Throughout my blogs, I have been referring to people and places by letters. It just dawned on me that some of you may not be familiar with the area where I live. Hoping you will be with me for a while, I will explain a bit about Virginia City. As far as people go, I will stick with the letters of their first names for now.
Virginia City is quite the place to visit, even more so to live. I had never even heard of the place, not being a history buff. From this point on, I will refer to her as VC. I do refer to her as a woman because she can be beguiling, manipulative, seductive, cruel, heartless, apologetic, and forgiving in her ways. And VC has ways, let me tell you.
In January 2014, VST and I were at the doorstep of retirement and looking for a new place to call home. At that time, there was a glut of housing on the market from repossession. We were hot on the trail to find our next best investment: a flip. As retirees, every penny is important. We were both sick to death of California, which was sad because we were both natives. The state had changed so much, and we were ready to join the exodus and head East.
So, for two months, we spent each weekend over the border, looking in Northern Nevada for a nice place to land. We logged miles and miles looking north and south of the Reno area, always investigating repossessed properties listed on a site called Homepath. Every house we chose was not right for one reason or another. Most were in pretty bad shape. Each weekend, we left disappointed, but not defeated, intending to return the next weekend for another try. Just to put our determination and desperation in perspective, each way was a 5.5- to 6-hour drive. That was if there were no wrecks or bad weather to detour our trip. We were on a mission.
I had seen the VC house online. Majestic is the word that comes to mind. While many in VC were built in 1875, ours was built in 2004. It sat on A Street above the town, with a view of over 100 miles from a huge deck that was suspended far above the ground below. Living at the VC house, we were living in the air, like birds in a nest. Wild horses would come and eat off our hill below. We were so close, we could see scars from battles or the new fuzz of a foal, their fluffy little tail whisking flies away. With the position of the house came an unusual silence. There could be thousands on the boardwalks of C Street, and we would hear only the breeze, the faint whistle of the steam train, or the chimes of St. Mary’s on the Mountain.
The problem with the VC house was the price. We wanted our next purchase to not only be our home but also a good investment. VC is located on the side of Mt. Davidson at 6,200 ft. This is the same elevation as Tahoe. Our water was piped from Lake Marlette above Lake Tahoe, through the valley, and up to us. Soft and wonderful mountain water we enjoyed for 6 years. Another problem was that VC is a tourist destination. I have read that 2 million people visit VC annually. There is one street, a few blocks long, where all the action occurs. C Street is also part of a state highway, adding to the confusion. There are no day-to-day services in VC, like a grocery store or Walmart. These are found 15 miles away in either South Reno or Carson City. Miles add up when you live remotely.
The VC house was huge. Period. It had 6 bedrooms and 5 bathrooms on two stories. I could see the V from my kitchen window. The house had windows everywhere. 33 to be exact, all placed to catch the most breathtaking views. It was built to withstand the highest winds, and we got them. Often in excess of 35 mph. The house was a victim of severe abuse. No one could know the disrespect it took from the former owners until they lived there. In 6 years, we loved it back to pristine condition, and it was the fabulous house it was destined to be.
But back to the story. We had wanted the house from the moment we saw it, but it was still $60,000 over budget. But, through the weeks, the price dropped, there was a bidding war, and we won. Plan and simple. For 62 weekends, we moved our possessions using a single small, open trailer. Each weekend was a fantastic getaway after working with sick children and social services. We would decompress on the drive, snacking and wishing we were already there. Each Friday night, as darkness fell, VST would drive, and I would daydream about all the things we would do to the house that weekend. The roads up to VC were windy and treacherous during the day. VST handled them safely, even having to watch for wild mustangs that might be crossing on a blind curve in the black night of VC Wilds.
In August of 2015, we made our final trip home to VC, and she had won. We had been talking to a local one day and he asked from where we had moved. We told him we had chosen VC as our home. He laughed as he looked through us with piercing blue eyes.
“No, folks.”
Not understanding, we had puzzled looks on our faces.
Staring off into the distance, he stopped smiling.
“Virginia City chooses you.” Returning his gaze to us, his look was serious and a bit disturbing.
You may be thinking it is impossible for a town to choose its residents. Then, you, my dear reader, have never been to VC to spend time. This is not a normal town. This is VC. She will get under your skin and not let you go. So many times when we told friends where we were going, the faraway look would come over them. No one ever said they had a terrible time there. There were wistful memories of bachelor parties, weddings, family trips, or trips alone. But always, fun was involved. Lots of fun. The hook was set, and forever, VC would be tugging at their hearts. This was especially true of menfolk. VC is a manly man’s town.
VC was a great place to live, but I never expected she would devour my husband and keep him to herself. Impossible? Yes, it was cancer that killed him. But it is not lost on me that he never left the mountain. His mountain, where he became the Bionic Cowboy, his crisp cowboy hat and huge, metal braces on an incredibly handsome man were a fixture on C Street for 6 years. She won.
It is also not lost on me that I was released to leave. Rather like losing my husband to another woman. Except, it was a place. The house sold so easily, and I was shooed away, like an unwanted fly at a picnic. VC had no use for me, nor did I have any use for her any longer.
VST is now part of VC history. I hope he is loving his long walks down the boardwalk, stopping to talk to visitors who need to know where to have breakfast. I hope he has plenty of time to tip his hat to those who wave. Visit the post office to check on the mail for me, VST. I can’t come to sit with you right now. The memories we shared there are too raw and jagged just yet. But soon, I will come to sit with you by the 4th Ward School to rest just a moment. I know where the secret bench is. I will find you. Until then, walk on.