Leaving Home

Today is Tuesday, March 9th. After several busy days and weeks, there’s only one thing left to do. 

The van has been packed with all of our gear. It’s ready to be driven south, toward California, closer to where our hike begins.

The house has been cleaned, and organized for our friends to take our place. The dogs sit on their laps as we usher final items around the house into a backpack. They watch us and I wonder “do they know that we are leaving?”

I’m comforted by how relaxed they are sitting aside their new roommates. They don’t look concerned at all. Rachel and I are the ones who are leaving, and we’ve run out of items on our to do list. The dogs watch us as if they know that.

To get everything done, we had made a plan and followed it. This kept us from being overwhelmed with the enormity of what we’re about to do: 5 months hiking, away from home, away from friends, and away from our dogs. 

Now the moment had arrived to say goodbye.

The last few days had already been filled with a blend of hellos and goodbyes to friends and family. With my grandmother now vaccinated, we finally visited her yesterday, in time to celebrate her 98th birthday, and hug her before we leave.

After precautionary testing for covid we could hang out with our two friends in our home. We made dinner, drank wine, and talked until midnight. The dogs even joined in, Toby performing for our guests, tossing toys above his head. Frieda settled in their laps when they sat still. 

In the past 72 hours, we’ve been closer to friends and loved ones, than ever in the past year. In this context it feels strange to say goodbye, when life is just feeling slightly back to normal.

Out the front window of the living room, the sun kisses the green grass in the yard, teasing us with spring, and the comfort that it brings. Blooms will soon burst on the cherry trees.

But that is not what is to come for us. We have other plans. 

Our dogs look at us as if they’re steps ahead of us. We’re wearing out our welcome. There’s only one thing left to do. 

These dog friends have been with us through every day of the pandemic, bringing us joy at moments, it felt like none were left. When we’ve been exhausted they have comforted us, laying their heads upon our hands. We love them, and we will miss them. I hope they enjoy their summer. 

Rachel stands then crouches next to Toby, who’s snuggled under a blanket on the couch. She pets him and kisses his head. He growls like he usually does, like a man who only uses curse words to express himself. Then Rachel bends down to kiss Frieda, and I do the same to Toby. 

Finally we exit the door and climb into our van. At this moment it is clear, we have packed ourselves into a canon. Now we are about to light the wick. I hop out, open the gate, drive through and then shut it. We accelerate away from home, heading south on Whidbey island, heading for the ferry. 

Before we reach the ferry, our phones each buzz.

“It’s pictures of the dogs” Rachel says, and holds her phone in my view. They are already sleeping, comfy next to their new friends. My heart slows and eases pressure. They’re going to be okay. 

My phone buzzes.

It’s a friend that I’ve been worried about. His tests have come back normal. I cry tears of relief and a weight lifts off my chest. He’s going to be okay.

Waiting for the ferry, we feel free, relaxed. We revel in the last 4 days. We are finally on our journey. We’re about to leave the Shire.