Chapter Two:
First Days
[Page 1]
Kelly, his daughter Ajila, and two young llamas were heading north
through the hot central valley of California. Kelly had made this
trip many times before, but this time was different. Here he was
with his daughter, whom he hadn't seen for a year, and they were
sharing the van with two strange animals. How do you communicate
with a daughter turned teenager? With llamas?
At first Levi and Tumbleweed stood up, but as they became accustomed
to the rolling motion of the vehicle, they sat down between the
built-in bed and the sink. The window shades in back were pulled
down so the llamas wouldn't be distracted by things outside the
window. Neither had ever traveled before.
Ajila went back and scratched their necks. Levi stretched his neck
toward her as she rubbed.
The llamas were making humming sounds with an inquisitive tone.
It was easy to translate those to something like, "What's going
on here?'' It was harder to interpret the hums that were more of
a monotone. Kelly knew that llamas are social animals who use sounds
and body language to communicate. Understanding them was going to
be like learning a new language. Ajila imitated the sounds.
In the hazy heat, a traffic tie-up forced them to stop. Cars and
trucks were parked as far ahead as they could see. The llamas stood
up, pulled at the velcro on the curtains and sniffed Ajila's guitar
case. Kelly talked to the other motorists. There was a chemical
spill a few miles north of them, and the freeway had already been
closed for twenty-four hours. A trucker said that the road was expected
to be open again in a couple of hours.
Kelly pulled the van into the shade of a large truck, and they
waited. Ajila pulled out some playing cards, and she and Kelly played
desultory hands of gin rummy.
Tumbleweed was foaming at the mouth. Was it from the worming medicine
Sally had given him by mouth that morning? Kelly hoped so. He thought
so. But still he felt like a new father, not sure what to do. Maybe
the llamas would like to go for a walk, but their first lesson in
loading into a vehicle had been that morning. He'd better keep the
llamas in the van.
He pulled up handfuls of tall grass--not yet dried by the summer
sun--from a field nearby. Ajila offered it to the llamas, who seemed
happy to munch. Tumbleweed's foam disappeared, and Kelly's anxiety
along with it. He and Ajila continued to pick grass. What else to
do, anyway? They made a nice pile of grass on the floor of the van.
The llamas ate, and soon Levi followed a natural inclination. Luckily,
llamas' droppings are much like deer's, little pellets, easy to
clean up. Tumbleweed sniffed where Levi had gone, and he began to
follow suit. Kelly grabbed a shoe box and tried to catch the cascade
of pellets. At that moment, car engines around them started up.
Kelly threw the shoe box down, Ajila jumped in the van, and they
began moving north again.
Alone at Juniper Ridge, I was looking down our long dirt driveway
every few minutes. Would there be one llama, or two? How would Ajila
have changed? She had spent most summers with us since she was two.
I loved the first look at her, seeing what letters, phone calls,
and even snapshots couldn't convey.
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