A DEER STORY // LIFE IN DURANGO

 A DEER STORY // LIFE IN DURANGO

originally published November 21, 2018 on now-defunct tedpackard.com

So, the deer. Here's the story.

I've been working hard since moving to Durango. 

I've been making new art, wood burning, tuning up old songs and stories and performing at a great open mic. I've been doing the many deceptively tiny and monumentally (or at least legally) important tasks that fall to people who change their State of Residence. I've also been working really hard to make rent. 

There's a saying about small, mountain towns in Colorado. Something like, "In the winter, there's only one dollar in town, and we all just pass it around. …In summer, there's two dollars."

I don't think Durango is quite that small or quite that miserly, but it certainly is hard to find work. It's even harder to find work that pays well. Coming from western Washington, where the cost of living is very high (like Durango), I was used to expense. I didn't fully appreciate the effects of the tech industry, Seattle's audacious $15 minimum wage, and the prevalence of nice people with money who Want Things Done. It's different here. 

I think the nice people with money do things themselves. And when they pay to have something done, by some feat of economics, astrology, and the modern human condition, they can pay only half of what it costs in western Washington. Which means wages are low. Really low. Below living wage, low. 

My privileged existence in Duvall was such that if I was working my lovely Nature Connection jobs a couple days a week and doing construction & handy-work, I was paying my bills and paying off debt. Not so, here. In Durango, just paying rent takes a couple weeks of solid work. Is my pampered past showing through yet?

It seems like everyone has four income streams. Diversification, a neighbor called it. "You'll want to have a few different things going on so that when one is dried up for a bit, the other is flowing."

So, it's been hard, moving to a pretty small town after the tourists have gone away for the season, looking for my share of the dollar that's getting passed around. I was fortunate enough to make some inroads in the construction world and got my name and number into a few hands and heads, and I got the call. 

The work is hard. Assembling metal scaffolding, digging deep and narrow ditches, muscling around loud and heavy machinery in the hole that I dug. My body is rocked every day. The commute is sometimes absurd: over 3 hours of driving some days. The pay is entirely reasonable for this part of the world. Which is to say, much lower than I'm used to. 

But it's work. And around here, you work for your work. 

My current boss is a great guy. An excellent man. We connect about a lot, philosophically and energetically, and he has high standards for Getting Shit Done. So we Get Shit Done. 

He is kind and human enough to be specifically and pointedly interested in How We Are Doing. He's asked more directly about expenses, money, and rent than any employer I've had. He views money as an expression of Life Force, and wants to make sure that it's spread to those who need it. He's great. 

So, riding in his truck together from work one evening, I found myself admitting, with less shame than is culturally expected, and more shame than I think should be there, that Annika and I went on food stamps so that the money we are making can actually pay rent and bills.

This took him by surprise, gave him pause. I saw the effect it had in his short inhale, held breath, forward stare, and release.

"Wow…do you have food?" 

Yes, we have plenty of food. 

"Well if you ever need food, let me know. We'll go grocery shopping."

This has to do with the deer. I'm getting there. It's closer, now. 

Work isn't always easy for the bosses around here, either. They diversify and strategize, especially coming into the winter. So above, so below: work was drying up. He said the next few weeks would be pretty sporadic, and he wasn't sure what was going to come through, and when. 

So, I got voicemail mid-day Monday: "I might have some work tomorrow, give me a call and we'll talk about it."

I was in the flow of work of my own at Kiva's Internet Cafe, which is Melissa's couch, where her dog Kiva is home and likes cuddles and company. Annika and I go there for internet because at our house, in the high-walled river valley of the Animas, we have trouble even loading some web pages…
…What was I working on there? That's Super Secret and I'll tell you way too much about it very soon. 

So I was in the flow. I was busy. I ignored my boss's call and kept in the flow, kept using those magical bytes flowing in and out and all around the world. I was Getting Shit Done.

Around 5:30, I got the message - my body sat up and went, "NOW." So I called him back to talk about work.

"Hey Ted, I'm on the road right now, my partner hit a deer and is waiting for the tow truck. She's a little shook up but otherwise okay. She called law enforcement to come put the deer down. It's still alive and struggling to get up."

Then, with the long-practice of one who must compartmentalize jobs, employees, partners, schedules, weather, and separate but related lives, he talked about tomorrow's work. When we were set on the start time and I had the address of the new job site, I steered us back to the deer.

"Are you going to take the deer home?" He's a hunter and values life, I figured he would.

"It's all yours, buddy. You'll see us by the side of the road, lights flashing. If you come now, I'll help you load it up."

And so Annika and I flew from Kiva's Cuddle Couch & Internet Emporium and soon we were in the dark on the side of the road, loading a deer into the back of my ford escort wagon. 

The unfortunate deer was a young boy with two broken legs. Between the call to police and our arrival, a truck pulled over and a man got out, saw the deer struggling, and asked, "Do you want me to take care of him for you?" He got out his shotgun and it was done. He drove away. Colorado, for you.

The back of the car dropped and squeaked. I put a plastic bag on his head so that his opened skull didn't get everywhere. It looked like an abduction. 

His body was warm, soft, and made for moving about the hills. 

After checking on and in with the shook up driver, and thanking everyone, we drove home.

We assembled our knives, sharpened them, set up the space with tarps and a beam to hang from. We gutted and cleaned him out. His organs were all intact. His right side had some bruising as well as the two broken legs. We hung him to drain, and season. 

It was maybe the cleanest skinning I've ever helped do. And it's the most beautiful hide. He was putting on his first winter coat, and it is soft and warm. As I finished the cut around the neck, finally separating the hide from the body, I said my thanks and appreciation, told him that we were honored to be using his body, that we would remember him, that we heard about him while he was still alive, in pain by the roadside, and that we were glad his pain was done. 

And I listened. It's important to give thanks, and it's important to ask permission, but it's maybe most important to Listen. 

The message I got was, "I don't need this body any more."

----

Yesterday, I shared deer heart with my boss at lunch. 

Then, back to work, that energy went through my muscles to the hammer and chisel, pounding and cutting, turning Life Force into work, turning work into money, turning money into shelter, turning shelter into a home where inspiration abounds and creation continues and life flows onwards, meandering about the stones in the river, crashing over falls, and moving, always, to the sea.

Below are all the bloody pictures.

Animas River Valley, 

November 21, 2018