packing_list ovenbird We’re only going away for five days and we’re not even going very far, just a few hours by ferry and a few hours by car and we will find ourselves in Juan de Fuca standing on the very edge of the continent, with our feet sliding into the Salish Sea. But before we can leave I need to pack, and packing means that I’m sitting in the upstairs hallway surrounded by bags and clothes wondering why we need so many things in order to briefly relocate to a home that doesn’t belong to us. I’m trying to hold an evolving list in my mind: shorts, t-shirts, (but we’ll need layers too–you never know what the weather will do), sweatshirts, raincoats, extra socks, shoes for walking and shoes for the beach, pyjamas, sunscreen, bugspray, bandaids, hats, sunglasses, emergency snacks, the dog bed and his blanket and his favourite toy and his chew stick, and the gate so we can contain him while we’re out, (what will I need to keep the kids entertained? books? video games? I don’t want to bring video games to a cabin but will I regret it if I don’t?), water bottles, backpacks for hiking, my camera, my binoculars, my journal, seven different chargers, my own pillow (because you can’t trust a pillow that doesn’t belong to you), my white noise machine, pills for pain and pills for anxiety and pills for fevers and pills for other possible futures in which things don’t go the way I hope, towels, toothbrushes, and this is only the beginning. As I’m forcing closed an overstuffed suitcase I notice that my right shoulder is birthing a migraine that will soon slither into my neck. I close my eyes against the rising tide of pain. I close my eyes and lament how much there is to carry. I want to be light. I want to move unencumbered. I want to start walking and keep going until I don’t recognize anything. There isn’t a single thing in these bags that matters. I want to strike out into the world with just the salt etched portholes of my eyes and the splintered hull of my heart, and set sail with no destination in mind. It takes so little to set your heart adrift, and once it locks its sights on the horizon there is no calling it back. 250706 what's it to you? who go blather from