Missing Mountain Road

time for an intermission

It is cold on this side of the world. Yesterday, I wore my winter gear out to dinner. A big felt jacket and a scarf. My boots, too, but I usually wear those no matter what. I turned 25 last week and it was still cold then, but not as cold, and the sun came out long enough to run across the low-tide sandbar. And when the water was deep enough, we jumped in like frogs, belly first, legs wide.

The neighborhood crows have been feasting on baby rabbits. We hear the rabbits squawk every few hours. I ran from one room to the other, with more ferocity in me than anything recent, and yelled at the crow. The rabbit fell out of the bird’s mouth onto the grass. On the other hand, A. and I saw a fantastic taxidermy bird exhibit on Sunday. it is hard to say who I am rooting for, other than a life well-lived. 

I saw a good life last week: a man near his mailbox. I could tell by his stance that he wasn’t really reading his mail, but hoping for someone to say hello to. Once I was close enough, he smiled and asked if I was walking to the beach. By beach, he meant the Pacific Ocean off of the San Juan Islands—which I presume is his home or at least place of vacation. Either way, a long life. Either way, lucky to be where he was. I told him, yes I am walking to the beach; yes I am lucky, too. And he said, Take Missing Mountain Road on the way back. It is just a little longer, but shaded. 

So I took Missing Mountain Road and it was shaded. Nothing spectacular happened. No rare pink bird or pot of gold, just an ordinary path. Thank god, you know?

… 

It is the next day, still cold. I am not rooting for the crow, easy to say now. I have seen too much. 

Recently I decided that I am too old to not do what I want. I also have been thinking, what the hell is a well-lived life? I’m not so sure so I have decided to wander around. I am searching for a big hat. Something to make me feel like I don’t take my life so seriously, even if I do.

When I first started writing here, I wrote about life on the mountain. They were short, nothing meant too much. I wrote it in 20 minutes. Lately, I feel a need to make meaning of everything and I am exhausted. And now in the present, after I have finally accepted the first big death in my life, it feels like I have to make meaning for all of the future deaths. Too much pressure, Jo. 

That all to say, I am taking a break from this newsletter and social media in general (because I would be lying to say that Substack hasn’t become its own social media). Small or big, who knows. All of the paid subscriptions will be frozen until I am back here.

Much love to all! Freeze the idea of constant sharing <3 

Jolie