Yesterday, with internet down, I went on a visit to VC. My friend, Mr. MudDuck, MMD, was visiting and we decided to venture out to buy a cowboy hat, as his had been lost. VC is a great place for such purchases, with hats ranging in cost from $30 all the way up to $Thousands.
The weather was a beautiful golden day, autumn leaves showing their color all the way up Six Mile Canyon. Bright blue skies were above the beautiful mountains surrounding VC. Sugarloaf Mountain watched over the town, already bustling with tourists by 11:45. The usual fight to find a parking space was on, and we parked toward the south end of town, and walked back to the hat shop.
So many choices were on display. Stetsons, straw or wool felt, in every type of brim possible. Black, tan, grey, brown, and every color in between. We were in hat heaven, and after a complete search, settled on a chocolate brown Stetson that fit just right. Happy with the purchase, we walked around the town a bit, and I ventured into the post office to check my mail box, which was empty. I guess it is time that I relinquish my keys and possession of the box back to the Post Mistress, giving up my last physical tie to VC.
Noon had passed and we were both hungry. We decided to visit the restaurant that had kept me fed while VST was so ill, and after he was gone. The owners had been so gracious, watching over me and making sure my orders were hot and fresh when they were picked up. We both ordered the Gospel Fried Chicken with mashed potatoes, gravy, and cole slaw, which was just the best.
They seated us by the window in front of the 100 mile view, while the ghosts of so many meals past ran through my head. How many times VST and I had eaten there with all the A Street Gang and the former owners. How many special parties had been planned and celebrated. Just last January, VST and I had enjoyed a meal, announcing that we were planning to stay for at least another year in VC. I remember the neighbors all happily cheering. It was then, VST announced that our house had a name that he had chosen. The DunMovin House. Period. Because, we were DUN MOVIN.
At the end of our lunch, the new owners brought us a piece of cheesecake to share. When VST was so sick, and after he had passed, I would call in my orders on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. So many times, there was a piece of cheesecake included, just because. Just because they knew my heart was breaking. Because they knew it would make me feel the least bit better. Because they cared so much. That cheesecake was LOVE.
MMD had mentioned that perhaps we could stay in VC for the night sometime, so it was the perfect time to take a ride around the town. I found myself driving right up to A Street to view the Cobb Mansion, a lovely old Victorian that would be a nice place to spend the night. I kept traveling down A Street past neighbors, thinking of all memories six years could hold. It had been impossible for me to return even for a few minutes until recently and now, there I was, almost to our old house.
The new owners obviously loved her as much as we had, and she looked just the same. MMD commented on the deck and how fantastic the view must be from up there. I assured him it was. And, then, I saw. I burst into the ugly cry, almost driving off the road as we went past. MMD didn’t understand what I had seen that he hadn’t, and besides, wouldn’t have understood what made the tears flow instantly.
To go back in time, VST had passed and it was the Friday of my moving weekend. T and K were visiting to help with the move, when the phone ran. It was the new buyers asking if they could stop by. It was the perfect time for them to do so, as I had time to show them lots of details about the house.
During their visit, the topic of naming houses came up. I mentioned to them that although there was no plaque on the house, VST had, indeed, named it DunMovin. I shared the story of the day at the restaurant with neighbors surrounding us while they listened intently.
“Well, this is interesting, because on the way to see you tonight, we were having a discussion about what to name the house. We couldn’t come up with anything,” said Jim. ‘How would this name have been spelled?”
“DunMovin.”
“Just as I would have spelled it myself.” He smiled. “We shall name the house ‘DunMovin’ in honor of VST.” Just like that.
Getting back to yesterday….. I was looking at the top deck, when, my gaze fell to the front door on the bottom floor. To the side, in at least 10″ letters was the name “DunMovin” in flat black metal, sharp and crisp. It was then, I lost it. Well done, VST, well done.
That part of my life is finished. Like a deliciously wonderful novel, in which the reader slows their pace to make it last longer. It was the most beautiful story lived in real life together there on A Street. In fact, VST was DunMovin here on earth, and has moved on into his new heavenly digs. I pray the new owners find every bit of sweet loveliness built into all VST’s projects with skill and perfection. I hope it wraps them with comfort, as it did us.
DunMovin House, A Street, Virginia City, Nevada. Go see her. She is magnificent.