Letter. 18

Angel passes Devil’s Toll Gate

Dear Reader,

Over the weekend I drove 5 hours to the Ozark Trail in southeastern Missouri to take part in the Devil’s Toll Race. I camped in my car the night before and then trodded, climbed, tripped about along the 13 miles, over rocky and steep terrain. I ended the race by accidentally falling into the Black River.

Two days later walking up stairs is painful. I am still cold from that icy dip followed by a windy walk to my car, which eventually hugged tight bucolic curves as I shivered all the way back to Kansas City.

Devil’s Toll Gate

But I would do this all again, twice as long, if it meant bypassing some of the agony of parenting. 

Despite my surname, I fall short on so much. That timeout chair in preschool was really high, I remember. I deserved all the swats I got growing up. But my philosophy as a parent is to try to set a good example and the High Road journey is a nauseating one. There’s no Dramamine to keep the sickening feeling away. It’s hard to suppress words about injustice, to cease being surprised by things people do. “Restraint is power,” seems like such a bullshit quote when you want to scream a truth at everyone. 

I’ll save you any kind of virtue signaling here cause that is really annoying. It’s just that my quest in trying to find aligned values where I spend time and energy seems to be harder and harder.  So we keep walking. And climbing. And drinking water. And going to sleep. And hoping that tomorrow brings something else. 

Eight months ago my friend Kay asked me to join her on this long hike that was touted as a “race” but which no awards were given, and the fees serve as a donation to the Ozark Trail Association. I was excited for an adventure. So much so that even though I knew we would only be out there five hours, I packed like I was heading to the Appalachian Trail for three months.

Johnson Shut-ins is a beautiful part of the state and the night before we sat in camping chairs in the middle a big field and sat slack-jaw with our chins upward below the illuminated Milky Way. We started our hike at the highest point in the state and five hours later found our way at a park visitor center. Such beauty along the way as the leaves were just starting to change.

Thank you for reading. It’s good to know you are out there. And if you find yourself in a situation perhaps you can encourage people not to root against kids (cause they know, and the parents know), and perhaps encourage positivity (or silence) instead of allowing trash talking. 

My wise dad keeps me grounded at these times. Kids are more resilient than their parents, he tells me. He’s right. I mean there’s a fort made out of wood that was collected from the big storm over the summer, built by hand, on our back porch. Hours of sawing and hammering and whittling. 

Things are going to be OK. 

Love,

Traci

P.S. I wish you a good week with plenty of peaceful moments. xo.