“Lordy, Lordy, Lordy,” she says to herself day after day, not wanting to burden her life and mind with more negative explicatives.
Hello, any who brave this site, after my long absence. Life has moved me to a new plateau or canyon depending on how much dirt and fatigue is affecting my perspective. Specifically, I have been moved to northern Idaho. Yeah, I wondered where it was, also. It’s that little rectangular bit between Montana and Washington, just below Canada.
Northern Idaho is not what registers when I wake up in the morning as I have been living in a tent for two weeks. Until my brain shifts into full waking mode, I stare at the blue and orange dome that I am under, and wonder where or, more often, why I am where I am. Slowly, as I explore the area looking for a shower, laundromat, groceries and internet, I am beginning to see where I am: just north of Lake Cocollalla, east of Priest River, south of Sandpoint, and surrounded by national forests and lots of lakes. My neighbors are wild turkeys, deer, eagles, quail, coyotes, cows (elk, cougar and bear have been reported, but not yet seen), my sister, her husband, and their gigantic black draft horses.
Why I am here is much less certain than the where.
My sister and I became friends a few months ago, after being estranged for a long while. I’m here because they invited me to join them and I agreed, wanting to celebrate having my childhood best friend back. After two months of traveling, camping and saying good bye to many friends, family and what used to be my life, the “why” question keeps popping up. In other words, my gut led me here, but has been silent ever since arriving. I mean, couldn’t we celebrate sisterhood on skype?
Then again, life is always struggling, exploring, not knowing, and about chopping wood and carrying water. Whether fighting the boredom and frustration of a traffic jam in the city or carrying water, literally, in rural Idaho, it’s all about learning more patience, joy, love and peace, internal stuff that is not dependent on outside circumstances. My job is to be patient, learn to love more, be peaceful – one with Idaho dirt, for starters – and find joy where ever I am, knowing that the wind storm will stop the tent from flapping, eventually, and that I don’t need to focus on what I don’t have, but appreciate the baby quail in the driveway.
In gratitude, joy, peace and love, which I seem to have more of since my hot shower at the local RV park, in spite of what I said about outside circumstance (Lordy, Lordy, Lordy, I am so human, and so reallllly grateful to have lost all the weight of that dirt I left in the shower drain!),
Susan, the old (too old for this?) homesteader of the wild west