Getting Lost in the Dark

Finding my people in an old hospital in the Sierra Foothills

Dec 20, 2025

The drive from Fiddletown to Sheep Ranch is an hour and twelve minutes. I had an invitation from Tyx, a friend I’d only met a few times through my mom, to join the monthly Ecstatic Dance Night. An hour-plus to dance with strangers in the foothills—but I’m trying to get out, do things that interest me, find community in this new place.

I left two hours early. No idea what parking would be like, and I had this glass of milk for a witchy abundance ritual that needed to go into flowing water. I’d been searching every drive—nothing. Maybe today.

At 4pm I hopped into Günt, my trusty Volkswagen Golf, GPS set for Main Street in Sheep Ranch.

The drive along these winding roads in the Sierra Foothills is beautiful right now. Leaves are changing colors, the occasional flock of turkeys runs along the side of the road, and you have to go slow enough to avoid the potential of a deer crossing while still going fast enough for the occasional local with their high beams on coming up right behind you wanting to pass. The sunsets are magical! Reds turning orange and all ranges of purples until finally it is inky black and the stars blanket the sky. This particular night it was a waning moon. The drive got very dark as I continued down State Route 26 surrounded by the tall pines. Occasionally a riot of Xmas lights and blow-up decorations would appear in the distance.

And then my GPS lost me. It had no idea where I was. And I had no idea what my next turn was—and it was 5pm. I should be about 12 minutes away. So, I took a few deep breaths and continued down the road I was on. It was definitely the main road. At times I’d run into a road branching off, but they always looked small. I just made a decision to keep on the road I was on until I got a signal again. I drove for another 15 minutes—no signs, no signal, mostly darkness.

I pull over at a turnout when I notice I have a bar! Maybe if I stop, my GPS will find me and then I can look at the map and actually write down the directions old school, like I used to do before I became dependent on this pocket computer to tell me where I was—note to self: always write down the directions before you head out anywhere new around here!

And then I am located. My GPS says it’s 55 minutes to Sheep Ranch. WTAF? I should have turned somewhere up in those hills 15-plus minutes ago. Is this really worth it? Here I am on the side of the road in the dark in a place I don’t know at all and also, I am low on gas. Why didn’t I handle that earlier? There hasn’t been one gas station along this route. Or a flowing river for that matter—it’s not even like I’m going to be able to do my milk ritual! Why am I doing this? I don’t have to. I can just head back home. Who knows how long that’s going to take me. Also, I hate showing up at anything late! On the other hand, this thing only happens once a month. I’m out here already. Why not just try. Also, I’m really excited about getting to know Tyx!

I take a couple more breaths, lean into Flo (my higher power), and look back along the map—I remembered the name Railroad Flat Rd from the original directions that led to Sheep Ranch Rd. I must have missed a turn and kept going down the wrong road. It looked like if I turned around and got off on Ridge Rd, I’d hit Railroad Flat Rd and I’d be home free. It was worth a try.

I hit the intersection of Sheep Ranch Rd and Main St at 6pm on the dot. There were no street lights. All of the houses were dark except for this one house up a flight of stairs. I could see the lights moving around inside. That must be the one. I parked on the street, walked up to the rickety wooden door with the faded sign “Cooper Creek” above it, and stepped inside.

Immediately I’m hit with the contrast between those kaleidoscope lights and this old-school wooden building with a pipe organ on one side of the room and a record player/cassette tape player that would have been awesome to have in the ‘70s. The walls are decorated with old album covers. Thrift store couches and multicolored pillows and blankets surround the outer rim of the room. As I walk in, I’m greeted by Fallah, a tall, skinny man with dreads, a quick smile, and bright eyes.

“Welcome!” he says, arms stretched wide.

“Hi. It’s my first time here. Actually, I just moved into the area.”

“Well, welcome! Where are you from?”

“Portland.”

He’s got friends in Portland—likes the city, but could never live in an environment like that. I laugh and talk about the sharp difference I’m experiencing here. He reassures me there’s a lot to do around here, you’ve just got to find those pockets, places, and people. I pay him the $10 entry fee and head in.

Three big dogs roam the space, a couple of young folx are cuddling on the couch at the far wall. The DJ Allpa is playing some world music from the stage and drinking what must be mate based on the cup and the bombilla. There’s a screen behind them with rotating psychedelic images and a camera set up that somehow superimposes ghost-like images of anyone (or any dog) that walks across the dance floor. With about eight people there at this point, including me, the ghosting effect is sporadic—but I can imagine what it will be like when more folx get here.

I stand in the middle of the room for a bit. The DJ runs down and asks me if the sound is alright. Clearly, they are just getting started. My concern about arriving exactly on time was my own construct and completely unnecessary.

I turn around and am greeted by Samantha who offers me tea. She points to the wood stove where the kettles are keeping the water warm, the tea selection, and the collection of mismatched mugs on the coffee table.

I grab my tea and she sidles up next to me: “This building used to be the only hospital serving this area during the gold rush days. So, there’s a bunch of gold that no one can ever access under this building. Pretty cool, huh?”

“Yeah! I love all these old buildings around here. My mom has some friends that own the old schoolhouse in Volcano.”

And we’re off chatting about Ecstatic Dance and how I can get plugged into events like this in the area—mostly she just posts things on her Facebook page that’s all about “Cooper Creek.”

Tyx hasn’t arrived yet, but more people start showing up over the next hour and a half. Daniel, who looks like he could have walked out of the set of “Portlandia,” offers me weed. I don’t smoke, but we strike up a conversation. He introduces me to a couple of his buddies—they could be extras in the movie “Clerks.” Two more dogs show up with their humans. I’m looking around the room and it’s like the younger relatives of my motley crew of Portland friends and chosen family have somehow landed in this space in the middle of nowhere to connect, share space, and enjoy music and movement. These are my people!

The dance really gets started around 7:30pm and I am in the groove. Having a blast, connecting with people. Lots of smiles and hugs. A new DJ takes the stage—tall, long black hair under a baseball cap with a nose ring and an approachable confidence. We chatted for a bit earlier and he explained how the camera by the stage helps superimpose the images of dancers on the screen in front of the psychedelic background.

He builds the soundscape paying close attention to the vibe on the dance floor—he’s expert at it! I am up and feeling into the music. A slow build that leads to full-on joyous rhythm in my body. This moving meditation falling in waves and washing through all of us. I haven’t done this in a long time and it feels like cosmic healing. It doesn’t escape me that we’re doing this in a former hospital. This is the medicine I need.

I sneak out around 9pm—I’ve got a long drive home and I have to somehow find gas.

Tyx never made it. He had sent me a text that I didn’t get until I was back home. But I am so glad I decided to take that risk and just go.

Today I’m laughing about getting lost in the dark and deciding to keep going. It perfectly describes this whole move to Fiddletown and Amador County. I keep thinking I should know where I’m going, that I should have figured out the route by now. But maybe the point is to keep driving into the unknown, to show up even when the person who invited me doesn’t, to say yes to the hour-plus drive for a chance at connection. The slowing down isn’t just about rural pace—it’s about trusting that even when I can’t see the road ahead, even when I’m running low on gas and questioning why I’m doing this, there’s something worth finding. A roomful of people dancing in an old hospital. Medicine I didn’t know I needed. My people, waiting in the most unexpected places.