Feral Woman

This 89th issue is dedicated to the one and only Mr. Tom Fitzgibbons who celebrated number 89 this Friday!

“You have a somewhat feral quality to you” I was told not too long ago. I took it as one of the highest compliments I have ever received and it’s honestly the most accurate adjective to describe me from birth to present. I threw wild tantrums and hid on my mother in department stores in my preschool years, wandered the woods endlessly as a child, trespassed on cranberry bogs as a preteen (including floating around said bogs in my snow tube in the middle of January), simmered down a bit as a teenager, broke “free” at my very Catholic college, and exploded into life on the streets of Caracas in my early twenties. I allowed myself complete autonomy when living in Venezuela and returned to the wandering nature of my childhood. Then I came home and I learned to act in a civilized manner once again. That feral nature slipped away with every passing year and I began to fear more than live. Then I figured a few things out, a bunch of stuff happened, and a pandemic showed up. BAM! Guess who’s feral again? 

I began the 2019-2020 school year idolizing and emulating Midge from The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel only to end up more like Carol from The Walking Dead. I actually dressed up as Carol for TV day at school back in October. I almost donated the pants and shirt I bought for that costume but then COVID happened and I thought “maybe I should hold on to these a bit longer.” Lo and behold, I wore the militaryesque trousers last week when dragging a massive, and I do mean massive, tree branch that broke off during the remnants of hurricane Isaias. I must have looked like an ox hauling a plow through mud. I guess you could say that I have become more feral than I have ever been. I rip out bushes with my bare hands, dig in the dirt daily, and make my own composting bins with an ice pick. So don’t mess with me. Seriously. Don’t.

It would be easy for me to sit here and write about the multitude of crappy things that have happened over the past year. A pandemic sprinkled on top of the many other hiccups of 2019-2020 fall under the category of “you can’t make this shit up.”  Despite all the bad, however, I feel good. Maybe it’s all the natural antidepressants that are found in the dirt I’ve been digging but I have a feeling it’s something more significant than that. “I am no bird; and no net ensnares me: I am a free human being with an independent will.” This quote from Jane Eyre is one of my favorites and I finally know why. I do not like being restricted; quarantine hit me hard. So instead of laying down and taking the beating, I decided to address the fact that I felt like a caged animal and let myself out. Slowly, I have been reacquainted with my true nature and, yes, that means I’m exhibiting my feral side a whole lot more. Rather than allow fear to take the lead, I shoved it to my side and let my grit bubble back up to the surface. It’s a funny thing to find joy when the whole world seems to be crumbling around you. But here I am, during a pandemic, unpainted nails caked with dirt, feeling joyous. 

Over the past couple weeks, the topic of going back to school has attempted to take me away from enjoying this last gasp of summer. When talking to Mom about all the variables involved with this upcoming school year, she had one piece of advice for all of us wringing our hands: “You know what you do? You wait until someone tells you where and when to show up. And you show up.” With that, I relaxed a few muscles in my jaw and leaned out of all the noise. Only a woman born during the height of the Great Depression can give advice like that. So in place of overthinking into oblivion, I have begun to read Walden and it is the perfect way to close this season. There’s something so attractive about his musings on simplistic living, especially now. If Henry David Thoreau were alive today, I can guarantee you he’d be scampering off to that cabin for the next three years. I’d be inclined to join him if I didn’t have three children who like to socialize more than most. No, no cabin for me this year or next. I’m buckling up for a ride that I know will be bumpy. In place of painful new high heels to kick off the beginning of the academic year, I bought a pair of New Balance hiking sneakers at the outlet yesterday and plan to wear them thin with my feral adventures. There are so many places to hike in this state and so many beautiful days ahead. Who’s with me?  “Live in each season as it passes; breathe the air, drink the drink, taste the fruit, and resign yourself to the influence of the earth.” That is what Thoreau would say to us now and it is how I intend to live this next year as fully as possible.