Straub - She Explores

FOR THOSE WHO PREFER TO
TAKE THE BACK ROADS HOME

Text copyright 2019 by Gale Straub.

constitute a continuation of the copyright page.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available.

ISBN 978-1-4521-6766-4 (hc)
ISBN 978-1-4521-6767-1 (epub, mobi)

Design by Anne Kenady Smith.

Chronicle Books LLC
680 Second Street
San Francisco, California 94107

www.chroniclebooks.com

Who do you picture when you think of an outdoorswoman?

What clothes does she wear?

What vehicle does she drive? Does she live in it? Does she pull a tent out of the back, arranging it under the stars?

MAYBE SHES A REALIST, MAYBE SHES A dreamer. Maybe shes an artist and the varying landscapes she crosses inspire creativity within her. Or maybe the changing landscapes are overwhelming at times. She wants to slow down and stay awhile.

Perhaps she has a family. Shes a mother, orienting her children to the world so they can figure out how to orient themselves on their own one day.

Or her children are all grown up, their compasses set. Her time is suddenly all her own.

Shes a biologist, a wilderness ranger, a computer programmer.

Shes grieving: a loved one, a relationship, a piece of herself.

Maybe shes working tirelessly to share the stories of others. Or perhaps shes articulating her own.

When you imagine this woman, do you see yourself in her? The outdoors is so special because it does not cultivate an archetype for the outdoorswoman. And while society is always tempted to shape us in its image, to create an ideal way to look and love and be, on our best days, when were out there alone in nature, we get the opportunity to define ourselves. Do you see all the possibilities for your own life?

I grew up in a small town in New Hampshire. My earliest outdoor memories include digging up potatoes in my dads garden and tromping through the woods with my twin sister and older brother. We didnt travel a whole lot, but my dad took us on winding drives through our small state. We were encouraged to peek over stone walls and take the back roads home. My mother is an artist. She turns her interior world inside out by experimenting with new mediums: textiles, pastels, watercolor, pen and ink. My parents instilled in me a quiet curiosity and Im grateful for that.

In college, I wouldnt have identified as an outdoorswoman, even as I spent weekends hiking in the White Mountains and found solace on long winter walks through the city streets of Boston. I had no sense of who I was or what I wanted from work or relationships, but the time I spent in motion, in open airthats when I felt most at ease with myself. The pleasure I took from spending time outside was magnified by a deep appreciation for its beauty. Using my dads old 35 mm Pentax camera, I began taking photographs on those long walks and watching them come to life in the campus darkroom.

I graduated from college in 2008, a turbulent time in the American economy. Aimlessly armed with a psychology degree, I applied to grad school for a crash course in accounting and finance. From there I spent several years working at a Big Four accounting firm and then a venture capital firm in Boston. I enjoyed the stability of this work and the direction that came with it. I love problem solving, and accounting has it in spades. In my free time, I continued to hike New Hampshires worn trails. I escaped to Maine to swim in its clear, deep lakes. And almost every night I wandered my neighborhood with a camera, capturing shadows and bright spots.

By 2013 Id lived in Boston for almost ten years, and I was starting to feel restless. In certain ways I was lonely, too. I lacked community, like-minded people whom I could share my interests and curiosities with.

Craving new landscapes and adventure, I made the decision with my partner, Jon, to travel in a Sprinter van for a year. We owned no house, had no kids. The timing felt right for us. I saved for more than fifteen months, and with careful planning, I was fortunate to be able to save money beyond my student loans and rent. I was nervous before we left. I was leaving behind my profession and I was only in my late twenties. As I packed, my landlady, a conservative woman in her sixties, asked me what neighborhood I was moving to. Hesitantly, I told her that I was going to road-trip with Jon.

Her response surprised me: My husband was a taxi driver. He was happiest behind the wheel. When he retired, we were going to travel the country together in an RV. He died right after he retired. It was so unexpected. Good for you for doing it now. You never know whats going to happen.

We werent retiring, but I took her sentiment to heart.

I learned so much about myself during those months on the road. I redefined my boundaries. I discovered that Im bad at recognizing what I need. I moved too fast and my camera shutter released too slowly. Sometimes the blurry images I took mimicked my headspace. At first I was afraid of almost everything, but slowly I found myself exchanging fear for confidence. I cultivated my most intimate relationship in a small space. I traced the Pacific and the Atlantic coasts by road.

My respect for the outdoors grew, as did my interest in trying new, adventurous activities. I hiked South Sister, the third-highest mountain in Oregon, and marveled at how thin the air feels above ten thousand feet. I floated on a surfboard in salt water off Los Angeles and tried to catch a wave. Day by day, I found myself a little less inhibited. When the trip ended and I returned to New England, I brought that feeling with me.