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 Eight, con't
It was a warm and windy day as the Santa Ana’s ripped through our back yard, drying all of my plants and vegetables and roses. Two full hours of watering my gardens wore me down so I decided to get into the pool. I swam some laps but mostly I just hung out on the steps and relaxed and even heated the Jacuzzi and crawled into it to soak for a while. I remarked to myself how many aircraft had flown over our home in a five minute period and was struck by the amount of smog in the air that day, leaving a deep layer of dark thick muck in the skyline that repulsed me now to think about. Helicopters and airplanes flew through the flight path over our neighborhood in Sherwood Forest while the sound of sirens rang out about every ten minutes or so as they rushed up and down Parthenia to the cop shop or the hospital. I tried to meditate and pray while I soaked, changing my perspective and looking only at my roses and water fountain and flowers and trees, but I was distracted by thoughts of Montana.
In reflection, I was a bit ashamed of myself for picking on Kurt so much about his ankle injury, his Indian walks and for droning on and on over that five acre chunk of land while we were visiting Robert. I suppose I could have been more curious and supportive of his adventurous day dreaming but I have to admit that I wasn’t quite myself in Montana. Often during our trip I felt as though I was looking in on all of us together, rather than being present in Robert’s house as if I were a ghost hovering in the room. To this day I can’t explain why I felt so odd there but I do blame myself for being unable to truly relax and just let the days flow easily and not worry about this and that and the other. But I remained uptight until the minute we drove onto Napa Street. Kurt was a dear, to drive me all the way to Big Sky Country to visit with my once estranged loved one. Indeed, my husband was a true dear one for doing such a deed and giving so deeply. I should have shown him how grateful I was for what he did, rather than allow myself to be irritated by his love for the state and all it had to offer. And I knew that he was thinking in terms of giving me my family back, like Brenda had been dreaming of praying about and pleading for, but the thought of change, big huge change, scared me to death.
I could hear the dogs barking at the front of the house and was right in my assumption that Kurt had arrived home from work. I listened as he parked Blackie in the car port, shut the car door and then walked into the family room from the front porch entrance. “Hello! Is anybody home?”
“I’m back here in the Jacuzzi.” I listened as he put down his keys and walked towards the sliding glass door entrance to the outdoor barbeque area just next to the door. He slid the screen door open with great force so immediately I knew he was in a mood. “Hi Baby, how was your day?”
“Horrible, how was yours?”
“Mine was nice, lovely, and quiet, I didn’t do much, just rested. Why was your day so horrible, Kurt?” He opened the outdoor refrigerator that sat on top of the tiled barbecue built-in and grabbed onto a beer and shut the door. He popped the top off of a Budweiser Long Neck and then sat down on the deck after kicking off his work shoes so he could plop his feet into the water. He was tired, and it showed.
“Ah, that feels so good,” he mumbled.
“Long hard day then?”
“Where is the phone book? I need the yellow pages?”
“It’s in the family room on the chopping block underneath the phone.”
“I’ll be right back.” He got up after setting his beer on the concrete deck and then he walked back through the sliding screen door. He returned with the book in his hand and my beach towel.
“Here, dry your hands I need your help.”
“What are you looking for?”
“I want to find a real estate broker who is open on Saturday.”
“Why?” I looked at him with my eyes in stink eye mode.
“Because I want a market analysis of this house tomorrow, if possible, so we can list this house for sale by Monday. I’ve got to get us the hell out of here. This town is killing me Susie. We’re moving to Montana.”