'I've been robbed,' I thought to myself, with a whimper. Staring at the empty spaces in my pick-up's cab last Saturday morning where my stuff was last seen crammed together tightly, it was the only logical conclusion.
But before I can admit this fact, there were those first few moments of disbelief when my eyes and brain tussled a bit; logic tapped its foot impatiently while I danced with denial. 'I must have moved everything somewhere else and forgotten about it,' and so on. So often, before we admit that our precious items are gone forever, we first apply a generous layer of outrageous explanation.
But the denial never lasts. Mine certainly didn't extend more than a few seconds - I have few things and very little space for said things. The beautiful black guitar given to me by Kirk and his daughter, M? Gone. The ukulele gifted to me by my mother? Also, gone. A pile of effective, and therefore, pricy coats, including a sentimental favorite - big, black down vest with shockwave.com stitched on the back? (I was a member of the Launch Team.) Vanished.
A particularly painful loss was a massive black CD holder than held so much precious music, most of it personal mixes, including several burned for me last week by Miss Bliss in Crestone, CO. If you know me at all, then you know how seriously I take my music so this loss feels like a blow to my soul. If there is any good news here, it's that the great majority of the CD content exists on my iTunes. Also, I've had more than a few offers of CD burnings to replace my collection but a number of covers made long ago will likely be lost forever.
Worst of all, an open box that was obviously grabbed in a hurry contained pricey organic road snacks, several containers of smokey treats and seeds for next season - those I had purchased, acquired and harvested - painful. Just this morning, I started to grasp the great variety of seeds I had in that box - so much spinach, cilantro, lettuce, watermelon, green beans and so on. Ooof. That hurts.
But no loss could compare to nearly 50 garlic bulbs that were taken. My babies, that I had carefully planted in 2012, cultivated, weeded, watered, fussed over, harvested and painstakingly kept in a friend's cellar, all gone. Likely, they were trashed for they won't get a junkie much at the local pawn shop. There were even four perfect white specimens that I'd planned on gifting to family members this Christmas. I was going to hunt down small boxes in Robin's Egg blue (aka Tiffany boxes) and present them like they were the Hope frickin' Diamond.
Realizing that the garlic was gone brought real tears of sadness. It wasn't so much that things were stolen, it was the theft of my time and hard work. The unfairness of it all was overwhelming and the violation left a sick feeling in my stomach. I sat in my pick-up for nearly an hour, just weeping and feeling sorry for myself, reviewing my losses.
I'd lived all summer in a place where nobody locks anything and I'd gotten out of the habit. This was likely what happened; there was no sign of forced entry, no broken windows. I'd slipped up even though Laurianna had warned me about the risks. Some loser had come along and jiggled the handle, found it open and helped themselves. Bastards.
I can only console myself with the knowledge that farming is all about starting over, season after season, and I would begin next spring with a cleaner plate than I'd planned. Also, when I sought out the collective sympathies of my Facebook community, I received an overwhelming response - offers of guitars, seeds and CDs, not to mention genuine rage. It was the best reminder that my life is rich with friendship, love and support, something that poor soul is so obviously lacking. And not only that but they've got an expensive drug habit to support - an unfriendly monkey on their back.
I leave Albuquerque today, my load quite a bit lighter than I'd prefer, but there's got to be some lesson I can glean from this crime. Ironically, my stroke of bad luck might be the perfect reminder of just how lucky I am.
But before I can admit this fact, there were those first few moments of disbelief when my eyes and brain tussled a bit; logic tapped its foot impatiently while I danced with denial. 'I must have moved everything somewhere else and forgotten about it,' and so on. So often, before we admit that our precious items are gone forever, we first apply a generous layer of outrageous explanation.
 |
| Guitar on left, gone |
A particularly painful loss was a massive black CD holder than held so much precious music, most of it personal mixes, including several burned for me last week by Miss Bliss in Crestone, CO. If you know me at all, then you know how seriously I take my music so this loss feels like a blow to my soul. If there is any good news here, it's that the great majority of the CD content exists on my iTunes. Also, I've had more than a few offers of CD burnings to replace my collection but a number of covers made long ago will likely be lost forever.
Worst of all, an open box that was obviously grabbed in a hurry contained pricey organic road snacks, several containers of smokey treats and seeds for next season - those I had purchased, acquired and harvested - painful. Just this morning, I started to grasp the great variety of seeds I had in that box - so much spinach, cilantro, lettuce, watermelon, green beans and so on. Ooof. That hurts.
 |
| Harvested bulbs |
Realizing that the garlic was gone brought real tears of sadness. It wasn't so much that things were stolen, it was the theft of my time and hard work. The unfairness of it all was overwhelming and the violation left a sick feeling in my stomach. I sat in my pick-up for nearly an hour, just weeping and feeling sorry for myself, reviewing my losses.
I'd lived all summer in a place where nobody locks anything and I'd gotten out of the habit. This was likely what happened; there was no sign of forced entry, no broken windows. I'd slipped up even though Laurianna had warned me about the risks. Some loser had come along and jiggled the handle, found it open and helped themselves. Bastards.
I can only console myself with the knowledge that farming is all about starting over, season after season, and I would begin next spring with a cleaner plate than I'd planned. Also, when I sought out the collective sympathies of my Facebook community, I received an overwhelming response - offers of guitars, seeds and CDs, not to mention genuine rage. It was the best reminder that my life is rich with friendship, love and support, something that poor soul is so obviously lacking. And not only that but they've got an expensive drug habit to support - an unfriendly monkey on their back.
I leave Albuquerque today, my load quite a bit lighter than I'd prefer, but there's got to be some lesson I can glean from this crime. Ironically, my stroke of bad luck might be the perfect reminder of just how lucky I am.
