A story about a couch
First: do you want to bake in the sun like the wee dogs in the above photo, but in February, in the desert? While learning to backpack in the style of long-distance hiking, with an amazing group of other women, trans and non-binary people? And also eat some of the best food of your life? There are still spots in my February 2025 Guided Arizona Backpacking trips- deets are here!
The birch and aspen trees have finally leafed out here in the Alaskan interior, and the wild roses and alder bushes too. The sun is a god, rising every day- and no longer setting at all. Unlike Anchorage, where clouds in summer are the norm and the sun is an occasional visitor, I actually get to feel the sun here- I’m hundreds of miles from the moderating force of the sea and hours from any mountains large enough to create weather, so the sun is the norm in summer and clouds are the flighty visitors; always in a hurry as they curdle on the horizon, throwing down a splat of rain maybe, not enough to make the ground properly wet and then gone, conceding defeat, once again, to the sun. It’s so incredible for my morale, it’s everything I ever wanted from this summer, and even though I continue to feel lowkey wrecked from what might be perimenopause?! Having reliable sun after a long-ass winter raises my whole baseline and maybe that’s all we can do, through these constant disruptions that make up embodiment, is put ourselves in the way of the things that bring us peace, and so even when it’s hard it can also be ok.
I’ve been listening to Heather Corinna’s What Fresh Hell Is This and can I tell you, learning about perimenopause has got me so angry (although the anger could also be the perimopause ha ha) both because nobody fucking talks about this even though half the population goes through it?! And also because how heartbreaking is it to be a being on this earth, a warm mammal, so attached to existence and also to have to contend with our own planned obsolescence; the way our bodies break down, once we’ve outlived our usefulness, as a way to usher us towards death, so that we might make room for other, younger beings; beings with new adaptations, maybe, and still capable of reproduction. I get it, it’s greedy and selfish to want to live forever, and I don’t, really, I just want to feel amazing for every year of my life and then die instantly, like in a car crash, and not have to anticipate my death at all. This slow decline called “aging” and “perimenopause” just seems like a lot of extra suffering, and also very undignified- although of all the things we’re promised on this earth, dignity is not, and never has been, one of them.
Ok just one more thing about perimenopause- the thing that pisses me off the most, and then I’ll change the subject- the book I’m reading says that your hormone ratios, during perimenopause, are similar to when you’re PMSing- and that perimenopause lasts, on average, eight years. PMS for eight years. Of course it’s not the end of the world, hormone replacement therapy is an option, and I know people have good luck with that- but still! Being a creature on this earth is ROUGH.
In happier news, I want to tell you the story of how I recently found the sofa of my dreams. I moved into my cabin a few weeks ago, my wonderful little cabin full of sunbeams. I had some furniture, which I drove up from Anchorage- a bed, an armchair, a desk- but I didn’t have a couch. I started compulsively checking facebook marketplace in Fairbanks, but there wasn’t much- there’s no Ikea in Alaska, and lots of places don’t ship here, and there aren’t many furniture stores, especially in the interior- so there’s a limited amount of used furniture in circulation, and the couches I was seeing were ugly as hell, and like $500 besides. I spent hours looking at new sofas online, knowing that there was no way I could buy a brand new sofa, nor would I want to, but just seeing what was out there and also trying to imagine who was buying these sofas- at what point in adulting does one spend two grand on a couch? Most places I’ve lived have so much used furniture, and most people I know save their money for gear, or travel, or if they’re feeling really wild, maybe botox; aside from tiktok influencers doing unboxing videos, I’ve not sure I’ve ever even seen a brand-new couch in someone’s house. Can you imagine all the low-quality materials used in production, in some noxious factory somewhere? All the packaging the pieces would arrive in? Assembly? All that new foam off-gassing? Do people really want that? Was a new sofa something I was supposed to want? All of the couches I have loved have been old yet sturdy, with storied histories, indestructible, their cracks containing the hair of generations of dogs, and they don’t cost money- they’re free, as long as you can borrow a pickup truck and a friend to help move. But now I couldn’t find one of those, and it was giving me a sort of existential crisis- the owning of a couch, in my mind, began to represent adulthood, or the ways in which I had “failed” adulthood- I had this beautiful cabin but the living room was empty, there was no way for me to sit under the window there with my dogs and scroll on my phone while drinking my morning tea. I felt anxious, restless- what good was a house, without a sofa? I had gotten nowhere- I might as well be homeless! I knew this was unreasonable but my brain just wouldn’t quit, it worried the idea of a couch the way a dog worries a bone.
A friend of mine told me about a free market that happens in Fairbanks every year, at the university. I decided to stop by- I had a box of things to drop off, but I wasn’t expecting to find anything there myself- with facebook marketplace being so bleak and overpriced here, why would I have any better luck at an event where people gave things away for free? To drop things off you show up before ten a.m., and I arrived around 9:45, figuring I’d leave my box and go- but when I arrived I saw two massive parking lots full of stuff, and an army of volunteers in orange vests arranging things. The perimeter was roped off with tape, and hundreds of people were gathering all along the tape, ready with their empty bags and wagons and carts. I left my box with the volunteers and walked the perimeter, amazed- there were musical instruments, skis, appliances, tables of tools and building supplies, dressers, chairs, so many racks of clothing, dishes, mattresses, books, games- it was better than anything I’d seen at the thrift stores here, which had half-empty shelves of broken, overpriced junk, and worlds better than facebook marketplace- and people were giving it away for free. A volunteer with a mic announced that this was the fifteenth annual free-market, and I felt like I was about to tear up. What in the socialism! Sometimes I think there’s nothing good and real left in this world, that it’s all been hoovered up by capitalism and regurgitated back to us as something empty we can buy, and that we’re all just waiting for this bullshit to collapse so that we can return to our truer, more intrinsic nature; living collectively and in close relationship to the earth- but here was something, one small thing, a reminder of the way we really are, what fills us up, how we want to be. A bunch of people giving their extra shit to each other just for the fun of it!
That’s when I saw the sofa. It was a small fabric sofa with a chaise and an ottoman, burnt orange, in a cluster of three other sofas, next to the live string band that was playing under an awning. Right away I could tell it was nice, and I liked it better than anything I’d seen on facebook marketplace here. And it was free.
I’m gonna get that sofa, I said to myself, as I made my way around the perimeter to a spot nearest the sofas, just outside the tape. There were other people there already, and as I stood waiting in the warm sunshine I could hear them talking about the sofa- everyone was standing outside the tape near a thing that they wanted, and the people here wanted the orange sofa too- although one young couple couldn’t decide between that one and a black futon, which they thought would fit their space better. Get the futon, I thought. A young man there with his mother pulled up his shorts and knotted the drawstring. “Do you think these will stay up if I run?” he said to her. I fixed my focus on the volunteer with the mic, waiting for 10 am. I felt like I was in the hunger games. I probably didn’t stand a chance, but I wanted to try.
“I’m going to count down from 5,” said the volunteer, finally. “Five, four, three, two, one- go!”
I was the first one under the tape. I ran to the sofa, leapt over a cluster of dining chairs, and landed on top of it. When I looked up I was amazed to see that I was the only one there. I had won! This awesome sofa was mine! I sat on the cushions of my new couch and watched as people swarmed all around me like ants, gathering the other items into their arms. A man appeared from the other side of the parking lot, laughing.
“I just wanted to shake your hand,” he said. “We were lookin at that sofa. Didn’t know how we were gonna get it- maybe throw the baby on it. Congratulations.” Other people nodded and laughed as they walked by- “nice score!” I couldn’t get off the sofa to look at any of the other stuff without someone else claiming it, but I didn’t care. I watched in amazement as everything was cleared out in under ten minutes, and wondered how I was gonna get this thing home. I texted my friend Allison, who has a trailer, and she agreed to come help me haul it. An hour later we were carrying the pieces inside my cabin, and shortly after I was laying on it with my dogs, feeling as though at long last my new life was complete. I thought about how when I’d been sitting on it, waiting for Allison, a woman had walked up and marveled at what great condition the sofa was in- and it would look even better once it was cleaned up, she said, since it had a bit of dog hair on it.
“Nah,” I’d said. “I have dogs too. I think I’ll leave that there.”
Here’s a wee gratitude list for this week:
· My new sofa, obvs, and the sun, and Fairbanks in general
· The anger that an increasing number of people (and more every day!) have towards the genocide Israel is committing in Palestine, and the courageous actions of everyone who’s fighting against it, in spite of the risks
· Now that I live without plumbing and take showers at the gym, I decided to finally start weight lifting since I’m there anyway? And that feels good on my skeleton
· Alejandra Wilson, the thru-hiker and graphic novelist I met on the PCT in 2013 who designed the (incredible) cover of Thru-Hiking Will Break Your Heart, is currently working on the cover for my new novel!! And seeing a visual representation of what so far has only been words on a page feels like magic. I can’t wait to show you all!
· I’ve been taking L-theanine and magnesium glycinate and I think that’s been helping my sleep somewhat?
· Nicole Antoinette influenced me to buy fancy loose-leaf tea online and it’s really leveled up my mornings
· The neighborhood dumps here in Fairbanks (this town has no trash pickup) which are free, and have a pavilion to put reusable stuff under, and everyone companionably picks through the trash together
· Also the water-jug filling stations in town, v good socialism vibes
· It will never not spark joy to see the way people build their houses in a place with no building codes
· The mosquitoes, though gearing up, aren’t out in full force yet! I think we have like another week of chill
· Speaking of mosquitoes, I like pooping in my shitter more than I thought I would
That’s all for now,
Carrot
I love to read your posts, they are so entertaining and uplifting.
As to perimenopause, the good news is there is so much more information about it these days than when I went through it and…. It’s not all written by condescending men. Believe it or not it is the beginning of a whole different life than that of a “breeder”. Not the end. Whole worlds open now, prepare to enjoy the next 40+ years. I look forward to watching you make the most of the adventures to come.💕
We have a great thrift store called Payette Forward in our little town, named after the Payette River that runs through our valley. I don’t know how long it was open before I caught onto the name pun. People donate stuff, it gets sorted and (very reasonably) priced by volunteers, and all the “profits” fund local organizations and projects, such as 4H and our school. Wednesdays, Fridays, and Saturdays.
For years, our local dump turn a blind eye to scavengers who found all sorts of treasures in the segregated piles of metal, tires, and other materials. Trash trash goes into dumpsters. It was a great recycling system until an unelected bureaucrat from our capital city made an inspection visit and unilaterally decided salvaging is now forbidden because of health and safety concerns, even though there is not a single report of someone loading up a serviceable table saw, lawnmower, bicycle, or dimensional metal who was ever injured. Now the good stuff gets crushed and hauled away. So much for my monthly loads of good bicycles to a bicycle project in a nearby city. Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays.
Finally, in a nearby city, there is a place called the Reuseum that specializes in repurposing and distributing used electronic equipment donated by the public instead of sending it to the landfill. The proceeds are used to fund tech education at local high schools and evening classes for the general public. I stop by at least once a week to check for iPods, iPads, iPhones and sometimes, if I know someone who needs one, iMacs. iPods are between $5-15 depending on the storage capacity. I buy them and load audiobooks for people who have a difficult time reading, especially seniors. I “loan” the devices to avoid copyright infringement. I donate iPads to local kids who can use them for classes, and seniors who want to FaceTime, email, and web browse. I typically try to get iPad 5s and newer and pay between $20-40 per device, depending on the model and memory. I also give them to my daughter who is a speech therapist and who installs specialized communication software for little kids who are learning to find ways to communicate.
iPhones are for people I know or who are referred to me by friends because the recipient can’t afford expensive new phones and don’t mind pay as you go service. I recently gave one to a new mom who dropped her phone while getting into the car with her baby, backing over the phone, and having no extra money to get a new one. I used tracfone for years and my average cost was less the $30 every couple of months, so I help people sign up and get their phones connected. I buy iPhone 6-8 models mostly, because they cost between $15-30, depending on memory and model. iPhone 5s and older no longer work as phones because they operated on 3g networks that were turned off, I think, in January, but the older phones still work as iPods!
Imagine all the “junk” in the US in closets and cupboards that people no longer use that could happily find new homes and uses. I specialize in Apple devices because it makes life easier with one brand and also because Apple, for all its insistence that it’s a “green” company, is especially guilty of planned obsolescence, an approach I really loathe. However, there are easy workarounds to keep the older devices going. It all feels so subversive and subversive can be really a good thing.