I think you know by now, this was not such a good idea. It had seemed really romantic at the time, so very independent on your part, so part of the “I am Woman, hear me roar” generation, but you are not, right now, that independent woman. You may THINK you are, but you’re not roaring. I can hear you. You’re whimpering. You’re whimpering a lot.

I told you, remember, that little voice that kept saying, “Don’t do this. You really don’t want to do this.” Remember me? But you ignored me and now look where you are. In Trapper Creek, Alaska, surviving, not living, sweetheart, in a one room cabin, which when you rented it, seemed SO romantic. Living semi off-the-grid isn’t quite what you envisioned, is it? A girl who loves to shop, devoted to her Facebook, Twitter and Instagram accounts. You must be freaking out.

And I never could understand what, exactly, was so romantic about having to drive fifty miles to buy anything more exotic than milk. And when you have a hankering for blue cheese for your salad? Oh, wait, that assumes you can buy lettuce. I bet you’ve now discovered fresh produce isn’t all that accessible up where you are. But you can easily find yourself a nice flank of elk. And of course, there’s never a shortage of bear meat or salmon. And I recall you hate fish. How’s that working for you?

And all those men you thought you’d find? Those tough, but gentle and sweet men who would immediately fall in love with you and keep you warm at night. When you choose to relocate to a town where the population numbers 500, it probably narrows your choice of men. Sleeping alone, are we these days?

I am glad you had the sense to teach yourself how to fire a gun so you have some protection from both the two and four-footed predators. I am amazed that the sound of wolves hasn’t sent you scurrying back down to the lower 49s. And those grizzlies? At least you know now not to store any food outside your cabin. And I know you love to go for your long walks, which is fine in the summer and in the middle of the day. Just bring your gun. Come September when the snows arrive, I bet those walks will cease until the spring.

It’s not too late to come home. You’re thinking about it I know. This self-inflected torture can be ended at any time. No one’s going to think any less of you for coming home earlier than planned. As a matter of fact, everyone would think you finally came to your senses. To make your apartment seem more like your Alaskan palace, bring back your found treasures – the elk rack, photos of all those bear tracks surrounding your cabin, that wolf claw you found, and definitely the skeletal remains of the five dead rabbits that hunter gave you.

And I’m sure you realize that old fisherman was expecting to score more than dinner and a “thank you” for his gift of twenty-five pounds of salmon. It was a generous gift. Maybe you rejected him too soon. He was, after all, male and breathing.

Anyway, it is what it is and it will be good to have you back again, kiddo.


Your wiser self

2 thoughts on “Dear Linda by Linda Freedland

  1. The delightfully snarky tone–“How’s that working for you?” and “Sleeping alone, are we these days?”–remind us yet again that “the best-laid plans of mice and men gang a-gley.” Thanks, LF!

Leave a Reply