Just a few of the locals...

The town name of "Oracle" may act as unconscious lure to minor actors borne by great gestures.

THT has now moved to Mexico. He (of the bushy beard and snaggle tooth) was known at one time to deliver the mail on horseback. D is a self-taught stone mason who shows symptoms of rabies at meetings with county supervisors. RS abandoned the family garment business to homestead on a mountain. CS, who studied architecture in his youth, collects model trains and has obsessively recreated floor plans for every local historic structure.

Of course, many folks arrived when the idea of engraving a novel identity seemed a noble calling, and the only acceptable norms were those of transgression. It was no wonder then that the newcomers of the 1970s – who immediately set about trying to preserve local history and fighting off growth – were looked at askance by the old-timers who had actually lived that same history, including the crippling poverty of the Depression, and likely looked forward to selling their holdings to the big developers.

A typical example of a recent Oracle denizen would be a self-discovered painter who left East Coast husband behind in order to divine the principles of wisdom through the media of acrylic .. by painting luridly colored pod people and some additional landscapes. But perhaps that is mean-spirited of me.

And what of myself? While I miss the stimulation of cities, I was admittedly motivated to move by one of those sticky little childhood promises to myself. This is an odd thing: as a child I had spent summers here on the very same ranch and had always yearned to move out.

That very first summer spent here when I was seven, the barn was still empty except for a few leftover bales of hay. As the newly arrived artists began to claim portions for their studios, I decided we kids needed space of our own (especially as the barn proved the greatest lure for a short spell).

So I lit on a yet-unclaimed corner, erected a barricade of boards and other bric-a-brac. On one board in particular I drew a skull and crossbones with the words "Keep Out!" and "Private -- No Trespassing". I thought myself to be very bold. Some 35 years later, after finally making a permanent move to the same ranch, my husband one day brought back a piece of wood to our house. I peered at the tiny, nearly invisible script, and beheld my own tentative pronouncements of years past.