September 18, 2022

Leaving Wyoming was a blur. It was a rushed early morning as the sun cast its first light in the unforgiving wind. I remember wishing I'd had a little something to pull the dust coated strands of hair out of my face. The texture kept whacking me in my eyes bringing tears. I was practicing dilligence in sticking to the "without a trace" motto, being certain not a sign of my presence was left behind. Hurriedly, I disassembled the tent tearing the skin on my forefinger as I yanked out a stake. I could hear my father's words as i hastily packed up my wares from the market one evening, smashing my hand."Yes, I finally quit using my hands as tools after too many injuries.", he advised

This time I was leaving for good, allowing the Fall and Winter to carry on without me. The previous morning I'd been warned to get offa that plateau by Rancher Pete, and from my experience, these folks usually know. Not a week later, sitting in a hotel room, on my 59th birthday, a late summer snow fell on my old carved out spot up high where the rainbows shine.

My truck was to be ready down in Utah, so I'd planned to arrive a day early. The confident seller was premature in his calculations, so that day turned into an unexpected week of hotel stays and toxic city life. Once again, i watched as more money washed down the drain.

Then everything had to happen all at once. I was to orchestrate returning my rental car, clean to perfection.The odometer was now at 4,000 miles when it had started out with 67. I had to transfer my bins to the new truck, and have the temporary tonneau cover installed, and I had to rely on a complete stranger for the vehicle switchover. The weight of this city and it's dirty air was challenging, but I was so pleased to have navigated all of this on the wild high speed highway of I 15 through Salt Lake. Neck on neck traffic at 75/80 mph was once a feat for the likes of me.

I headed south in my new and practical ride and stopped along the way making sure I had supplies that would last for six or seven days.

The last hour was through irrigation and pesticides where squared off portions of land glowed lime pop green against the desert backdrop. As the sun dipped low in the sky, Atticus talked me through the coordinates. A few of them were no longer roads. One of them took me to a warehouse housing a telescoping device he surmised might be a site where research was being done on the black hole. "Cool", I thought, as I approached, a sign reading "light sensitive area" and to "turn off all headlights."

A little while later he ended up landing me in a place which initially caused my hopes to sink. I voiced my concern for charred areas, which would mean chemicals may have been used to extinguish the flames. He quickly put my fears to rest by saying he thought the blackened areas to be volcanic rocks. Getting closer and closer, I could see he was right. So I meandered down a roughly sketched out trail of white sand scattered with tufts of green. Black rocks, some as big as automobiles, spilled down a steep blonde grassy incline into the white sandy plains. (Surprisingly, the photos didn't capture the steepness, nor the size of these rocks, though a distant photo of my camp explains the perspective.)

Rushing about, I set up my tent as the sun was setting. Clouds were forming. I had no clue about this place. Not even of the animals. I heated up some soup, made a small salad, warmed my water, bathed and crawled into my tent. I was delirious with exhaustion. Morning would come and i would scout for droppings, footprints and trails. For now, this would have to do.Then I got to thinking. I wasn't cold. I wasn't cold while packing up in Wyoming either. For five years now, my temperature regulation had gone awry. Freezing cold or burning hot with no real compass of understanding. Thyroid. I had ditched every medication since this journey began, thyroid medication as well.. All of us with this wretched illness suffer from thyroid conditions. It had leveled out. When I wasn't even paying attention, this too was healing.

My mind wandered off thinking of the many times I nearly took my life. I would never have known I could get better if I hadn't carried on this long. My shoulders relaxed a bit. I was so thankful. I could now drive where I needed to go without having to return to the rental hub of a city. My husband, Bob had made this happen. A man I never even see. The man I have been married to for twenty years. The man i cooked and cleaned and made a home for. The man i text or speak with every day.The man people question, wondering why it is he is still helping me? This is new information for me, I am still taking in.

The knowledge of this shames and angers me. A net casting guilt envelops me again.Those people are not my people. They believe him to be a fool. These are the things that make me question my life and its worth. This man, near 70 years of age, once retired, is now back at it trying his best to help me. Through every expensive doctor's visit and every plea, throughout my sleeping in cars, and tents and any place safe I could find to breathe, he has not turned his back on me, now realizing that leaving our home was what needed to happen. Who, willingly ever wants to leave their home, especially me as my memories reveal photos of my eclectically decorated space, I so loved? I am humbled and nothing I can do right now will show him my appreciation. I will though. It will unfold in due time. For now, he will do what he can. It won't be enough, not for both of us. So I will continue to graciously request your help. I thank you. All of you. For this chance at a life again, as i continue to heal. Truly. ♡♡♡

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