I carried my aromatic plate and a cold Pepsi outside into the cool, early morning sunshine and climbed up onto Huff, a loader G.B. had driven out from the stoneyard the day before.

As I ate my breakfast slowly, I scanned the scene below me; Mt. Floyd, Old Pocatch, and cinder cones along the horizon. I looked north but the valley soon disappeared behind the skirts of my mountain. South, the valley reached out to Ash Fork and beyond into the early morning haze.

My attention was drawn to the ground close below my campsite by the arrival of a huge, long legged jack rabbit. He sat quivering, wide eyed and still, then bolted on his zigzag path at the sounds of a passing cotton-tail. I looked up into the deepening sky and into the branches above my head. I called to a little bird who replied, "com'ere, com'ere."

Just where the valley road crossed the Atcheson, Topeka and Santa Fe railroad tracks into town, I noticed a puff of dust. Dust traced a vehicle's progress down the valley. Eventually the vehicle swung onto Quarry Road, crossed the cattle-guard and flashed between the trees along the frontage road. It was G.B. in the company pick-up bringing rock doodlers who did not have transportation up to the quarry.

In order to open the office at eight a.m., G.B. dropped off the men at seven-thirty, checked their water barrels and their equipment, gave his orders for the day, then roared back toward town.

On his way down the mountain, G.B. skidded to a stop by my campsite, saw I was gazing at the view below and asked me, "Charle, how can y'all just set thar doin' nothin'? Y'all git yer giddle on up the hill an' paint some pictures. I'll be back this evenin'."

He was off in a big puff of dust . . . and he was back at noon and at three o'clock and at five o'clock, but he never did come back the evening.

The next day I learned "evenin" is any time after twelve noon and G.B. had come back three times last evenin'



G.B. and the Strange Canadian Painter Lady
by Charlotte Madison and Nana Cook
copyright 1994