07/29/2025
These mountains have been my greatest teachers.
The canyon, my mirror. The river, the great alchemist.
This land has held so much.
I’ve planted trees here. Grown food with my hands.
Laid my body down in grief more times than I can count.
I’ve lived here and felt the entire range of humanity, with all the emotions laid bare, in awe.
This house, this land, has been a witness to thresholds I could never have planned for.
It held us through a pandemic, through the death of our beloved dog Kodiak, through heartbreak, rebirth, and the kind of becoming that only solitude can offer.
Here, I unraveled everything I once believed. I deconstructed an entire cultic experience and let the false gods fall.
I Listened, in the silence, for what was true for me.
And the silence responded.
Full. Dense. Wise.
It gave me back to myself.
Animals have come here to die in peace. Their spirits joined the lineage of this place.
I’ve sat with them. Cried with them.
I learned a new shape of loss that does not end, only deepens.
I am not the same woman who arrived here.
And still, I feel the ache of leaving.
Because this land is alive. And it knows me. I don’t know how I will say goodbye to the trees I’ve planted and those who stood tall as sentinels who welcomed me with their mighty branches.
But something is shifting.
We’re moving north.
To big skies, farmland and more Mountains.
To slower living.
To vast, star-filled dark nights.
To a quieter way of being.
I always knew It was never meant to be forever here.
But it’s hard to uproot when you’ve shared so much with a place.
This land and I both were revived together.
May these mountains remember me, as I will always remember them.
And may the new stewards of this home always feed the hummingbirds!
