For Thanksgiving, I traveled to Torrey, Utah to visit my in-laws and my mom and her partner and his son. Torrey is a six-hour drive from Flagstaff. It would be four hours, but Escalante National Monument, beautifully, forces me to drive east through Kayenta, then Monument Valley, up the Moki Dugway toward Bears Ears and then around the winding road that crosses the Colorado River and skirts the dwindling Lake Powell or west through Page, Kanab, along the Virgin River through Mt. Carmel, Orderville, Glendale toward Panguitch and Circleville where I look mournfully toward the massive barracks that house so many of the pigs we eat. Then, I drive toward Kingston and Koosharem Reservoir which dams Otter Creek. I am certain there are otters there. Or there will be again and I will find them.
After turkey day, we go fishing. Even I, a fisherman who has never caught a fish, am rigged up with a five-foot pole and my father-in-law鈥檚 boots. I鈥檇 forgotten to bring my own. When we left Flagstaff, which is usually a similar temperature as Torrey since both towns sit at nearly 7,000 feet elevation, it was 55 degrees. Torrey, further north and often bent windy by a different jet stream, was colder. And it had snowed. My father-in-law鈥檚 boots were too big, but waterproof. My running shoes were not.
My father-in-law has introduced me to a new kind of fly-fishing where we don鈥檛 use dry flies that land on top of the water, and we have to keep flicking our wrists to look like our lure is flying about. Instead, it鈥檚 a wet fly that you can let sink a bit and watch it flow down the river. This is good for me because when I cast behind me, I catch a tree. And when I cast before me, I catch a shrub. When I dip my fly in the water, I mainly catch nothing but water. Sometimes some algae. A leaf once. It was beautiful.
I told my father-in-law and Erik to leave me at this particular spot that burbled and turned and seemed like as good a spot for fish as any. They headed upriver where, apparently, there were actual fish. I never see fish. But I do see pinyon pines and complicated lichen. I watch for mountain lions and think what easy pickings I would be. I imagine jousting with my fishing pole. I worry that not only would I stave off no mountain lion attack, I鈥檇 break the rod and feel bad for borrowing it. I loved watching my fly meander down the stream. I didn鈥檛 feel bad about not catching anything until my father-in-law came back, stepped into the river, cast his line and came out with a brown trout. I blame my lack of waders.
After the election, I needed to stare at a flowing river for hours on end. I walked probably 100 feet along the stream, back and forth, wondering what a fish looked like anyway. The first weeks after the election, I had a hard time putting sentences together. But then, I went down to the press conference after Governor Hobbs signed the reproductive rights ballot initiative into the law, which made me feel at least some of the work I鈥檇 done this election had been successful. I joined a few coalitions and went to a showcase of twenty local coalitions at the Flagstaff Library. Some of which include:
and Flagstaff Abortion Alliance
I also started a coalition of friends concerned and ready to act from across the country. I volunteered at the Seeing good people do good things made me believe that I wasn鈥檛 entirely wrong to imagine that people in our country want a better life for everyone. Not the majority, but at least a strong number.
Andrea, my friend, who organized Our Abortion Stories for the Yes on 4 campaign in Florida to protect reproductive freedom, was despondent when the initiative didn鈥檛 pass. In Florida, 60 percent of voters must approve a ballot measure. The initiative got 57.7 percent. She was pissed off, but she won鈥檛 give up. 鈥淟et鈥檚 invite other people to tell their stories too鈥攖he ones who might regret their abortion. The man who wishes his girlfriend didn鈥檛 get one. We need to tell all the stories.鈥� I was skeptical. Didn鈥檛 we have a plan to enshrine women鈥檚 rights in the Constitution? But she had a larger point鈥攊f we are going to invite people to listen to us, we have to make space for stories that are not just up for our cause.
An NBC News interview with Texas representative Greg Casar argued that "The progressive movement needs to change. We need to re-emphasize core economic issues every time some of these cultural war issues are brought up," Casar said. "So when we hear Republicans attacking queer Americans again, I think the progressive response needs to be that a trans person didn't deny your health insurance claim, a big corporation did - with Republican help. We need to connect the dots for people that the Republican Party obsession with these culture war issues is driven by Republicans' desire to distract voters and have them look away while Republicans pick their pocket."
When I read that, I thought good! That鈥檚 a plan. But then I thought, for whom am I going to connect the dots? How to find these people? When I was canvassing this election season, I already felt intrusive knocking on doors, reminding them to vote. I know there are some people who can tell strangers how to vote, but I鈥檓 not one of them. I don鈥檛 want to try hard to persuade people. But then I thought of advice from someone who had been canvassing for a long time. He said, 鈥淵ou don鈥檛 always need to persuade people. Sometimes, they just need someone to listen.鈥� This comports with something my husband said. 鈥淭o run for office, to win, you probably just need to get people together and listen.鈥� You find a place where people want to talk and you listen. You listen and listen and then maybe, after a while, they may listen to you.
Finding people to listen to is a bit like standing along a stream with your fly shimmering in the water. You wait and you listen to the burbling, and you watch the ripples cascade from rocks. You dip and pull and dip and pull until you realize it鈥檚 not the catching but the being there that鈥檚 the point.