I got up on the 5 July and my face hurt from smiling so much the night before. Next year you should come to the Treehouse Independence day Party here in Takilma, State of Jefferson, on the south base of Hope Mountain, opposite the north base of my home.
It all started innocent enough on the 3 July. Jeff asked me, "What ya doin' on the Fourth?”
I started to give him a brief itinerary for my weekend when he interrupted me and said, "You should go out to the treehouses in Takilma." Jeff knows I live opposite the infamous hippie settlement of the seventies.
"The treehouses?"
"Oh yeah, Man, you'll dig it, the whole community goes out there. There's live music, fireworks, food… it's a party, man. You should go." Jeff isn't exactly a party animal; a health nut with two teenage sons and a pre-teenage daughter, owner of the prominent Chevron station for the last twenty five years, he's a pillar of the community, so I naturally figured the ‘treehouse party’ would be a respectable family affair, for the most part.
I ran into another buddy of mine, Dave, that afternoon too. Dave carves bears and wizards and such, from cedar logs with a chain saw. He lives in a camp trailer on part of his sister's lot at the four corners (where my road and Takilma Road intersect). Toothless, wild and rambling, Dave’s a party animal. As I passed his place on the way home he hailed me over and asked me, "Hey, whatta you doin' on the Fourth?” Before I could answer he continued, "You should go to the treehouses. Man, you'll have a good time!
“Everybody will be there, man, you gotta go."
My phone rang on the morning of the Fourth. It was Devon, another buddy of mine. He owns a caravan park in Cave Junction. Devon is a businessman and a party animal. He loves women, being too loud, having too much fun, and drinking too much. At six foot seven and two hundred and seventy pounds, he’s a giant of a man. His best friend Jessie is two inches shorter and twenty pounds heavier.
So, Devon calls me on the morning of the Fourth and said, "We're going to the Treehouses for a party tonight, we'll be by to get you at six".
I said, " Have you been there before?"
Devon replied, " No, but everybody says it's a party, so you should go too."
Devon's only been in town about six months longer than I have and at thirty years old and single he's always on the hunt for love and a thrill. Twenty years older than he and Jessie, I didn't have their enthusiasm for a party, but after the third 'you should go’ I was beginning to feel like the community was waiting to meet me and I should go. Especially intriguing was the vast difference in the people who recommended my going.
Takilma has a reputation for being an ex-hippie haven/refuge, pot farming community on the Oregon/California border where the only way into the mountains and the California part of the valley, is through Oregon. Local law enforcement avoids the place. One road in, one road out. No radio, no cell service, no strangers. If there is a ‘State of Jefferson’, Takilma and the southern side of the mountain is the rebel base. The helicopter spends a lot more time over there...
The boys arrived about an hour late. Prelude to the party, and we were on the way. We were Happy.
The treehouses are just a few miles in on Takilma road. You can google 'Out 'n About', or 'Takilma Treehouses', and take a virtual tour.
Before the sun went down ‘the party” was a picnic, barbecue, and family affair. A cross between Golden Gate Park circa 1969, and The Renaissance fair at Black Oak Forest in Novato. Games, food, vendors, treehouses, and ropewalks. Ale, beer. wine, women and song. Mushroom tea... pungent smells in the air. Open laughter and pipe sharing. There was a country band and a few dancers. At least a couple of thousand people. It was Woodstock 2008 on a smaller scale. Everybody was friendly and COOL. The Party was an excellent representation of the community. I felt good to be part of the microcosm.
While were standing around drinking, eating and admiring other people's wives and girlfriends, a young lady suddenly dropped to the ground not ten feet away and started flopping like a fish on dry ground. Everybody was shocked. Her friends were frozen. She was about twenty-five and everyone just stood and watched as she wriggled in the brown dirt.
Moments into the drama, as the girl's color started to change I moved over to her. Holding her head still, I could she was biting her tongue. It was already bleeding. I yelled for a stick to put between her teeth. I forced enough of my thumbs between her teeth to release her tongue, and at that moment a young man with dreadlocks shoved an index finger size stick between her teeth.
I calmly told her to relax, she'd be okay. She was incoherent. I still kept repeating, "You'll be ok, just relax, you'll be ok."
Suddenly, her eyes met mine and she was back. I could see she was confused and scared. I told her, "You're gonna be fine." A security person arrived. They had called an ambulance for the girl and asked everyone to back up and for the young lady to remain still. I walked back over to the boys.
Scott handed me a beer. "You saved her life, man."
"Yeaaahhhhhhhh, kinda changed the mood for a minute though, didn't it?'"
I looked in the ice chest for the rest of the mushroom tea. Motherf*****s drank it while I was being a hero! Oh well... Devon had bought two red cups of 'tea’ and him, Jessie and Scott had split one. Then Devon handed me the second for myself. I decided I'd watch the boys for a while and stick to ale until I could see how they fared. I was about half way through the juice when the girl had started to flop. I never did find out what went wrong.
As the sun set the fireworks started. There was a water truck and the display was done over a large meadow. No fire danger here I guess. The party was lit up for about an hour. I was impressed. While the fireworks display went on, the bands changed. As the display ended the bass player started to rumble. A young man with dreadlocks started a rhythmic chant; suddenly the singer yelled, “Are you listening Takilma?" The saxophonist let loose with a long drawn out note, and the party started moving toward the stage. There were a lot of those red cups around. The reggae was top notch.
During the second song the saxophonist started throwing finger size joints out into the crowd. It got smoky. The crowd found some rhythm and got their hands above their heads. The band was hot. The singer yelled something about the State of Jefferson tonight. The crowd got cooler, younger, and happier. The whole place was moving with the groove. I couldn't stop smiling. It was a Freedom thing. The band played for three hours without a break. They did it again the next night, too. It was all good. Next year...............
Are you one of us, or one of them?
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