We spent Thanksgiving in the Blue Ridge Mountains, returning to the yurt in Anna’s farm. This time it was a little different, we brought Silas and Banjo, our pup, along. The trip was just as good. The ride there was a comedy of errors; driving the wrong way for an hour, with the poor kids crammed in the back of the car with our car sick dog. Eventually, thanks to a vet tech friend, we discovered the magic of dramamine.
Our first day there, Thanksgiving proper, was spent roaming the hills and climbing fences. Yelling at my four year old to slow down! Filled with worries of a broken ankle while simultaneously overjoyed at the sight of her transformed, pissing in the bushes, running free. It was also the last day of my 20’s, and I spent that afternoon reading Philip K. Dick on the yurt porch and drinking wine. Shamefully, Flow My Tears, the Policeman Said is the only of his novels I have read. We started watching The Man in the High Castle, which is based on his novel of the same name, and I thought it a good reason to read the book. It was also my first time reading a book on a kindle, and there were many times I caught myself licking a finger in preparation for turning a page that wasn’t there. It almost felt like books were my phantom limb.
The farm on the mountain, a place built for poetry, with its never-ending signs of renewal was as good a place as any to end a decade and start one anew.