Chapter 1: Unorthodox Beginnings
“Summer Rose Clemintine Rainbow Weaver, why haven’t you returned my calls?” My older sister’s voice was shrill as it traveled just over two thousand miles through the phone lines to let me know exactly how she felt. If I hadn’t been half asleep, I wouldn’t have picked it up.
“I planned on calling you in the morning, Raven.” I didn’t bother to try to disguise the complete and total exhaustion that I hoped she heard in my voice.
“You promised me you would update me every step of the way while you were on this adventure. And I haven’t heard from you for three whole days. Mom is pretty sure that a serial killer diced you up into little pieces like on one of her True Crime podcasts.”
“Of course, she thinks that.” I pressed the heel of my hand against my forehead and pushed myself up onto an elbow, trying to see the dim numbers of the little glowing clock I’d installed just above my tiny stainless steel sink. “But now you can tell her that I’m fine- wait. Does that say it’s three a.m. here, Raven?”
My sister didn’t respond, and I knew she was probably trying to figure out the time difference in her head.
“I’m not exactly sure.” I was sitting up now, the sheet I’d been sleeping under since arriving in Tennessee slipping down my body as I glanced out the window of my 1971 Volkswagen Bus.
“You know the bus is still technically in mom’s name, too, right? She said that she would report it missing if I didn’t get a hold of you tonight. And probably you, too.”
“I guess it’s good you got a hold of me then. Is there a particular reason you waited until midnight your time to call me?” I made a serious effort not to let the annoyance quickly rising in my chest spill over into my voice.
I told myself they were just worried because they love me, trying not to focus too hard on how the oddly overprotective dynamics were a huge part of why I’d decided to set out on this little adventure.
“You know how it is during Harvest season. We’ve been working a ton lately. Then we all drove into Eureka to that Brewery Mom loves. And then Bryce dared Hunter to jump naked off that bridge near the entrance to the property. Cedar said that he recorded it, and the two of them got into a big fight over the phone, which, by the way, hadn’t been recording.”
None of this was anything other than typical. I found myself nodding momentarily before remembering that my sister couldn’t see me.
“I’m really tired, Rav. Would it be okay if I called you back sometime tomorrow? I’ve found this town, Green Valley in Tennessee. I think I want to stay here for a little while. When I pulled into town earlier tonight, they were having this amazing music thing down at their community center. One of the center directors gave me permission to park in their parking lot overnight. The town is in the Smokey Mountains, near the national park, and it’s the first place where I’ve felt like stopping for more than an afternoon since I left Michigan last week. I might even try to find a studio to rent for a bit. Sleep in a real bed again and all that.”
Raven snorted, and I had a feeling she was trying to keep from saying that she knew I’d get sick of the flimsy futon mattress I’d made into a bed when I’d redone the van last summer, sooner rather than later.
“Well, now that I know where you are, I can call off the calvary.”
“I’d appreciate that, Raven.”
“I love you, Baby Sister. Just stay out of trouble. We’ve all had to listen to Mom’s podcasts while we’ve been in the greenhouse together, and they’re kind of getting to me, too.”
After reassuring her that I would double-check my van’s locks and be extra careful about all things safety, I hit the red button on my phone and replaced it on its little stand next to my sleeping nook.
“You’re lucky to have them,” I reminded myself, something I always did when I wasn’t particularly feeling lucky.
My family was an unorthodox bunch, and right now, they were a world away. I’d been born to my mom, Crystal, and my father, John, in a cabin next to the Eel River in Humboldt County on the Lost Coast of Northern California. My Dad hadn’t stayed around long after I was born. Apparently, fathering four girls in six years had been a little too overwhelming for the man who had fled the “big city” with my mom the day after they’d graduated high school.
He’d pictured a laid-back, back-to-nature lifestyle that he didn’t feel like he was getting when my colicky butt arrived on the scene. I’d actually been born in the back of the van that I now called home, although that hadn’t been part of my mom's birth plan.
My mom had wanted another homebirth, just like she’d had with my older sisters, and had had the birth pool set up and everything. Unfortunately, after a date night while a friend watched my older sisters, I decided it was time to join the party. I hadn’t been willing to wait for them to get all the way back to the ten-acre property that my parents had been able to buy with a little bit of money my mom had inherited from her great-aunt.
My mom had continued a tradition she’d started with my second oldest sister, Aspen Violet. When Aspen had been born my mom had let then two-year-old Haven pick out her middle name. Violet was the name of the purple-haired doll that Haven dragged everywhere.
At that moment, a family tradition had been born. Each of the Weaver children was allowed to pick a middle name each time a new baby was born.
I admit, I probably would have thought this was a good idea when Baby #2 or maybe even Baby #3 had arrived. But by the time I got there, things were getting a little ridiculous.
Haven, who was six by the time I came around, had chosen Rose as my first middle name. Every time my mother would say my entire name, I would say a little prayer of thanks to my oldest sibling for keeping things simple. Aspen, who was four, had chosen Clementine after her favorite fruit. And, of course, two-year-old Raven dubbed me “Rainbow,” which I was grateful my mom had shortened from Rainbow Sparkle Princess, which was what the articulate toddler had really wanted to call me.
Did I mention that my family is a bit unorthodox?
I suppose I should be grateful that my name was on my birth certificate and registered with the county by the time my mom met Leaf River Storm at the Reggae on the River Festival, an hour from what Mom had been calling “our farm.” Leaf hadn’t been born with the name he told Mom that day, but he’d had his name legally changed ten years earlier from the one he’d been given birth, Charles Edward Abney the Third. He also happens to be the only father I’ve ever known since that other guy had entirely disappeared from the scene, returning to live with his family and eventually having another family if what my grandma says is true.
Mom said that it was love at first sight. He and four of my nine step-siblings had moved in with us by the end of that first year. That’s when the Yurt had been erected. By the second year, Leaf’s ex-wife had moved to a commune in another state, and the other five kids had made our already big family even bigger.
Our family was loud and chaotic; growing up, I’d rarely been alone.
And that probably played a huge role in what I was doing with my life now, leaving everything behind to finally figure out who I was when I was blessedly alone and far from home.
