The Oberstrom House

Gui Mayo


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There was only one house we could see from the ranch where I was raised, on the next ridge to ours in the mountains of Big Sur. It was the Oberstrom house, on Partington Ridge, to the south. By day you could hardly see it, a speck among the trees against the sky on the ridge. But at night when  I was out in the hayfield, I could see a tiny light. It was like the lights of the rising stars. But I could tell it was the Oberstrom House because it was the only light that did not rise like the stars. That light was from the copper lamp over their table, but I did not know that then.

 

The Oberstroms were like myths to us. I donít think my parents ever met them.  Theirs was simply the only house we could see in that wilderness. The very name came to represent solitude.  That  house was the only sign of human presence we could see. So that name was also the word for our isolation.

 

Sometime in the 1930ís the Oberstroms moved away. They had always come and gone but we never knew it. Later  I heard Oberstrom was an engineer, and only came to the house on the ridge between projects. But this time they were leaving for good. There was only a trail to their house so they hired my father to pack all their things out on his horses.

 

The day we arrived it was hot and the grass was dry. Bright sun streamed into their one room but it seemed desolate and smaller than I had imagined it. The Oberstroms had already left and boxes lay around the room to be packed out on our horses. I was sad to see no one there and it was strange to see a house I had so long imagined.
 


I donít remember packing their boxes on our horses or riding down the trail to the highway. I donít even remember anyone ever speak of the Oberstroms again. I donít even remember ever looking for their light again among the stars rising over the ridge to the south.
 

 

 

 


Kater Murr's Press, Piraeus Series, 2004. 
Text and artwork copyright © Gui Mayo, 2004