Migration

May 1st, 2011
Eight Months Since the Fire

Hello Friends,

Today is my last day in my little cottage in Chautauqua. We’re moving to a temporary rental for the summer, and then are lucky enough to be moving back here to another cottage in the fall. We have a very nice sublet for the summer, but today I’m exhausted from packing and cleaning and taking care of the myriad details of moving. I realize that I am not migratory by nature.

The other day I was at my friend Beth’s house, and as I left, a small flock of Canada Geese flew over in a lovely “V” formation, going north for the summer. I thought about how humans began as migratory beings, going north for the summer and south for the winter, over and over, from place to place, always on the move.  I imagined that one day long ago, a woman (I like to think it was a woman) faced with the prospect of packing and moving again, finally put her foot down. “Enough of this!” she said, looking around. “I’m done with all this moving. Summer hunting grounds, winter hunting grounds, meh! How bad can the winter be?  I’m staying put.”  And thus, villages, towns, and civilizations began. All because one woman was tired of moving.

I used to be much more mobile. After college, I moved twenty-five times in ten years. I had places to go, things to do. I was busy being a Park Ranger and traveling the world. Then I got tired of it, went to grad school, bought a house, and settled down. After years of looking for “home,” I finally found it – on top of a mountain, in a wide, peaceful meadow.  Which then burned up, and sent me on this recent migration.

I feel bad about complaining. After all, I’m a middle-class woman with an advanced degree, homeowner’s insurance, and a job. I get to rebuild my house; smaller, but smarter. There are many, many survivors of disasters who are not nearly as fortunate. And yet, as I’ve said before, this is not a pain contest; there are no “winners” here. And today I feel as I do on most days – totally overwhelmed by my life, and yet grateful, so grateful, for all the help I receive each day.

On Saturday, my Army of Angels came over to help me pack – Priscilla, Deborah, Betsy, Cathy and Barbara.  They showed up and dug in, taped together boxes from the liquor store, and started packing up my possessions and piling them up on the porch. We worked for about four hours, and I was amazed at how much stuff I’ve already accumulated. I have a couple of boxes of kitchen stuff, some big plastic bags full of clothes, and then all the odd miscellany that makes up a life.

At one point, Cathy held up a big black plastic bag full of stuff and said, “Where do you want me to put this?” I asked, “What’s in it?”  She said, “Nellie’s toys!”  And we all cracked up. Yes, Princess Nellie’s toy collection filled an entire gigantic garbage bag. Sheesh!

Yesterday, Beth came over to help me clean, and then last night I went to a small potluck in Denver. After the party as I drove home on the highway back to Boulder, I could see the mountains, spreading out to the West. I saw the Continental Divide, covered in snow, and tucked in among the Indian Peaks, my mountain, and my meadow.  I could see the burn scar, stretching across the canyons.  And as I drove down the highway, tears began to pour down my face. I said out loud, “I just want to go home, and it’s going to be a whole year before I get there. I’m just so, so tired of this.”

I cried all the way from Denver to Boulder, and then as I came down the hill into town, I saw the big green open space that surrounds the city, and the pastures full of cows, grazing in the sunset.  Among them were dozens and dozens of baby calves; adorable little black and white furry babies, tottering on new legs, curled up in the grass, snuggling up with their moms. “New Life,” I thought. “There is always New Life.”  And I wiped away my tears, and drove back to the cottage to finish packing.

Today my friend Deborah is coming over to help me do the floors – the last thing on my long “moving” checklist. And then Nellie and I will migrate north for the summer (no kidding, the new rental is north of here) and then back south in the fall, like geese, like primordial Humans, looking for better weather, better hunting, or perhaps, temporary refuge.

And I know that in the end, it will be all right.  We will move a few more times in the coming year, and then finally, Home. And then I will look around and say, “Enough of this! I’m staying put!”

Wishing You and Yours a Good Night, and Sweet Dreams,

Andi

Nellie at the Site of the New House