I could feel my jaw set in determination, and I knew that wasn’t good for me, so I moved it slowly, consciously, side to side. Took a deep breath. The for-sale sign was up, and India, my realtor, had already had an offer. The grounds were pristine, and the chalet had never looked cuter on the sloping ridgetop, surrounded by a few black oaks that had yet to leaf out. I sighed, sad. I loved this place. I’d bought it a few years ago, simply because it was next door to our cabin. It turned our 3.5-acre farm into a 7 acre estate. The ways the hills sloped together; the two parcels were meant to be one.
But I still had the other, 3. 5 fertile acres atop the San Juan Ridge in the Tahoe National Forest. I’d be able to pay off the small mortgage on the miner’s cabin we’d called home for a total of 20 years. I’d be out of debt and not have to work so hard.
I felt my chest tighten as I walked the path back to the original property and the cabin. I just didn’t want to be here anymore.
Michigan was calling again.
I called my sons in order of their birth.
#1: Forrest
“Remember how I said I might move to Ann Arbor in 2022?
“Yeah.”
“How about I definitely will in 2021.”
“That’s now!”
“Yeah, I gotta get out of here.”
“Let us know how we can help.”
#2: Levi
“Remember how I said I might move to Michigan in next year?”
“Yeah.”
“I think it’s this year. Before fire season hits.”
“That makes sense. Keep me in the loop.”
#3: Jesse
“Remember how we said we’d never leave here, never abandon the land, Jack’s dream?”
“Of course. I left though when it was right. Jack would’ve wanted me to.”
“Yes, especially San Diego.”
I took a beat. This communication was the tough one. This was the son who stayed with me through the worst of Jack’s two- and-half-year illness. And his death. And after his death.
“I think I need to get out of here.”
“I completely support that. More than anything he’d want you to be happy. And you are not happy there anymore. It’s not good for you, Mom.”
I texted India and she wrote back right away. It was a seller’s market.
How can I leave Shannon so soon? I thought in a moment of panic. I picked up the phone, thinking to tell her right away before she heard it elsewhere. “I’m not crying!” she said. “Oh my god what will I do if you aren’t on the mountain?”
I felt the crushing guilt of abandoning a friend.
How can I stay when every cell in my body is telling me to leave?
Get out before the next fire season. I recognized my behavior. I do flight mode very well.
I mentioned to my friend Roo, the librarian, that I needed a realtor in Michigan. “My sister is a realtor in Michigan—top of her field. Near Ann Arbor.” So poof! I had JoAnn the realtor.
The chalet was quickly in escrow. The cabin took a few more weeks, it being funkier. Meanwhile, the challenge was navigating through the stuff in two houses and five outbuildings. All of Jack’s tools. Generators, other off grid equipment, decades of sentimental accumulation. The Subaru and the Ranger. And I still had to go through my mom’s stuff from Arizona.
Enter the Smiths. Nina helped me clean. Earnie traded me the trailer for labor, Dakoda bought the Subaru. Earnie spearheaded a moving sale and priced Jack’s tools.
My sons’ friend Julian showed up and bought the Ranger.
My west coast sons came to pick through everything they wanted and to say good-bye to the farm.
Meanwhile, I saw my new house as I was browsing real estate on my phone. I recognized it just as I’d recognized Jack and the old farm many years ago. I put in an offer, couldn’t hurt. Jo Ann called a week later. “Are you sitting down?” Forrest and Katey had looked at the little ranch house along the river and given me the tentative thumbs up. I bought it sight unseen, flew out for inspections, and sealed the deal. It was now mid-May, six weeks after I’d first decided to sell out.
I hired a moving company that bailed on me at the last minute. I hired another one, and it subbed out the job to what appeared to be the Russian mafia. They came in a light rain and took my belongings away in a Ryder truck. I never expected to see them or my stuff again. At the time it didn’t matter much. I would bring Jack’s ashes and my laptop in the car.
Levi came down from Portland to drive me the 3K miles east. The Runner was packed, and the dogs and I climbed into it on June 24th at dawn, three months to the day after I decided to leave. The Smiths would come that week and finish cleaning everything out before escrow closed on the cabin. I opened and closed the gate on the compound for the last time, this time taking the padlock and chain. I shed no tears. I felt no regrets, just sadness and intrigue. And a flash of guilt when I drove by Shannon’s place. It was too early in the morning to honk good-bye.
