The Bath House

On the road to the Alluvial Mine are many places to stop. I had imagined quaint, tiny shops full of bric-a-brac, colored tissue paper for wrapping and quirky cards to fill the emptiness purchasing can sometimes fill. Paper money is not found on this journey, and most certainly not the goal of the shop keeper in this far away land filled with mystery.

There is a stone house, with jagging windows and various wild flowers in pale colors growing through snowfall. Steam and low chatter fill the back of the house. A large sign made with knotted pine swings on a chain with a squeaking sound. All that is written on the sign is ‘Bath House’ in simple cursive. A traveler can easily miss the sign if not paying close attention to the circular, half moon drive, as the writing is only on one side of the sign.

Olaf and I start down the cinder drive and immediately an elderly gentleman greets us. He assures me my donkey will be taken care of. I have noticed thus far, animals are treated and cared for as well as travelers on this journey and I am at ease.

I wander to the back of the aging home and am greeted by a woman with a red cape surrounding her. The smell of the pale flowers is intoxicating and familiar. Camilla, Gardenia and Magnolia mixed together are lovely.

She leads me to a small shed where inside is a wood burning, pot belly stove. Enormous bath towels are folded neatly on the stool. Wash clothes, a loofah, and pumice stones are piled high in a wicker basket. Soaps of all kinds are laying on top of each other in glass jars and a terry cloth robe hangs neatly on a hook.

I change into a robe and slippers are by the door. The walk to the tub is beautiful - snow piled lightly causes the pale flowers to sparkle. Steam lingers around the old wash tub. Quickly, I climb into hot water filled with bubbles. I close my eyes and lean back. I have become more  weary than I had realized. The excitement of the journey, settling in Riversleigh, and back on the road once again has caught up with me and I am swept into a melancholy state.

I open my eyes to a kind quiet woman standing over me. She introduces herself as Dame Washalot and sits on a stool next to the tub. She has a large pitcher filled with snow water and pours it on my hair - she begins to scrub, it feels wonderful, so relaxing. She asks many questions. I speak of where I came from, and some of what and where I am going.

As she rinses the shampoo from my hair I think of the holiday spent with Darlene and of the coming New Year. I tell the Dame of my desire for more friends like Darlene. I speak of a loneliness I have felt since early childhood. I wish for new beginnings, to perhaps live in a different place and find a more suitable job. I explain I just don’t know how to begin.

As she scrubs my feet she assures me of all the possibilities - but I have to search these wishes out. Wishing is just not enough, nor is magical thinking.

The Dame rinses me from head to toe - she wraps me in a fresh clean robe and kisses my cheek in a motherly manner. She leaves me with some kind words - each night scrub the old day off, let it go down the drain. Take the time for extra care, giving much needed sleep a head start.

Tears come to my eyes as she hands me some clean, pressed traveling clothes and soap wrapped in delicate paper the colors of the pale flowers.

My donkey is waiting in the drive, freshly groomed. Once again we are on our way on the curving road to the Alluvial Mine.

~ by Patricia Hine Stewart on December 18, 2006.