Notes on life in the Pecos wilderness (from 1982): Changelings

Last night everything froze. The laundry I put out to dry this morning has turned to boards. I have just completed the herculean task of washing my hair. The water heater has stopped working and so I had to heat water in a series of pans on the cooker. Windy Bridge is living up to its name. The door which I cannot lock keeps flying open letting the precious heat out. There is a gas leak somewhere and the lurking smell of it makes me feel nauseous.

Now if a group of two women and five blue eyed, blond-haired changelings of assorted sizes, born of five mothers and sired by one father (who is conspicuous by his absence and probably lack of further utility) have been travelling in India for three years and now wish to bring the Tibetan way of life to western society should move in somewhere, where would it be? You got it right away. Next door. Next door being over a bridge and about 500 yards down an exceedingly muddy track. The children, charming in their way I have to admit, decide our cabin is their territory and walk in and out on impulse asking strange changeling questions and generally muddying the place.

‘Why is your hair that colour?’ I am asked.

‘Are you a girl or a boy?’ a small red faced creature in a green dress asks my daughter.

‘I am a boy’ says he and ‘this is a girl’ he says pointing to his half-sister. ‘She’s wearing my trousers. We all share clothes.’

I begin to sense the ideology behind this lack of concern.

‘We're not allowed to go to school’ says girl in trousers. ‘It’s not good for us’.

‘We can’t read or write’ says the boy in the green dress. ‘Can I have a piece of your cake?’.

Now if I was suffering from people withdrawal symptoms I no longer am. I feel jealous of my former isolation. I want to see people when I want to see them. After all I am working on my epic and here are these pint sized humans disturbing me with their insolence and mud.

Today they rushed in to ask me to help push their mother’s car which had broken down in the middle of the bridge. Now I don’t drive and I know absolutely nothing about cars except that this one weighed about three tons and when the hand break was released I thought I was about to be crushed as it rolled backward against my futile push. Next the bonnet came up and I was instructed by the driver to put my fingers in nasty greasy places and watch for things opening and shutting while she attempted to start the machine.