Migration

For the birds, the weather and the seasons tell them when it’s time to leave.  It‘s the same for me, too.  But it’s also about feeling safe, especially since I travel alone.  And my guess is that the birds land where they feel most safe, too.  It’s been a while since I’ve left the Pacific Northwest where there are plenty of right wingers, but there are just as many vocal and courageous people fighting on the left to protect the under represented populations, and for that, feeling safe is easier there.  In many places in the far west it’s possible to relax as a brown woman with squinty eyes and feel like you’ve got back up wherever you go.  Knowing someone is brave enough to stand up for you and with you is far more important than being surrounded by people who tell you they love you.  People who stand and watch you suffer while they tell you they love you are worse than being stomped on by the enemy.  And in Wyoming, being a Korean-American woman, I’m completely on my own.

It’s the micro aggressions that sting the most.  Like when the host at the restaurant tells you there’s a wait for outdoor seating and attempts to discourage you from waiting, but asks the white person behind you if they’d like to sit indoors or out and immediately seats them outside.  It’s the white people buying and selling all the Native American art for thousands of dollars after they’ve murdered them and taken over their land, replacing the town square with metal sculptures of them.  It’s the Trump stickers all over the place that make you feel unsafe walking around in your own skin.  

When you are finally old enough and educated enough to see it clearly, instead of internalizing it and becoming the small person they see you as, it doesn’t heal anything, it still hurts just as bad as it did before you became aware of it, it just allows you to remove yourself from the toxicity.  The only way to heal is to move toward the places that feel better.  And when there isn’t anywhere to heal, that’s when you’re forced to fight.  I’ve decided to migrate.  My gut told me it was time to go.  Maybe that’s what the birds feel when it’s time to go.  Maybe I’m not running away, maybe I‘m just following my migratory route.  Heading to Crested Butte, where Black Lives Matter was painted on the street of their downtown in 2020 and temperatures are in the 70s.  

 Here is a young black bear who I walked up on right as it was poking its head out from the grass.  He ran in front of me as I got my camera out.  Its little padded feet sounded so cute on the ground.

This little one I spotted practically in the same place I saw the bear but on a different day.  It was well camouflaged and I’m lucky to have felt its eyes on me.  We stared at each other for a good minute and then it finally darted away.

And this angry creature I’m pretty sure cussed me out as I stopped to snap photos of it.  

If it weren’t for the 87 degree afternoons, the wildlife would’ve been enough reason to stay.  But there will be plenty of wildlife in Colorado, too.  AND 70 degree temps.  I’ve already passed a bear with two black crows facing it - which was a strange sight to see while driving.  I wish I got a picture of it.