This was the thirteenth letter that Anya had written in four months to Avery. Some were longer and some were shorter, and this one was about an average length. Avery read it on the porch of his Washington cabin as the morning sky turned from gold to blue.
Spring has landed in Swannanoa, a wonderful town near my home. I am here staying with college friends for a few days. We socialize all night and, while they are at work during the day, I bounce between the music shops and the coffee shops and, when it isn't raining too hard, the woods. I played dulcimers for hours yesterday in a store downtown. Some cost more than my car.
I am writing you from the edge of Lake Eden. We have had a break in the rain the past two days, and the sun is out. I'm on a bench on a hill and the valley is silent. There are ripples in the lake where insects skim across, but hardly any movement in the air. The wind is taking a break after blustering all over the place last week. There will be a festival here next month, full of music and art and musicians and artists. I go every spring, but will be traveling this year. Do you have any festivals you go to regularly? You should hear the fiddles here! I can almost here them now, echoing from past shows.
I love valleys. There must have been so much slow, geological violence that created these mountain ranges, but then the scars were all patched up with grass and trees and soil. We settle valleys and then climb to peaks to look back on what we've created. I'm sorry for folks in the flatlands who need airplanes to get an idea of where they live. I know you have your big old mountains over on the west coast...but ours are older and easier to get to the top of!
So, I have some good news! Back in December you said that we should "meet in the middle" sometime because we're so far away from each other. Google tells me it's about 2,700 miles from your house to mine. I looked at that conference that you're going to in Mississippi next month. I will be on my way to Colorado and can't go to it, though it looks sweet. I'll be driving through just a couple of days early.
BUT...since you're driving east...and I'm driving west...at the same time...
What do you think? Can we meet in the middle? Like, maybe in Kansas? We can see what those flatlanders think about us mountain and forest folk!
. . .
I also want to tell you that I've really enjoyed these letters, to and from. Your love for the land and perspective on life has been a thrill to hear about. There's a resonance in my own brain when I hear your ideas. Like you, I want to work land, smell soil, feel fresh water on my face. Money is the catch, like always, but there is so much inspiration around me for farming, and I want to join the force of people moving back to the land.
You are on my mind often. I want to dance with you again have enjoyed wondering where our paths will take us. You've got a way with words, and I appreciate your feelings towards life and society. You're a dreamer, I can tell, and I like it. Thank you for sharing your thoughts, not just on the world, but on emotion and relationships. Keep 'em coming.
And, with that, my friend, I will leave you. There is a mountain in front of me (or, as you'd call it from the shadow of Mt. Ranier, "a lump") that I must climb. My friend is wondering how long I could possibly sit on this bench for while she draws pictures in the lakeshore with a stick.
Do write soon...and...see you in "The Middle?"
-Anya
P.S. Enclosed is a dogwood blossom, our state flower. The understory of dogwoods are exploding right now in reds and whites. The deciduous trees will soon leaf out and cover them up, but for now the flowers are everywhere. Sometime I'll tell you the story of how the dogwood came to be; it's the story of an alligator. Yup.
Above photo from Flickr, by mtsofan, and modified.
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