We lived in two little cabins clinging to the side of a hillside by a pretty park in Seattle in the late sixties.   The view of Puget Sound was right out our windows and we went down to the little beach in front of our houses every day.   My friend was willowy with long strawberry blonde hair.  I was tall with long brown hair and easy ways. 

   We had jobs.  Most hippies did.  Hippies were free spirits but they cared deeply about living a good natural life.  When my friend and I lived in our little cabins in the trees we were busy.  She worked at a grocery Co Op and I worked at the Children's Home Society.  I would come home after an emotional day and head straight over to her house, smoke a couple joints and tell her about my day.   She had stories to tell too.

     I had found these little cabins thru some other hippie friends.  Peggy and Jim lived in one but it got too small.  They said they needed a door to slam that didn't end up outside.  I rented the other cabin after moving from a renovation project in the heart of the city.  That had been a hippie haven too.

        We met Big John on our beach in Seattle.  He worked at Boeing but had long dark red hair and a perfect beard.  He was enormous and could lift the pieces of driftwood on the beach and move them around.   I thought he was hot but he only had eyes for my friend and soon moved into the cabin with her.   It was all good.

     I met my future husband about that time.  He had blonde hair down to his shoulders and we met in the park when my dog grabbed his frisbee and we had to  chase him all around.  I remember all the change fell out of the pockets in my furry coat and we had to find that too so I could get to the little store there and buy a Sunday paper.   He lived in another little house at the top of the hill with Bill who had a wonderful great dane. 

   My friend invited us next door for Borsht with her and Big John.  She spent the evening cooking and straining the beets and vegetables until at midnight she served us a blood red clear soup with a dollop of sour cream floating in the middle.  My future husband was convinced after that night that she was a witch.  Hippy Ladies are like cousins of witches.

   We all ended up putting in a garden by his hill top house.  It had lots of really tall sunflowers and some good food.   We were stoned there most of the time and yet it all seemed to work well.   There were garbage bags of weed that someone had grown on their land out of town.  

   I ended up being married for twenty five years and moving to Alaska.  My friend and neighbor in the little cabins moved to Switzerland, married and had a little girl who is all grown up now.  She is divorced and tends to a garden in a churchyard.   I know if we were to see each other again we would sit down and remember our hippie days fondly.  We are still Hippy Ladies.