16.0101-1100atx The Hahnestery

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@25.??08-1614.??atx Orig

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Dear Marla,

James’s truck was a fairly heavy-duty vehicle with big, fat, knobby tires on all four wheels and an oversized winch mounted on the front.  The wheel wells and fenders were caked with mud.  

After leaving the Thorpton public library, we rode in the truck for an hour. Of course, we  started out in a dense urban setting with plenty of buildings, traffic, and people. Twenty minutes later, there were just commercial forests -- tree farms -- on both sides of the road. Many had spectacular Douglas Fir trees, which could grow to several hundred feet tall. With each mile, the forest became thicker and closer to the road. There were fewer and fewer houses. Far fewer.

"Tell me a bit about your background." James asked me casually.

"There's not much to tell." I replied. "As a kid I had a doll house and idolized my mother, who was an old fashioned homemaker. I also dreamed of being a  professional dancer, so my folks sent me to a school of dance. After a year of that I realized that the dance career field is incredibly competitive and generally nasty. So I dabbled in a bit of modeling and acting, instead, but that was just as bad. Fortunately, I met my first husband who rescued me from all of that and let me just 'play house'. That's also when I learned I could not have kids. Then there was another husband like that. Finally, I met Frank about ten years ago. The best thing about Frank was that he was gone on business trips for one or two weeks a month. I really liked that part. Too bad he was an asshole."

"What did you do while he was gone? That seems like a lot time by yourself." James asked.

"Well, as you can imagine, I cleaned and then re-cleaned the house too many times. I gave myself huge projects like washing the entire concrete floor of the basement. It was large and relatively free of junk. It became my dance studio."

"You still dance?" He asked.

"Dance is in my heart. Unfortunately, I've reached the age when I can't do some of the more 'physical' ballet moves any  more. Sometimes I'll dance with the vacuum cleaner or mop."

James smiled at that. "A dancing housekeeper. That must be a sight to behold!" He giggled. 

We came into a dumpy little town at a crossroads. There was a store on one corner with what looked like a '60s era gas pump out front. Flashing neon beer signs rudely glared  at me from the windows. Above the doorway was a big sign— twice the size of the door—which said 'Beer, Guns & Ammo'.  Next to this place was a bar with tiny, dingy windows and a low, sagging, moss-covered roof. More rude beer signs. Adjacent was a much smaller building:  a U.S. post office. A dozen or so dirty-looking houses with moss covered roofs and front yards strewn with rusty junk, old cars, and big satellite dishes were clustered here.

This was deep red-neck country.

James broke the silence. “This is Beaverville. It’s our closest place to get stamps, beer, milk, or artillery. We still have another 15 minutes to the house. Once in a while there will be some direly needed item such as milk or, now and then, a 105 mm howitzer that I send you here to buy.” He said, laughing. “The trick is to avoid eye contact.  Most of them are probably decent people, but they tend to be quite tribal and parochial. If you don’t quite fit their mold, they may see you as a threat.”

After Beaverville, the roads turned to dirt and became full of twists and turns to accommodate an increasingly more rugged landscape. We drove down one road a way and then turned right. Or sometimes left. Or, maybe, not at all. They all looked the same. Mailboxes, which indicate a residence, were scarce.  This was a maze of minimally maintained logging roads  and I was lost. The further we were from Beaverville, the worse the condition of the road deteriorated.  James mentioned that many of these were logging roads. Commercial tree farming is big agribusiness around here. 

Finally, after riding for what seemed like forever,  we came to a gate with a sign with nothing but a hand-painted 'H' on it.

James got out of the truck, checked the mailbox, and unlocked the gate, swinging it open.

Then he got back into the truck, drove through the gate, and stopped. He stepped out of the truck, walked back to the gate, and closed it. “Too early for the mail. It usually comes around 1:00. Part of the job includes you doing the mailbox and gate footwork.”

I noticed that he had some trouble walking.

He noticed I was watching. “Arthritis.” He said. “I imagine you are probably starting to learn the joys of that.”

I rolled my eyes and nodded.

The driveway was a narrow, two-track dirt lane in a dark forest of hugely tall and profuse trees and undergrowth. Parts of either track were often immersed in shallow pools of accumulated rain. He tried to avoid them. “Mud is nasty stuff for any vehicle. It’s slippery like ice, heavy, and very messy. Now and then I get stuck and have to pull my truck out of the mud with Buster—he’s the bulldozer who has been in the family since the Sixties.“ 

The truck kaplooshed on through the muddy pathway toward the unknown. The pits and valleys in the road made the truck lean left or right as we negotiated each little hill and valley in the road. Every so often, the truck slid sideways in the mud. “You get used to that. Sometimes, it can feel like we're in a small boat. We're in luck,” he joked.  “This isn't the rainy season yet!”

Each lurch, twist, or careen awoke Tom and Dick for brief moments. Some were intense enough to evoke responses in me that I feared James might recognize. 

Finally, after a good five minutes of negotiating the driveway, we passed by a few implement sheds that lined the drive. There was  a big, ancient, rusty bulldozer sitting in one of them. James nodded toward it and said, “That’s Buster. He’s an antique. He doesn’t look like much, but he’s still at the top of his game. Not only that, but he's fun to play with.” Then he added, “Ever ride one?                   Would that be something you'd like to try?” He asked.

“Oh! I think that would be great fun! Even as a young kid, I've always thought bulldozers are kool!” I replied enthusiastically. "My dad used to refer to them as push-a-saurus. He liked to think of earth-moving equipment as dinosaurs. A dump truck was a haul-a-saurus, and a pay loader was a pickup-a-saurus."   

Then I asked. "Why do you have him?"

He scratched his head and said, “There's a story there. I'm a bit sketchy on the details. Apparently, back when I was very young, my dad hired a company to build some logging roads here. They had to buy a new bulldozer for the job. Just when they were finishing up on the job, something happened and the company abruptly went bust.  Apparently, they completely forgot about the bulldozer.  No one ever came to get it or lay claim to it."  

James  paused and thought for a moment. “Dad let him sit out in the rain for a year or two before he decided to 'adopt' Buster into our family.  I try to make a habit of starting him up and letting him idle for 15 minutes about once a month." Then he giggled and said, "You know, in case they do come back for it." 

He continued. "Most times I'll take him for a little spin around the driveway circle. The treads tear the dirt up in the drive, but then the rain just settles it all back to 'normal', so it doesn't matter much."

I could hear the pride in his voice. He continued. "Buster's got nearly 

four hundred diesel horses under the hood that can move big chunks of a 

mountain or boulders while purring like a kitten. There is something very soothing 

about the 'chug-chug-chug' sound of a big diesel engine hard at work. It's cathartic! Sometimes I'll have him push some dirt and small boulders around just to blow off some steam. Over the years we've set up some nice paths through the forest. Lorry and I used to run and made good use of those paths.  We don't mow them any more, so they are kind of overgrown now. If you want to resurrect them, that's up to you.”

Then he scrunched up his face and asked. "Oh, that reminds me. Can you operate a lawn tractor? Mowing the lawn around the house would be one of your responsibilities." 

"Oh sure." I told him. "I have been a suburban housewife most of my adult life. I've mowed many, many lawns, I assure you. My last partner's house had 5 acres of land. I learned how to operate a medium-sized tractor with a hydraulic mowing attachment.  I even changed it's oil. I like mechanical stuff." 

Then a thought hit him. " Hey, just for the hell of it, if you like that sort of thing, I can teach you how to start Buster up as part of your job. Honest! It's fun” It's like riding a lawn tractor, but much bigger and insanely more powerful." 

He glanced at me. “Hey, look. If you are not comfortable with this, it's OK. To be clear, this is not a job requirement. No pressure. I'm just thinking it might be a bit of fun.” He giggled slightly. “Just think! You'd be able to tell the folks back home that you can operate a bulldozer! I'll bet none of them can say that!” He smiled. Then added. "Be sure to tell them that this is not just any dozer. This is  a 'D9'! As dozers go, Buster is one of the bigger ones."

"I think that would be very interesting! I would love to at least try it someday. Sure! I'm game!" I said.

“Why don't you use Buster to make your driveway a little less challenging?” I asked.

He looked at me. “Excellent question! We like a challenging driveway. It dissuades visitors. Every once in a while I get the urge to use Buster to smooth it out, but the urge doesn't last long. Besides, I got tired of trying to fix it very time it rains, which is all the time. The puddles just fill up again and don't go away.” He smiled. "Besides, it's a lot of work, and the rain will just recreate all the puddles and dips, so it's hardly worth it.  The only real exception is when the logging crews are operating in this area. Then I'll spend a day or two smoothing out the drive for their heavy equipment to drive on."

We came to a nice house amidst a stunning clearing in the trees. The two-story house had a massive chimney at each end. It was obviously well-maintained and was probably very old. The architecture of it suggested it have been built in the late 1800s over early 1900s. 

The drive became a circular loop and James stopped the truck at the front  door.

I heard a dog barking.

James no sooner opened the front door than a large dog,  obviously of mixed breeds, bounded out, prancing and lashing his tail about with great enthusiasm to see his master again. At one point he seemed to have caught a scent when he checked out my groin area. I was afraid he could smell my ripeness under the latex panties that in whihch #Tom and #Dick have “working” been in there all day long.  But then he quickly went back to the attentions of his master. Whew!

“You must be Thalia. How do you do?” I heard from behind me.

I whirled around to see an elegant, pleasant looking older lady in a wheelchair. Like James, she was wearing jeans and a t-shirt that had various birds printed on it.

“Yes, I am. Are you Lorraine?” I asked. Then I added, “I like your shirt".

She blushed and extended her hand. We shook. Then she said, “Thanks. I'm a low-level amateur bird watcher. You'll find binoculars and bird identification books near the more 'strategic' windows in this house for quick access. Do you have any interests like that?” 

Oh boy! If only she knew about Tom and Dick!  Rubber is my main interest!  “No. Well… I like writing, but  I'm not very good at it. I also meditate and do some yoga now and then, ma'am.”

Lorraine immediately responded, "There is no 'sir' or 'ma'am' here. He's James, and I'm Lorraine or Lorry. This is not like some 18th century setting where there is a house full of 'servants' and a rigid pecking order.  We hire you to work for us a few hours a day. That's it. The rest of the time is yours.  You can do anything you want, within reason. We have some safety protocols you'll need to know about if you want to wander in the woods alone, but they are just common sense, "  

Lorraine paused, and then added in a friendly yet slightly authoritative, 'boss-like' voice, "Thalia, I want to make clear that you would have a standing invitation to eat all meals with us.   The invitation also includes joining us socially in the evenings for a movie, games, or whatever. Because of the isolated nature of this place, we all need to be friends. But remember, this is just an invitation, not a job requirement."  

 "Thalia," she continued. "The three of us will be making not one but two big decisions today. The first is 'do we like each other enough to live together in the same house' and the second is 'will you be working for us as our housekeeper'? You  will also have to decide if you will be able to handle this isolation of this place."

We walked around to the back of the house. A small backyard with a gazebo stood in one corner and an 8-10 foot waterfall in another, with a creek bordering it.  The noise of the water crashing down was loud. Sensing that I was hearing it, James said, “It’s water music!”.  Yeah! Now that you mention it, I can consider waterfall noise to be a sort of 'music''. Thanks for that bit of wisdom, James!

We walked over to a small shed that had a big pipe going into it which emanated from somewhere above the falls. I could hear machinery of some sort. James opened the door and we walked in. “We generate our own electricity here. Water fills the pipe upstream to flow down here to power this turbine which powers the generator.” He pointed at a thing that looked like a barrel-size motor at the end of the shed. A shaft inside was spinning.  Huge batteries the size of beer bottle cases sat on shelves beside me. There was some other electronic-looking box near the door. It had huge cooling fins.

“One of your daily jobs will be to clean the grating in the creek where the water for this comes in up above. It’s a bit of a way upstream, but you can take Sarah with you after you get the mail.”

“Sarah?”

“Sarah is our horse. She’s a friendly old soul with just one speed: slow. It would be your job to take care of her stall — it’s just 20 minutes a day of fairly light duty work in the barn. I’m sure you will like her. She can be a good friend.”  Then he paused and said, “Lorraine calls Sarah her 'shrink', her resident psycho-therapist. She's a good listener!”.  

Then he added, “Sarah is family, just like Bonnie and Clyde.”

“Huh?”

He giggled lightly and then said. “Oh, Bonnie is our dog and Clyde is our cat. They are good friends.”

 As James and I entered the house, he pointed to a well-weathered inscription over the door that said 'TTOSBT'.  I looked at him quizzically. He smiled. “It stands for a line from Hamlet. 'To Thine Own Self Be True'.  It is a call to be who you really are and has been a source of both guidance and inspiration for generations of Hahn's.  They say that any monastery has a 'centrally organizing principle'. I think TTOSBT is why this house can be called the 'Hahnestery'.”

 When James opened the door,I was immediately greeted by a tasteful foyer leading into a large 'great' room with nice hardwood floors, a lofty ceiling with hand-hewn beams, a huge fireplace at one end, and 'sensible' furniture throughout. A few aging tapestries hung on the wall. Huge windows looked out over the backyard, with its gazebo and waterfalls.  It was beautiful.

“Let's start your tour with the upstairs.”  We climbed the stairs to the 2nd floor. The staircase was equipped with an elevator seat on a rail. “I had this thing installed after the accident. Back when our bedrooms were upstairs, Lorraine used it a lot. She's in the wheelchair most of the time, but she can still get around a little bit on her own when she needs to.  

“There are five bedrooms and two full baths up here , although now we sleep down here on the first floor, Lorraine has some mobility and can even climb the stairs with great effort now and then, but it's not something she wants to do very often. There’s a second set of stairs off the kitchen. Now that there is only the two of us, the upstairs rooms upstairs have become storage dumps for the kind of junk you'd usually find in attics.” 

We walked through a doorway at the end of the hall into the master bedroom. “This will be your quarters. “

I gasped. The room was huge, floor-to-ceiling windows with with heavy drapes on three sides. There was even a small outdoor veranda. It even had a set of stairs that went down to the ground level. James slid one of the big glass doors open.  I immediately heard the 'water music'  of the waterfall. There was also a large, private bath with a deep-soak tub and large shower. The toilet even had a bidet! 

“If you take the job, this room will be your home and sanctuary. Lorraine or I must knock to gain permission to enter. We will rarely come up here, anyway.”   

We went back downstairs to the main living room.

“The Hahn family has lived in this house for several generations. My great-grandfather won the land here in a card game back the 1890s. Someone once remarked how it was like a ‘Hahn -es-tery” (Hahn + monastery), and the name stuck. We call this place the ‘Hahnestery' as a result. It's actually not a bad description of it.” 

At that moment, an elderly lady in a wheelchair entered from one of the other side rooms. Even though she was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, she exuded elegance. 

“You must be Thalia.” She extended her hand for me to shake. “Nice to meet you. I cannot tell you how nice it is to have a new face in the house. I just hope that you can make good use of the solitude we offer here.” Then she bit her lip slightly, “Not many can. We only go into Thorpton to shop once every two weeks. That's it. We prefer to stay home and be alone. James tells me that you don't have a car. That's good, actually.”

“Good?” 

She giggled a bit. “Because if you had a car, we'd have to teach you how to operate the bulldozer to pull it out when your car would inevitably get stuck in the mud. You saw the driveway!” 

We both had a nice giggle, and the ice was broken. 

Next, we walked into the home library. Tall windows looked out upon the thick, misty forest on the south side of the house. The other three walls were lined with bookshelves. Most of the books were hardbound and looked fairly ancient. The room was dusty and smelled old. A massive, large table occupied much of the room.

James pointed. “There’s an entire shelf devoted to works  devoted to Thoreau. You'll see that they are full of notes and underlining with folded or torn pages. They have been well-used by several generations of Hahn's. My parents homeschooled me right here, in this room, where my father also got much of his education. I've read most of the books here.  I gained a wonderfully unique, liberal education right in this room when I was young. In fact, I finally ended up with a degree in 'General Studies'. I've also spent several years serving in the military and have seen the world.  I've had a wonderfully rich life, Thalia.” 

The ‘Theater’ was next. We entered a room with heavy drapes, with  comfortable, stuffed chairs and a huge TV with big sound system.  “There’s no cable out here but we do have a satellite dish  so there is a plethora of TV programming available to us. We usually like to come in here after dinner for an hour or two to unwind. Sometimes we watch movies. Other times we get lost in some of the better TV series. You would have a standing invitation to join us here in the evenings, if you like. 

Lorraine wheeled forward and said, “Anyone living in the Hahnestery probably needs a little bit of socialization to balance the isolation. James and I both project ourselves rather intensely inwardly into our story worlds as we write during the day. As authors, we actually 'live' in some of the story worlds we create. Right now, when I sit at my desk, I am in Chicago. James is off in some interplanetery war that;s in his story. I'm sure you have experienced something like that when you write. We ring a little bell at 5pm to announce quitting time. It's a ritual that marks the time when we scoop ourselves out of our writing worlds and back into the reality. A few hours with other humans helps keeps us stay human.” 

I noticed that there seem to be a lot of small-ish rooms.  I asked about it.

James said many years ago the family had added a huge porch which completely surrounded the house on four sides. Later, as the family gradually grew to six people living closley together in this very isolated place, it became apparent the each member needed some sort of sanctuary to get away from the others. ....something different from bedrooms and located downstairs. But where? To solve this problem they enclosed the porches on two sides of the house and then divided that up into six new rooms. Then each member had their own sanctuary.  

Finally we came to the kitchen. It was large with most of the usual modern utilities such as dishwasher and even an air fryer. There was also a central island with a few stools.  A sizeable pantry off of the kitchen had a large chest freezer and several shelves containing all kinds of stuff including jars and cans of food. Most of it looked old and dusty. 

“Are the washer and dryer in the basement?” I asked.

“No! Voila!” He smiled as he opened some closet-like doors in the pantry to reveal a washer and dryer.  

After that, we went back outdoors to continue the tour. First we went to a little shed not far from the waterfall. A pipe coming from somewhere upstream fed into the side of the building. Inside, several very large batteries were on the shelves on each side. At the far end, where the pipe came in, was a water-powered turbine and generator. “We've generated our own electricity here for generations of Hahn's. That pipe goes up to an intake located in the creek about a hundred feet (30.48 m) upstream above here. A grating prevents any stones or twigs from entering the pipe and damaging the turbine. Sometimes the grating becomes obstructed with leaves and twigs. One of your tasks will be to check it daily and, if necessary, clear it.” 

Then he looked at me and said, “Don't worry, you won't have to do the climbing. Sarah will do that for you. She's our next stop.”

 We wandered back toward the front of the house where the driveway was.  There were four shed-like buildings. Two of them had open fronts. One of them had the bulldozer and the other had a tractor-backhoe. The healthy stand of weeds growing in front of each shed suggested neither saw much traffic. As we approached the largest building on the opposite side of the drive, I began to get a faint scent of horse manure.           

 In one of the stalls stood an old brown mare. James walked up to her and fondled her neck a bit. She chuffed gently. She obviously liked that. “Sarah, I'd like to introduce you to Thalia.  Thalia, this is Sarah.” 

“Do you have any experience with horses, Thalia?”

“No.  I rode them once or twice as a kid, but I don't know anything about how to care for them.” Then I added. “I've always liked animals.”

“Well, she's fairly low maintenance so there is not much to learn. Brushing and feeding her and cleaning her stall takes only 20 minutes a day. Then you'll want to ride her out to the mail box when the weather is agreeable. After that, you can go up the creek and check the grating. She's been doing that route most of her life. It takes about a half hour and it's a nice ride. She's also a good friend.” He pointed to a well-worn, comfortable-looking stuffed chair positioned across from her stall. It looked grossly out of place for being in a barn. ”Sarah is our resident psychotherapist. That's the chair that you sit in when you want to have a long talk with her.” Then he winked at me.”She also loves it when someone reads to her --  anything at all. Lorraine and I have both read parts of our stories to her. She's wonderful listener. Just be sure to read 'to' her, not 'at' her. You quickly find out that there's a real person in those deep brown eyes.”    

A  wickedly kinky thought hit me. Riding a horse for 30 minutes would mean strattling that huge animal with Tom and Dick impaling me against the hard saddle with each  sway. At that thought they both gave me a twinge. I know it sounds stupid but I think they (Tom and Dick) were enjoying themselves at the moment. I don't know why I think about stuff like this during a job interiew.

Yes, I do know,after all! Blame it on Tom and Dick. That's the whole idea: eroticize my life, including things like job interviews!

On the way back to Thorpton we talked more about the entire situation.

Finally, James then caught my eye. “I’m pretty satisfied this might work.” He offered me a modest salary with room and board. After six months he would add in medical insurance.  “You can wear anthing you like. However, if you start to feel the urge to get some sort of uniform, we can talk about an allowance for that. ”

“Do you want some time to think about it, Thalia?”

The money could have been a bit better, but I was desparate at this point and this seemed like such a ‘dream job’.  “Yes, sure, let’s do this.”

“When can you start?” he asked.

“Right now!”

“Ok, Great. Do you want me to take you home to pick up your things or just go back to the public library?”

Soon after we arrived at the dumpy trailer park where I had been staying and began loading the half-dozen boxes of my remaining junk into the trailer. James reached down to pick up the closed box which contained all my rubber stuff. The bottom burst, spilling my smelly old transaparent latex catsuit, various panties and bras of rubber, my gasmask and dildoes. When he saw the steel chastity belt with it's dual phalluses, I could seem him examine it briefly then when it dawned on him what it was, he quickly diverted his eyes. He helped me put the items back into the box and loaded it in truck. What did he think of me now? My new employer just found out I am a rubber freak!

Nothing further was said about it.

Soon after we returned to the Hahnestery, James had unloaded my stuff into my new apartment at the back of the house. “It’s only 4:30 now. Why don’t you unpack your stuff and then meet me for dinner at around six? I’ll cook tonight!” He said gleefully.

Ten minutes later I was in the shower. I didn’t know if wearing Tom and Dick had given me the luck to find this job but one thing was certain. They had played with me all day long but now they were becoming sore. It was time for “the boys” to take a break now.