Trail Tale #2
(Post trail tale about a small handmade shaker that carried me 2,650 miles, and what it means to lose something that never belonged to you in the first place!)
So before I left on trail, one of my Cafe One guests, Skip, gave me a gift. He makes native American instruments. The instrument was a small shaker, that fit in my palm. It was oval shaped and had a small painting on each side. A morning star on one side, and a warrior feather on the other.
A morning star symbolizes hope and guidance. The morning star is the brightest star in the sky at dawn. However, it is not actually a star, but the planet Venus seen in the eastern sky around dawn. It is used by many Native American tribes as a reminder of one’s internal wisdom along a new beginning. The warrior feather was fitting in its own way. At the Cafe, warrior was my nickname, among many others. I think part of it was because I was brave enough to work with Cate and Sassy. Though, I very much enjoyed the challenge. I also knew what it took to thrive there. And I worked hard. The Cafe was a complex work environment. Everything had to be done flawlessly, perfectly, and the same way every time. I was a warrior. I thought the gesture was sweet but didn't anticipate ever using it. I was going hiking not starting a band.
Ironically, I ended up using my shaker on trail every day. It became my comfort item. It had small and smooth gems inside, so it made a soft sandy sound. I used it like a maraca. When the days were tough and I had no motivation to keep putting one foot in front of the other, I whipped the shaker out. Making music with every step and shake. Stepping and shaking, was the only thing that kept me going most days.
It wasn't until Chicken Spring Lake, the infamous first lake of the Sierra Nevada mountain range, that I understood it's full capacity. I met a hiker, and her name was Cheech. Like Cheech and Chong. She carried a travel guitar. And boy, she was one hell of a player. Then there was this couple. Teacup and Tinkerbell. The cutest couple. Tinkerbell carried a ukulele. Together they started a jam session.
I was nervous because I wanted to join but I didn't want to interrupt. But I did anyways and whipped the shaker out. In middle school I was in chorus and sang in soprano. So I never had the main chorus notes and knew how to harmonize very well. We sang many songs but my favorite was Bloom by Paper Kites. Tinkerbell had the most beautiful voice, and it was easy to harmonize with her. Cheech also had a very unique, almost blue grassy swag to hers. And together we sang.
There was other hikers around enjoying the tunes. Maybe a total of 10 of us, spread out around a small, flower ridden field, collecting the sun. We had many jam sessions after the first. Singing and music is something that has historically brought people together, but it was really special to be a part of it like this.
Eventually I separated from my Sierra trail family. And many weeks went by where I wondered if I would ever experience that kind of community again. That soul. The joy of togetherness. I spent weeks in Northern California hiking on my own. Reverting back to only stepping and shaking. I felt alone when I first separated from my Sierra family. But eventually I realized I was never actually alone, because I always had my shaker.
A common message along my time on the PCT was "The trail provides". And it surely did. Ten fold. When I met Jukebox, I found a connection that aligned with music again. In a different way, but even more pure. Shortly after we decided to hike together, we met Extra. The silliest, most free man I ever met. I have never met someone so authentically themselves. He liked Jukebox and I. We all became inseparable till the finish.
Along the way, we met Mule. A kind and gentle soul. But never failing to make us all laugh. We called ourselves the Honey Addicts. At this point, you may be wondering where the shaker comes into play. I'll start by saying that they all carried instruments. Extra had a jaw harp, Jukebox had a harmonica, and Mule had his voice. He was a very good whistler.
Together we had many jam sessions. During meals, while walking, and we even did little shows for randoms and hikers that we met along the way. Those little moments became memories I will cherish forever.
I'll never forget one of our first rainy days out of Snoqualmie. It was high in elevation, foggy, cold, and it poured all day. I thought I had put all my safe keeps inside my pack, but I forgot my shaker. The rain never stopped and I recall checking the phone pocket on my shoulder strap for no reason at all. Shit. I grabbed my shaker, and immediately noted how soggy it was. The once hard and formed shaker was deformed and soft. The painted warrior feather smeared a little. I cried that night. Not because of its disgruntled appearance, but when I tried to give it a shake, on that cold and wet night, it didn't make a sound. I figured it was ruined for good, and was devastated.
But yet again, "The trail provides". I was blessed by the trail gods with a rare occurrence of sunlight in Washington state. My favorite routine was catching mid day sun rays at lunch, not just for vitamin D, but to dry out all my stuff. Sure enough, I had my shaker in the clearest spot I could find. Prioritizing it's life over having a dry tent. The first lunch break wasn't enough to dry it completely, but just enough to give me hope. After a few days, it was back to normal. Though, my warrior feather took a beating.
My favorite jam session was on the very last day of trail. After reaching the border, we still had 30 miles back to go. Harts Pass was the ending point. My mom was waiting there to get me. She hugged me tight and laughed at how stinky I was. She got to meet the rest of the Honey addicts, and we did our jam session for her and the other hikers there. She was so proud. As was I. I knew these moments would last a lifetime in memory.
That shaker brought me so much. Connection, music, motivation, sorrow, hope, pride, belonging, and more. On my way back home, at the Seattle airport, I remember how hard it was to put my pack on the scale and watching it slide away on the conveyor belt. That was my home for half a year. When we arrived at Daytona Beach airport, I was rejoiced to see it come back to me. The first thing I did after grabbing it was to check on my shaker in my phone pocket. Shit. It was gone. I just got chills remembering that hit to my gut. All that way, all those the miles, all that distance, all the things it brought me. Only engraved in memory now.
The trail teaches you a lot about detachment. People come and go in glimpses, views to see but only for a moment. Despite that, this was the most brutal lesson of them all. I carried my shaker all the way to the end, just for it to disappear and continue its own adventure somewhere else. I like to think that someone kind found it. That maybe they are shaking it at this very moment. Not knowing all that it captured and endured. When I saw Skip at work that following week, I told him about his gifts journey from the beginning to end. He told me “It was it’s right of passage. It served its purpose”. I think he was giving me permission not to stress about it, and simply let it go.
Letting go has a funny way of trying to be beautiful. Letting go is ugly and mean. I still wonder where it went. Perhaps I still haven’t let it go. But I bow in gratitude for all that it provided.
