Claire Henley: Adventures West (The House Of Chris)

  • Monday, October 12, 2015
Treasures from Chris' garden
Treasures from Chris' garden

(Editor's Note: Chattanoogan Claire Henley started an adventure of a lifetime on the remote Pacific Crest Trail in April. Along the way, she had many adventures and found herself a husband named Big Spoon).

Back in Quincy, Big Spoon and I didn’t have anywhere in particular to go, and so we wandered around. The Quincy Museum next to the courthouse caught Big Spoon’s eye, as did the $2.00 admission fee. We walked inside and were greeted by the curator named Linda who had piercing blue eyes and fine silver hair. 

“What brings you to Quincy?” Linda asked. 

“We were on the PCT, but now we’re thinking of shooting up to Alaska,” said Big Spoon. 

Linda’s eyes widened. “I have a friend whose son lives in Alaska. If you’d like I can give him a call. His name is Chris Murray, the town’s carpenter. He might be of some help to you,” Linda said as she reached for the phone. 

In the next moment she had Chris on the line. “I have two young PCT hikers at the museum who are looking to go to Alaska,” she said. 

“Send them up,” I heard Chris say. 

Linda hung up the phone and pointed us in the direction of Chris’ house. “He lives at the top of this hill here. The big red house on the right. You can’t miss it. He said to come on now if you can. Chris is a great guy.”

As we didn’t know when another opportunity like this would present itself, Big Spoon and I were off without browsing the museum. We walked up Jackson Street until we saw red wooden slats standing out from the pines like a tree house. 

“Water, beer, or wine?” Chris called when he spotted us coming up. He was bent over in his vegetable garden pulling up weeds. He stood and waved us over. “Water, beer, or wine?” He repeated the question as he took off his work gloves and motioned us to sit at the patio table beneath a loaded apple tree. Chris was short and muscular, wearing grass stained jeans and a Murray Construction t-shirt. His whole face was a smile, and for a complete stranger he seemed strangely familiar. 

The afternoon sun and aromatic garden called for wine. Chris went inside his garage and returned with three stemmed glasses and a bottle of Cabernet he said he made himself. He poured us each a glass then cleared his throat to speak. 

“So you want to go to Alaska, do you? Alaska’s a special place. My son’s a fishing guide up there in Aleknagik. No place like it, Alaska. What draws you two there?” 

Big Spoon and I looked at each other, both unsure how to answer that question because Alaska was a world we knew little about, and a world we didn’t expect to visit this soon, but a world nevertheless we felt we must reach at some point in our lives. 

I responded for the both of us after a moment’s pause: “It’s a place we’ve never been to but have always wanted to go. We don’t know exactly what it is about it that draws us there. Maybe the grizzlies or the glaciers or the Northern Lights. All we know is something is pulling us that way, and we don’t want to ignore or fight that tug.” 

Chris rubbed his chin with his forefinger and thumb. “I see, I see,” he said. “There’s no denying Alaska is a place of purity in our world. And if it’s true that you really want to get there, then you’ll find the way.” 

I thought Chris might go into more detail on different places to visit, as well as the routes to take; but that was all he really said on the subject of Alaska. We continued to drink the wine out by the garden, and Chris told us many things, like how he built his house himself from the trees he cut down to clear the land. His house was beautiful the way it coincided with the land and trees. Grapevines crawled up the lattice along the outer walls, and bees harvested honey in their hive on the back deck. Beyond the garden, sunflowers and wild blueberry bushes grew. Beyond that hung a swing made from a recycled chairlift that looked out on the mountains. Life thrived all around the big red house. It was Chris who enabled this to be.

“Now, I’m about to leave,” He said after finishing his glass of wine. “I’m camping tonight up at Bucks Lake to help a friend tear down cabin walls that rotted. Then we’ll rebuild.” 

Big Spoon and I took this as our queue to get going. We scooted back our chairs and were about to stand when Chris said, “But you two are welcome to stay here tonight. I built my house to be a people home, so please feel free to stay. I have eggs and bacon in the fridge from my neighbor’s chickens and pig, and you can pick anything you like from the garden for dinner. And don’t forget about the wine. There’s still half a bottle left. I’ll be gone until tomorrow evening, but make yourself at home and stay as long as you like. I always keep my doors unlocked.” 

There was no hard thinking involved in taking Chris up on his offer. Big Spoon and I had nowhere else to stay, and at that point we didn’t have a definite idea of how or when we would get to where we were going next. 

“We’d love to stay here,” Big Spoon said. “That would be a tremendous help.” 

“Then follow me,” said Chris. 

He led us into his house where the sun streamed through the windows in every room, overpowering all forms of artificial light. He gave us a bed to sleep in, asked us to feed his cat in the morning, and then said everything else was self explanatory and for us to enjoy his place. Then he left, trusting his home, belongings, and cat to two people he had met a mere thirty minutes before over a glass of wine. Chris was either crazy, or a truly giving man, I thought. 

Warmth and peace made up the evening air. Big Spoon and I walked through the garden and collected a variety of treasures, including squash, zucchini, carrots, tomatoes, radishes, and lettuce. We moved to the kitchen next, where we used Chris’ cast iron skillets to fry the squash and zuccini, cook the bacon, and scramble the eggs. With the rest of the vegetables we made a beautiful salad; and when dinner was ready, we fixed our plates, grabbed the wine and glasses, and went outside to the table by the garden.

The vegetables were fresh; the bacon melted in our mouths; and the eggs tasted more real than the store bought dozen. The meal was a good and comforting start to our big Alaskan journey. The wine made it a celebration of what would be our greatest adventure yet.
* * *

Claire's first book on her adventures while living in Colorado can be ordered here:

http://www.amazon.com/51-Weeks-The-Unfinished-Journey-ebook/dp/B00IWYDLBQ/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1394801373&sr=8-1&keywords=51+Weeks

Chris' garden
Chris' garden
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