In this, her second memoir, New Prairie Woman is Susie Rosso Wolf’s depiction of her journey from Los Angeles to the historical town of Three Forks, Montana. On these pages you will discover the grandeur of “The Last Best Place” through her writing, poetry and photography, the challenges of living in a twenty foot trailer in sub-zero temperatures and how love, perseverance, and the miracle of faith can lift a soul up from the depths of the deepest, darkest waters.
Born in Santa Monica, California, I was raised in the small bedroom community of Sunkist Park that borders Culver City, Playa del Rey, Mar Vista and Venice. I attended Venice High School, West LA Community College and California Institute of the Arts. My studies included English, English Literature, Poetry, Creative Writing, Choir, Classical Voice, Shakespeare, Musical Theater, Television and Film Acting and Art History. In 1980, I relocated to the Pacific Northwest and in 1982 I married Kurt Wolf in Corvallis, Oregon. During the course of our long journey together, I have remained devoted to not only my husband, but to my friends and family, and the arts. What defines me most is my passion for expression through art. I’m an avid reader, writer and poet.I also enjoy painting and photography. Additionally, some folks consider me a pretty good cook.
New Prairie Woman Susie Rosso Wolf Chapter Three, con't
The outside of the house was typically high desert with its colored green pebble rocks painting the front yard with a kind of faux grass. She had a few succulents planted in terracotta pots that lined the front porch and ceramic statues of deer and eagles that were sitting in the green pebbles. It was a well maintained yard and very inviting in a foreign kind of way. From an old hippie beach bum’s point of view, the desert scene didn’t do much for my senses but I could appreciate it just the same. There was a kind of beauty there that I was sure I could find, given enough time to explore it.
Once I turned Zippie’s engine off I could hear her two dogs, Wyatt Earp and Misty Blue, a mother/son Border Collie team that were gregariously greeting the new stranger as Brenda yelled at them to knock it off. The moment I opened the door she began crying. “I can’t believe my eyes! You’re here! You’re actually here!”
“Yeah, I’m here.” I said, with a whopper of a headache pounding as I slid off the seat and the rest of my body followed. Stiff, tired, and very hungry I wasn’t exactly full of energy but happy to have my feet on the ground after the long drive.
“Come on in!” She said, with that southern drawl I knew so well. “Do ya want some aspirin and some water? Are ya hungry? I made some tuna would you like a sandwich?”
“Yes, and yes, thank you,” I answered.
“Okay, come in and sit a spell then I’ll give you a tour.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice,” I said, as I followed her into the back door from the garage entrance. The kitchen, neat and clean with all of the Brenda style decorations perfectly placed in every nook and cranny, was brightly lit and very appealing. She led me to a chair and handed me a glass of fresh water then pulled out a large bottle of Tylenol. I was happy to be out of the truck and just as soon as I swallowed the pills I walked around the rest of the house while she fixed the sandwich for me. “Wow! Brenda, this place is really nice. It’s huge. I love your den, it’s so open and the fireplace is beautiful. Those stones are enormous!”
“Thank you ma’am, I thought you’d like this place. Mr. White rented it when we were split up so I didn’t have anything to do with finding it. But we’re happy here and I love my back yard.” She opened the back door off the den and led the way outside as she handed me a tuna on whole wheat wrapped in a white napkin. The back yard was lovely but small, with many little planting beds full of perennials mixed with annuals, all integrated with green succulents. There was a clothes line in the middle of the yard and a four foot tall chain link fence dividing her yard from the neighbors. We talked outside for a while then navigated our way back to the kitchen where we sat and chit chatted for at least an hour. Everything was going well as we sat together as if we were old friends with years of history under our belts. Indeed, we had been as close as sisters for thirty-five years, give or a take a few bumps in the road and although we were attempting to heal the pain of the past three years, I mentally noted something odd about the entire situation. I felt out of place there, despite her gracious attempt to make me feel comfortable and welcome.