too close to death

I've been intentionally holding back a part of our summer that is not inconsequential until I was ready to start telling it. Today is that day. I'm not telling it because it is the most sensational story I could tell, but because I want to tell the truth and this is bound to be a part of the truth of our time in Vermont.

On July 3rd I got home from class at 12:45 and Bryan was talking with a young man in front of the yurt. Something seemed slightly amiss with the conversation, based on Bryan's demeanor, only visibly in the tiniest way that you can see in those you know ridiculously well.  I walked up and the man, we'll call him Jake, finished his thought and I introduced myself. We shook hands and I tried to get caught up in his story. Without going into too much detail, he basically had come to Bryan the host to let him know he wouldn't be able to pay for his campsite and he wanted to talk with a ranger about it.

Since the rangers are rarely there, Bryan and I just said we'd try to reach one and would send someone his way when we could. Meanwhile, he had told Bryan that he was homeless,  hinted that he was hungry and intended to try to fish for food, talked about how he got dropped off by a woman with five terrible kids who swear and are only ten and are embarrassing to be around, was staying with a friend but had to leave during the day and basically had nowhere to go. In short, he came off as really desperate. We assured him that we'd do our best to get a ranger for him. He walked away with a look of disappointment on his face that we couldn't quite read.

In my head since that day, even an hour later, I tried rewriting that moment, forcing it to be kinder, more generous, or just different.

Bryan and I went into the yurt and both had alarm bells going off in our heads. While he didn't seem like he was on drugs, posing a threat, was violent, etc. we just kept saying he seemed so desperate. We were concerned. We were worried that we had made plans to be away from the campground most of the afternoon and then late into the night. We feared for the safety of the dogs and our things. We worried that he was casing us out. We felt paranoid. He was a nice guy, but that desperation coming off of him in waves scared us. We know that people who are desperate will do anything, and in some ways, you can hardly blame them because they feel like they're trapped and that was how he came off.

We asked each other if we should have given him some food. We had food in the yurt that certainly would have helped. We wondered what to do. We wondered if we should radio the ranger station. Or go into town to call them. Or offer to take him to the free campground. Bryan went back and told him about the many free camping options available to him around the area. He told him that he knew about those, having grown up in Goshen, but hadn't felt like going that far. He had intentionally chosen to be dropped off at a campground that he knew wasn't free. We certainly were not going to send him on his way down the road and tell him he couldn't stay, but we left the yurt and worried about it all night. We saw him later that afternoon, maybe around 1:30, walking back to his site with fishing pole in hand and fishing vest on. That was the last time I saw him. Bryan headed into town so he called the conservation officer for our region who was on his way to the Finger Lakes, so planned to send another officer up in the morning.

I've wondered since that day if we did the right thing. I wondered it that night and the next morning.  I wondered if his presence, his desperation and need were some sort of test of human kindness and Bryan and I had failed it by not offering him food or being more generous. Don't get me wrong, we were not unkind to him, but we certainly could have done better. Had we known what was to come, we certainly would have. At the same time, and this is what friends and my mom said when I told them, I know that we live in a world where sometimes you have to protect yourself first. Unfortunately, both Bryan and I were afraid of Jake and his presence at the campground. Unfortunately, we live in a world where I have to fear that I might be a victim if I put myself out there too much. I, right or wrong, feel nervous if I'm at the campground alone because I am a woman. Neither Bryan nor I spoke of this at the time, but I think we both instinctively didn't want to do too much for him because we didn't want him to come back when I was alone. We have to deal with that instinct. Bryan was working at the time, so that meant that I was alone at the campground at night and I was afraid to make myself too approachable to anyone at the campground.

The next morning two national forest officers arrived to talk with us and then go approach Jake and see if they could help him make a plan. We talked in somewhat hushed tones because Jake's site was close to our own and we didn't want to offend him. We explained all of the above, that we had been nervous, but that he seemed like a nice guy. They asked the questions you might imagine, like if we thought he appeared to be on drugs, or if he seemed violent. We both paled a little when they asked if he said anything about wanting to hurt himself. He hadn't.

With our information, they headed over there but Jake wasn't there. They checked back in with us to see when we'd last seen him. Bryan had seen him at his site at 3pm on the 3rd. It was now around 11am on the 4th of July. We left to go for a hike and when we came back, there were more police cars and one headed up there. We worried about him having a record or a warrant out for his arrest. What if they arrest him and he seeks retaliation? What if he is violent? They came back and let us know that something in his tent indicated that he might have been suicidal and they were going to launch a search and rescue. We were absolutely sick about it, blaming ourselves, wondering why we hadn't been kinder, been more human instead of more suspicious. Why hadn't we been better?

Several officers came and took down our information, had us retell what we knew, the information he had given us. The two national forest officers checked back in with us, asking about fishing poles, telling us he had a bow in his tent and that they thought he had taken pills, taking the timeline again. We prayed that they would find him alive and that he'd recover and get some help, but they didn't seem hopeful. They brought dogs in to assist with the search.

In the meantime, Bryan had to go to work. Off he went on his bike, and there I sat, trying to write a paper and keep my mind off the mayhem around me. An ambulance pulled up and I feared the worst. Detectives came. More police. The dogs walked through the campground and they were canvassing to start a broader search. About an hour later, I heard, not 30 feet from where I was sitting, "He's here! He's alive!" In between our site and his, Jake was found. They yelled his name, asking what he had taken, talking to him, saying his name, telling him to stay with them, and seconds later, several men carried him off to the ambulance and he was gone. I sat down on the floor of the yurt, grabbed the nearest poodle and cried, praying that he'd pull through.

Many of you know that suicide hits a little close to home for me, making this event perhaps more emotionally charged than might seem appropriate for some guy I didn't know (but maybe you can understand how much you feel tied to a person when you're present at their traumatic moment). That, and the fact that Bryan and I may have been the last people he talked to, let alone reached out to, probably hoping we would help him out. I had to process, whether you can argue that the situation warranted concern or not, whether you can argue that our concern caused us to call the officers in, and saved his life, I still feel like we failed him in some way. In my assessment of the situation, I can't help but believe that he was trying to make his way to our site, to get help, when he collapsed. I wish we would have been home earlier, awake longer, more aware.

The officers who had taken the call came to our site maybe a half hour after the ambulance left. I shook the first officer's hand and told him he had done good work today and thanked him on our behalf. He just shook his head and scoffed at the fact that he had been right. there. the whole time. Probably a dozen officers had their backs to him for at least an hour and no one saw him. He was in between our campsite, not hidden deep in the acres and acres of National Forest they were prepared to search. I assured him that I felt the same way, that had I just walked that way, I might have seen him. He told me he was alive and they hoped he'd recover, but he didn't necessarily seem that positive. He said we had done the right thing by calling, that it was because of us. When I told Bryan that, he said what I had been thinking, disgusted with ourselves, that we hadn't called because we were worried about Jake, we had called because we were worried about us. That's a hard pill to swallow.

That was the fourth of July and we didn't hear any follow-up until this Wednesday. I had to watch some friend or family of his come to the campground in the early morning hours on the 5th and pack up his tent and his belongings not knowing if they were doing so with his death or his recovery to bear and I couldn't help but be disgusted that no park worker felt the need to come and speak with us about what had happened. When the deputy came by on Saturday, she wanted to tell us we had done good work that day. We ducked our heads and thanked her, but she couldn't tell us if he was alive or not, she hadn't heard. I know in that job you'd have to compartmentalize, and you'd have to become hard to the stories you come across, but I couldn't believe that they all seemed to think the story ended when it left their hands.  When the ranger came to our campground this Tuesday, he didn't even bring it up. I had to ask if Jake had lived and he didn't know. I looked him in the eye and said, "I need you to find out for me. It matters." He called me the next day, leaving a message that all the reports he had seen said that he arrived at the hospital and was stabilized.

We've been thinking of him, thinking thoughts of recovery, believing that hitting rock bottom might help him begin to climb out of it. I've got to believe that he'll get help. Yesterday when Bryan picked me up, he had had a visit from him. Jake had come back, fishing pole in hand, to apologize. Bryan couldn't say what he was apologizing for, but he just told him he hoped he would get well and that things would get better and that we were just glad he was okay. He wanted to know where they had found him and who had found him, and he said they had found cocaine in his blood, he didn't know how it had gotten there, and that that was likely what saved him. I don't know what to make of that, but I know it doesn't really matter. He said he was getting treatment now and that he hoped that he'd get better.

I've been wondering since the day of the search and rescue if maybe the reason we were so unnerved by Jake, despite the fact that he was nice, was that he was just a little closer to death than humans should be and we could sense it. I don't know if I can explain it well enough to make you understand, but Bryan did, so I'll try. I think people who no longer want to live (however temporary that inclination) rub up against death and it changes them in some way,  unnerving those who are still in the land of the living and it's why we were afraid and ultimately, why we called. It doesn't provide absolution, but it's something.

Shout out to Katie Krall, Ben & Jerry's, & The Tragedy of the Heady Topper

Holy awesome comments, Katie. Thanks for reading and for the comments which made me laugh aloud in the empty computer lab this morning. You just earned yourself a special postcard. Just kidding, you were getting one anyway.

Yesterday we went with the Dunnebiers to Waterbury, Vermont to go to the most special brewery on earth, The Alchemist, where they brew one best.beer.on.earth called the Heady Topper. It is served in cans, it HAS to stay cold, and they can't keep that shit on the shelves because it is so delicious. We pulled up to the brewery, after Josh had steadfastly driven us an hour from campus, to read a big sign that said, "We're out of Heady Topper." It was a tragedy, but we went in and got a sample anyway and mulled around with a lot of other sullen-faced people. They've got kind of the perfect situation going on there because they've created this beer that they can't keep on the shelves and by not keeping it on the shelves, people want it even more. People show up and stand in line to wait for it to open on Monday, canning day. 

We went back into Waterbury to have lunch at the Prohibition Pig where the rest of our party all had "the most delicious pulled pork on earth." We shared some fries that you dipped into different sauces, from BBQ to a delicious vinegary pepper kind. We checked out the art fair going on and then headed to Ben & Jerry's which is obviously the real happiest place on earth. Disney World can eat it. Honestly, I know you Minnesota 

peeps will understand why, in spite of the fact that it's not a couple of hippies running it anymore, there was no way in hell I was coming to Vermont, suffering through at least 3 weeks of constant rain, and was not going to Ben & Jerry's. Anyway, the world hates me because when we go our ice cream, they didn't have red velvet. Tragedy. I got their limited edition salted caramel which was good, but was not red velvet. Katie got some kind of candy bar ice cream that looked scrumptious. I did decide as soon as I walked into the factory that it is what heaven will smell like for me. Dear God. 

After B&J we headed back to town with full bellies and sleepy eyes. It as a lovely, sunny, Vermont day. 

I didn't know Vermont did that

AND this arrived!

It is 7:11pm and it has not rained all day. In fact, it hasn't rained since sometime yesterday morning. It's a Christmas miracle!

The yurt floor was dry (after Bryan dried it out yesterday morning) and has stayed dry! Our freshly laundered sheets were dry when we got into bed! We played in the sunshine today, biking down to Silver Lake, letting the pups swim, and biking UPHILL back. I did the sunshine dance, which I would show you if I hadn't left the camera in the yurt. It's reminiscent of the Alaskan "Keep Movin'" dance which some of you may remember.

We had had a lazy morning after our night out with the Dunnebiers. We had delicious pizza at (maybe you aren't supposed to call it that when it's from...) American Flatbread. It's sort of like Pizza Luce as far as the unique varieties go, so we had one with goat cheese, one called garden salsa, and two others. It all was damn good!

Now I'm at work in the computer lab and it's payday and my mood is much-improved. Thank God for sunshine.

if i could, i would make you a raging river with angry rapids supplied with rain, so you could always meander and forever be able to run away

The rain keeps coming in spite of hope in everyone's eyes that we have reached the end of it. Everyone says this isn't what Vermont is like, but there is a lot of, "I expletive hate this place" going on in the yurt.

The other day we went for humid, buggy mountain bike ride and then stopped at a secret swimming hole we discovered. Yesterday when we went by it was no longer a swimming hole, looking like this instead:

So it goes. 

Bill McKibbens, environmental activist and creator of 350.org, came to speak last night and talked about the impacts of global warming on Ripton with flooding, rainfall, etc. and I could see that this really isn't Vermont's normal. 

Also last night was a reception for those of us who received scholarships for this summer and I found out mine was given in the name of a person who was killed in the Challenger explosion. I didn't catch the name, but I will try to find out! 

Good news around the bend: I present on my Amazon research today and I will be glad to have that out of the way. I turned in my paper for Finance class this morning and although I have even bigger work ahead, I feel like I can take the weekend off (mostly). Also, next week Mom and John hit Vermont and are staying at Branbury. I'm thrilled and Klue really wants to see her boyfriend Maximus Adolphi. Also, we're hitting the town with the newlywed Dunnebiers, previously known as Josh and Katie. Another plus: I am hitting up the chiropractor next week in the hopes of ridding myself of these pesky migraines. The sun will come out tomorrow. Maybe. 

creatures in the night

We've been having a visitor at Moosalamoo as of late. The other day I found one of the garbage containers ripped open. The locked hinge wasn't helping much seeing as it was no longer attached to the door. I cleaned up the garbage that hadn't been dragged back into the woods, put the door back in place, and hinged the top and bottom parts shut. The last time the rangers emptied it they didn't use the sliding bolts on the top and bottom so an animal was able to get enough leverage to rip it open and make way with their prize. Bryan seemed to think a raccoon could have done it, but I, with my great big imagination believed it to be a bear. Keith did have a two-bear sighting on the road up here, so that reinforced my belief.

Last night I woke in the middle of the night to banging sounds and when we drove by this morning, not  to be dismayed by the sliding bolts having been fastened, an animal had ripped open the top of the garbage container. They either gave up or it was something small and they got in because the opening was not large. Time to call the rangers.

In other news, tonight is the scholarship recognition reception and a talk by Bill McKibben, environmentalist and activist. Tomorrow morning I share my Amazon research with the class and it's due the next day. Friday a short paper is due for Finance class. I wrote it about Edith Wharton's portrayal of the newly rich ("nouveau riche") in her novel The House of Mirth. It's a good read, people. The book, not my paper.

After that, it's a continuance of the ridiculously close reading I have to do every night in order to have something to say in Male, Female, Other, reading journals for Finance, and then a 12-15 page paper for each. Ideas, anyone? Oh, and we had this visitor in the computer lab the other day:

Any info you want to give us, John? I heard it's a luna moth.

Also, in the best news EVER, Mom and Dad Freyberg got a new puppy!!!!!!!!!!!! Yeah, it's worthy of that many exclamation points. I've been waiting for this day to come and now we can't even squeeze her for a long while. Sad story. She's an adorable golden/yellow lab mix, so think of your favorite puppy calendar. She looks like that chubby little yellow pup on it.

'Merica! at Moosalamoo and Robert Frost's cabin

God Bless America!

I rang in Saturday morning with picking up after disgusting campers who not only trashed their sites, complete with aerosol cans, whole ears of corn, broken bottles all over, firework casings strewn all about, and their fire pit filled with garbage despite being the site closest to the garbage and recycling receptacles. I decided that National Forest Campgrounds with their lawlessness brings out the worst in people, particularly on the 4th of July. On the other hand, what better way to celebrate the country you love, than heading up to the a government run campground and trashing it?

 And in happier news, here are some pictures of the Frost cabin

The Frost Cabin

Frost cabin, but that's not Frost reading there. 

The view from his cabin

campground envy 2: Branbury State Park

When I was looking for campground hosting opportunities, I first tried Branbury State Park, a very popular family and swimming state park. They wanted to have us be their hosts, and I was excited because they have shower facilities (and electricity which isn't as important), but when they found out we wanted to live in our yurt, they said "Oh, we don't have room for that," which means, "That's weird and you're not coming here."

Off we went to Moosalamoo who were so thrilled to have us! I wonder why. Anyway, to make our lives sad, we went to Branbury Saturday to check it out and see if Mom and John should suffer with
us at Moosalamoo, or if it's worth it to make

Branbury the homebase while they visit. Naturally, it's freaking beautiful. The campsites are opposite a ridiculously busy beach/lake/state park area that was swarming with people. The lake is stunning and my mom has to paddleboard on it while she's here. The lake runs up against mountains, so it's very reminiscent of the Adirondacks which makes sense. The pictures don't do it justice, but I tried.

The campground is lovely, winding up a hillside, complete with gigantic rock outcroppings and

waterfalls cascading along sites. Nearly all the sites are big enough for the yurt, and many have lean-tos, something we miss very much from our time at Hyde. To be honest, it made me a little sick to go there. We just kept saying idiotic things like, "Well, our campground has privacy" and "Well, this is farther away from Bread Loaf," but it's probably 5-10 more minutes by car and it's paradise out there. We had ice cream and a snack at this little shop before heading back to Hyde.

Tom, the Minnesotan camper (who bears a striking resemblance to Bryan's dad and not just because we miss him) let us know that there was music at the Ripton Community House that night, so we invited him to join us at the school picnic at the Robert Frost's farm, which is called the Homer Noble Farm (owner Frost bought it from). We had dinner there and checked out Frost's cabin. It's usually locked, but they opened it up and we were able to go in and see the way he lived when he was there. It's a beautiful cabin and Bryan said it's his dream cabin.

Round Mountain of Santa Fe

The music at the Ripton Community Coffee House was a wonderful, very eclectic mix of steel guitars, bagpipe, accordion, and bongo drums. One guy played the bagpipe or the trumpet while simultaneously playing the accordion. They'd be playing a sort of sweet, gentle song, and then unexpectedly break out into bongo drums and bagpipe. I'm really glad we went and Katelynn even had a Paul Rudd sighting there. Rare stuff.

Then it was off to the strange mating ritual called the Bread Loaf Eighties (not old ladies) Dance.