Arlene Sachitano: The Quilt Before The Storm

“Who wants to come to the homeless camp and deliver quilts and tarps tomorrow?” Connie asked.

“I can’t commit until I hear from my client,” Lauren said.

“I can come,” Harriet said. “I’d like to see how muddy it is at the camp. Our tarps may not help if the ground is too mushy.”

“Beth and I are going to be at the church helping to put together hygiene kits,” Mavis said.

“I assume that’s soap and toothbrushes,” Harriet said.

“Yes, and deodorant, hand lotion, aspirin packs…” Mavis looked at Beth.

“Playing cards, and a hand towel and washcloth,” Aunt Beth added.

“Wow,” Lauren said and reached for another piece of pizza. “Who paid for all that?”

“Most of it was donations, and what they had to buy was covered by a grant of some sort,” Robin reached for a breadstick. “Mmm, these are so good,” she said through her bite of cheesy goodness. “I can come if it’s not too early. I have to get the kids to school.”

“How about ten?” Connie looked first to Harriet then Robin and Lauren for agreement. “Ten, it is,” she said when no one disagreed. “Let’s meet in the west parking lot at Fogg Park. We can walk in from there.”

“I talked to Marjory when I picked up the last batch of flannel,” Harriet said. “She’s worried about the river flooding downtown.”

“Well, it wouldn’t be the first time,” Mavis observed. “It’s been probably forty years ago, but the Muckleshoot jumped its banks and ran three feet deep down Main Street.”

“I told her I’d help her put fabric up if things get to that point,” Harriet said.

“She better do it sooner rather than later if she wants your help,” Lauren warned. “The bridge between here and there will wash out long before the water reaches Main Street.”

“Let’s hope the city has done some work in the last forty years to prevent that eventuality,” Robin said.

“That was supposed to be a hundred-year flood when it happened, so we shouldn’t be due yet.” Mavis said.

“Every time there’s severe weather people claim it’s a ‘hundred-year event’ no matter what frequency it really happens with,” Lauren observed and reached for a bread stick. “You know, I never ate this sort of junk before I met you ladies.”

Harriet looked at Aunt Beth, who looked back and shook her head with a small smile.

A fine mist was falling from a gray sky when Harriet pulled her car into the parking lot of Fogg Park the next morning. People always assumed the park was named for the prevailing weather but in fact, the park, along with a lot of other local features including the town itself, was named for Cornelius Fogg, a Victorian pirate who had retired and settled the area more than a hundred years ago.

Harriet had stopped by the veterinary clinic to socialize with Scooter and take him a new chew toy. He wasn’t mobile enough to really play yet, but he loved a good chew toy. As much as she protested to the Loose Threads, in her heart she knew Scooter would be coming home to live with her and Fred when he was able to leave the hospital. Fred would probably find some way to make her pay, but she was pretty sure he would be a good “brother.”

She had hoped to talk to Aiden and see how things had gone with his sister, but after a brief hello, he said he was needed in the back and disappeared. She waited as long as she could before leaving for the park, but he didn’t return. She reminded herself he was at work, and undoubtedly, an animal had needed his care; but in her heart she knew this wasn’t true.

Lauren was waiting in her car when Harriet arrived.

“My client wasn’t ready yet,” she said by way of greeting as she climbed into the passenger seat of Harriet’s car. “Hard to believe people live outside in this weather.” She shivered. “Can you turn up the heat?”

“It’s all the way up,” Harriet told her. “I’ve got a couple of flannel quilts I’m going to deliver with the tarps. You want one?”

“No, it’s okay,” Lauren looked out the window as the rain picked up in intensity. “I heard the next storm is supposed to come in this afternoon.”

“It’s hard to believe it’s going to get even worse by the weekend.”

“I’m just glad I’m not going to be the one with just a quilt and a tarp for shelter,” Lauren said. “Here’s Connie.”

“Looks like Robin’s with her.” Harriet turned her engine off.

The four women met at the now-open back door of Harriet’s car; each took an armload and followed Connie to the restroom building.

“The path to the camp starts behind the building,” she told them as she stepped onto a gravel path. The trail quickly changed from gravel to wood chips and then to mud.

“You weren’t kidding about it being muddy back here,” Harriet said.

“Joyce tries to cover the mud with leaves and tree debris from the forest, but I think this last group of storms has been too much to keep up with.”

The mud sucked at their boots as they made their way through the woods and finally came into a clearing.

“Did I hear you complaining about my trail?” a small white-haired woman said when they’d stopped. A hint of the British Isles was apparent in her speech. “You’re welcome to make any improvements you want to.” She added that with a smile.

“If I could think of anything that would help, I would,” Harriet said.

“Nothing works against this ol’ mud. Some volunteer group put down gravel two inches thick all the way from the restrooms to this clearing last spring, and you can’t even find a single rock now. I’m Joyce, by the way.” She held her hand out to Harriet, who took it

“I’m Harriet, and this is Lauren and…”

“We know Robin,” Joyce said. “She helped us work out the arrangement that allows us to have our camp in these woods.”

“We made those plastic bag tarps I was telling you about,” Connie said and held one out.

Joyce took the tarp and unfolded it.

“Well, aren’t you ladies clever? I’ll be the first to admit, I was skeptical when Connie told me about these.”

Harriet was surprised by Joyce’s clear soft voice. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but it hadn’t been the tidy woman in faded blue jeans and flannel who stood in front of her. She realized her image of homeless people was largely based on television and involved dirty people who were either drunks or mentally ill. Joyce didn’t seem to be either.

“I wasn’t sure how you were going to use these,” Harriet said, “so I brought some clothesline rope and heavy-duty clamps.”

“The boat shop I live over donated a bag of bungee cords, too,” Lauren added.

“Now, wasn’t that nice,” Joyce said as she refolded the tarp. “Let’s take this to my place and see how it works.”

She stopped in the middle of the clearing. A wooden table with mismatched legs stood to her right. A bench that consisted of a wide board resting on two tree stumps that were about six feet apart was on the opposite side of the area.

“This is our ‘living room,’ if you will. We have our group meetings here and our community meals as well. Each member of the camp has a private space separated by trees and brush. No one goes into anyone’s camp without an invitation.” She turned and led them down a less-defined trail to a smaller clearing. “Welcome to my home sweet home,” she said with a sweeping bow.

Again, it was not what Harriet had expected. She had never really thought about the day-to-day details of how the individuals in a homeless camp might create privacy, share spaces or secure their possessions. If she had, she wouldn’t have imagined what Joyce had created.