Cloverdale

Aurora rested her chin on her palm and admired the passing fields of dried grass and shrubberies through the bus’s window. Cows and sheep were grazing over green, rolling fields, and there were some hydroponic tunnels in the distance.

She’d given up listening to music because the bus-noise drowned out her tunes. It wasn't the engine. The bus was electric and battery-operated, with its own solar panel atop the roof.

Her parents, most notably her mother, had called fifteen times since she left the airport. She wasn’t going to answer. She’d sent a message back, confirming her safe landing and that she’d moved from the taxi onto the Cloverdale bus, and that was all they needed to know. Anything else they had to say was probably just to try to convince her to go back home. They can forget it; let it fly away on a magic feather for all she cared.

Once she’d read up on Cloverdale, a sleepy little town and popular tourist destination, her mind was made up. It was her place.

Her parents and the boyfriends they chose for her had always insisted that she take the more traditional route in everything that concerned life: she should study for a degree; she should take the secretary job; she should marry a wealthy husband, preferably before thirty; and most of all, she should go to church every Sunday.

Cloverdale offered all of it and none of it. She could be just who she wanted to be there. Why should she change the most basic nature of who she was to fit in with her hometown’s rigid societal views? Hell, with the world’s?

In the eyes of the conservative, Cloverdale was the self-sustainable, hippy-land of modern society. She could follow any religion she pleased, do any job she wanted to do, and live wherever she found a patch of land. As long as you did right by the community, the community had your back.

One only needed the most basic of life skills to get by in the quaint town, no degrees for entry jobs, or at least a decade of experience to fix a broken pipe, because there was someone more experienced to teach you how to get the job done. In a place where the ancient practice of bartering was still alive and well and almost valued more than a monetary system, and there was a prospering community garden, she could as well sit on her backend and still get fed, as long as she offered a hand and helped pull weeds now and then or maybe mow the neighbor’s lawn.

Aurora didn’t have to have a penny if only she provided whatever aid she could to whomever needed it. The place was nearly entirely self-sustained, making it attractive to outsiders who paid top green for all the handcrafted goods, lived the dream of off-grid for a while, and ate the organic, grass-fed steak of the Clovers.

Seated in front of her was a woman wearing a sunny-yellow summer dress with a crying baby at her breast. Next to her sat another in her fifties, wearing a pair of red-rimmed glasses with sparkly dots that had gone out of style in the 1940s. The older woman cooed the child; Aurora thought it was a girl because of the pink onesie, until she stopped crying and started spit-laughing. The mother looked over her shoulder at Aurora and whispered sorry. She smiled and shook her head.

That was the spirit of Cloverdale. Nobody ever meant anyone harm on purpose. A community that tiny banded close together, even if you didn’t necessarily know the person holding your hand. Judgement was rare, and if it existed, it was best communicated in a mature manner and resolved quickly.

There was no room for grudges; it dragged the vibration down and all that spiritual jazz.

The bus followed the curve of the road, and when Aurora gazed through the window again, she could see the town approaching up ahead, or rather, the few roofs the trees revealed. There were mountains on the other side, with forest clinging to the rocky slopes.

They had been alone on the road for some time. Cloverdale’s bus took locals into the next biggest town, Petesville, once a week, if there were enough people who wanted to go there or if they needed supplies not obtainable in town. It traveled for emergencies, too. Outside tourist season (catch the biggest fish of your angling career right here in Cloverdale! We have canoeing, hiking trails, bird watching, and horseback riding, among others), there weren’t many people who visited. People never traveled through Cloverdale; they took the highway circling around it.

“Are you moving here?” The lady with the baby asked. She had long chestnut-brown hair and a round face. The baby now sucked contently at her mother’s breast, a public display that would've been frowned upon in her old town.

“I am, yeah. I’m Aurora.”

The woman moved the babe from one arm to the other and extended her hand over the bus’s faded blue seat. “I’m Julia! Nice to meet you.”

Then the middle-aged lady with the glasses turned, too. “Oh, a newcomer! How exciting! I’m Martha. Not many choose to move to our neck of the woods. What chased you away?”

Aurora figured it must have been a joke, but she didn’t mind answering honestly. “Family,” she said with a wry smile.

“Oh,” Martha pulled up her face and placed a puffy forearm, dressed in flower print on blue, atop the seat. “That’s a toughie. Not many people can fit in so easily in Cloverdale. You have to be a little eccentric. What is it that you do?”

“I’m a writer.” Aurora answered, and Martha ‘o’-ed her mouth, like that explained everything.

She smiled now, white teeth against bright red lips. One of them had a strip of lipstick. “You’ll fit in wonderfully here! Where are you staying?”

“If you haven’t found a place, we have a guesthouse, too,” Julia said. “I’m sure if you offered to clean some of the rooms, Tabby would let you stay there.”

“I’m renting a cottage in the Wilkenson’s yard.” Aurora replied. Rent was a loose word. While there was a price attached, it had a sort of sliding pay-whatever-you-can feature. She could also choose to forgo it and just work to earn her place. But she liked having some money; her pockets just happened to be empty now, after laying down the deposit.

Julia and Martha glanced at each other and then looked back at Aurora. “No way!” Julia said. “That’s right next door to me!”

“And I live two houses down,” Martha added.

And just like that, as she would later realize, Aurora’s name had found its place in The Dale's Buzz, Cloverdale's local radio station, courtesy of two people who knew everyone. That wasn’t a bad thing—everyone’s name ended up there on the rotating week. It was the way locals kept up with the neighbors’ business in Cloverdale.

The town was nestled in a valley between the mountains and bordered by a lake, the source of the town’s water. Trees of the surrounding forest, firs, evergreens, and birch, marched into the streets and all the way into the town center. The buildings molded themselves into the surrounding nature, not the other way around.

When everyone started gathering their reusable hemp shopping bags (some looked handmade), Aurora knew they were closing in.

Sure enough, rows of buildings passed by, and she assumed they were traveling along Main Street. They stopped a few times for the bus to drop people off at addresses of their choosing, and Aurora took mental notes of the businesses outside the window.

There were white block letters on the wooden sign of Micky’s Grocer, and the place seemed tiny inside from the roadside. At the next stop, she saw a white galvanized board, rusted by accident or intent, The Canvas & Supplies; she assumed an arts and crafts store. Then came Hope Clinic, an off-white plastered one-story building with faded red shingles, hiding behind weeping willows and a man-made pond. Before they rolled away from Main Street, the final building she noticed was Johnny’s Pizza Slice.

By then, the bus was empty except for her, Julia, and her daughter—she'd learned by now that her name was River—Martha, and the driver, Mr. Higgens, with his flannel cap and jaw-length gray hair sticking out of it. He has been chewing something ever since she boarded the bus. Oddly, she didn’t think it was gum, but maybe some of that chewable tobacco. She kept wondering when he would spit and in what.

Her writer's mind conjured the accompanying snort with such a spit, and she laughed at herself behind her hand. Way to go, Aurora. They'll think all your rabbits are hopping about now.

“You ladies mind a small walk?” Mr. Higgens asked, his voice drawling. “I’m taking this ol’ lady to Bryan O’Brien to have him look at her gearbox.”

“Not at all,” Julia answered for all three of them, without checking in. “We’re almost on the porch of Aurora’s new place, any case.”

The three of them gathered their goods, and Julia and Martha stumbled out, nearly overwhelmed by their loads, while Aurora wheeled along her lonely pearly carry-on. It was neither too small nor too large, just right for the few possessions she decided were worth bringing along.

She paused for a moment at the bus's door. “Thanks for the ride-along, Mr. Higgens.”

He gave her a scruffy, gap-toothed grin. “My pleasure, Sugar. You do well to remember she rides again next Wednesday; you need ‘nything.”

“I’ll bring you those oat cookies as soon as I have a working kitchen.”

They said their goodbyes, and she joined up with Julia and Martha, who looked like packing mules loaded with baby survival gear and shopping bags.

“Need some help with that?” Aurora asked, getting in touch with her neighborly side, one that she would have to entertain daily while living here. The more practice she got, the better.

Martha gave a laugh that sounded like a horn. “Honey, this is you.”

The wooden siding on the walls of the Wilkenson house confused Aurora. She had learned from travel brochures that all of the buildings in Cloverdale were constructed either from sustainable local wood, cob, or by stacking earthbags. Some roofs were sod; others had traditional asphalt shingles. Some exterior walls were plastered; others were cladded.

Most used recycled windows and doors. Recycling was big in Cloverdale. So she didn’t know what the Wilkenson house was made of, but on the outside, at least, it seemed made of wood.

The garden was organized chaos - as nature intended? It was lovingly tended to, but the landscaping hadn’t been consciously planned out. The stepping stones to the main house and the tiny house at the back, her new home, were different shades of broken tiles.

“Oh that’s cute!” Julia said, swaying lightly with River as she slumbered on her shoulder. “But I can’t imagine living in there with a sister and a baby.”

“You live with your sister?” Aurora asked.

“Sure! We live with each other, actually. Her name is Juniper. We decided to move in together after I moved here from Petesville after that asshole Frankie Tin left me out on the street and pregnant.” Julia huffed. “Turns out I didn’t need the swine anyway.”

Aurora tilted her head to the side. “And here I thought you were a born-and-bred Clover.”

“No, that’d be me.” Martha said. “You just call on me if you need me, Deary. I’m two houses down that’a way.” She pointed beyond Aurora’s back. “I have to get my hiney movin’. Lots of things to unpack, and I still need to feed the old husband his pills, bless his heart.”

She gave Aurora a pat on the shoulder, River a pat on the butt, and Julia a kiss on the cheek. And then molly Martha was off, like a force to be reckoned with, arms swinging dutifully with all those bags.

Aurora watched her, a stout woman who’d passed the two-hundred pound mark and with a mop of curly gray, permed hair.

“How do hospital fees and doctor’s visits work in Cloverdale?” she asked.

“We have a community fund for medical needs. Everyone contributes what they can afford monthly.” Julia said. “You can pay your contribution at the doctor’s office. They have a kiosk especially for that. ‘Course, if you’re employed, it just gets taken off your salary with your consent.”

“And what if someone won’t contribute?” Aurora asked. There grew a crease between Julia’s brows that made her feel as if she’d just asked her what the square root of pi was. “You don’t have types like that here that just lounge around and expect to be served?”

Julia laughed. “Oh, they don’t last long. Everyone who stays here generally comes around to the neighborly approach. That, or their own guilt drives them away again. Kill’em with kindness, as they say. But if someone can’t contribute, they generally find a way. Usually it’s bartering. And Doctor Jansen isn’t so expensive, nor is his clinic. He may be a medical professional, but he’s here in the same spirit as all of us. He listens to Bob Marley in his spare time.”

Aurora was nervous that her dry humor may fall on deaf ears or be misunderstood, yet she voiced it anyhow: “Have you people ever been to the outside?”

To her relief, Julia caught her drift. She laughed again. “That hint you just threw is exactly the reason we like it here.” She threw her chin at the houses up front. “You should probably go meet your new landlords. I’ll see you later?”

Aurora smiled and nodded. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

Julia took her leave, managing to haul her packages home by herself after all, to Aurora’s relief, and without dropping River. So she ambled on towards the Wilkenson’s house.