Sharing the Silence

Thank you for being here and following along in this Wild Life on the mountain.
If you like this post, make sure to hit the ❤️. Your feedback matters a lot to me.

The morning Curt left, he drove away down the forest service road, the sound of branches scraping and the throaty exhaust faded and disappeared as he rounded a corner. Silence fell on the mountain as I stood in the yard in a sort of quiet limbo. I decided to go back into the house, make a cup of tea and collect my thoughts.

‘He should be a week,’ I told myself, hopeful that his plans wouldn’t get pushed back while remaining open to the possibility.

The extra clearance in his lifted Tacoma makes it possible for him to drive through the deep snow, but my shorter Tacoma likely wouldn’t. Even if it did make it down, I definitely wouldn’t make it back. In an emergency, I thought to myself, I’d have to opt for Shibby, my ‘91 pickup/monster truck.

After doing morning ‘chores’, I decided to start working on my to-do list. First up, making a new shower head holder. The one I’d been using was made of an old stick, and though it worked, it took up a lot of space. I made a prototype version out of scrap wood; however, not totally happy with it, I set it aside for another day.

Before Curt left, we moved snowmelt indoors for me to use while he was away. The days leading up to his leaving had been warm, and the snow had been melting off the roofs into outdoor catchment. The stored water in the house was getting low, so I’m glad that we did, because that first night alone, the temperatures dropped again, and all of the outdoor water froze.

As though the mountain wants my time alone to be uniquely mine, every time Curt leaves, the weather takes a dramatic shift. Though I enjoy the challenge (for the most part), it makes me feel like I’m in the Twilight Zone, like I’m making it up.

One night, intense wind blew through the valley, forcing air back down the stovepipe and filling the house with smoke. I lay awake with the windows open, listening to things being blown around the yard. Eventually, it stopped. I went to sleep and had the craziest dreams.

Thankfully, the trip wasn’t extended, and Curt came back a week after he left. I was tidying when he texted me ‘see you soon’ before losing cell reception.

‘See you soon!’ is really about an hour.

I tidied and started doing my dishes when I realized the sink wasn’t draining. It’s only frozen once before, during a -30 cold snap. It didn’t seem likely that it had frozen, but I decided to warm the pipe under the house using a torch just to be sure. I caught it on fire only once, put it out with a handful of snow, and waited. After a tense minute, a whoosh sound, the sink had drained!

I laughed to myself, relieved that Curt wouldn’t be returning to a sink full of dirty dishes and happy for evidence that the days had been colder since he left.

I heard the throaty exhaust coming up the road, still a couple of kilometres away. Like the week before, but in reverse, the quiet was replaced by noise. The sound of my own voice when he got out of the truck surprised me. I showed him the few things I’d gotten done, including the second prototype showerhead which, though unfinished, I’m proud of. That project had been surprisingly difficult for such a simple thing.

I pointed out the icicles which had formed since he left, wanting to make sure he’d seen them before the weather would turn back around. He showed me the things he brought back from the city. We ate home-made cookies (thank you, Rose!) and we told each other all about our weeks.

Adjusting back to sharing the tiny house takes a couple of days. I make a point of sitting still when he’s busy and not crowd him. Letting him tend to the fire is hard for me, but I like that he enjoys it. With Curt away, I felt less inspired to cook good meals, but now that he’s back, we’re enjoying better food together.

The mountain is quieter now in a different way. I’m happy to have had my week of solitude, but happier that he’s back and we can share the silence.

Your support helps me continue creating and sharing these glimpses of my Wild Life. The beauty, the challenges, and everything in between. Thank you for walking with me on this journey, and for making it possible to keep doing what I love. ❤️