Being Jeremy Freese

My parents met us in Flagstaff this weekend. The speed with which they unpacked that U-Haul was astonishing. In the time it took me to find an extension cord, they had materialized an entire kitchen. They’re on a long road trip, the last stop of which was in Nebraska, where they saw tens of thousands of sandhill cranes on the long migration path. The cranes travel from South America to as far north as Siberia, stopping in uncountable numbers on the Platte River. My parents pulled their little travel trailer all the way out there to spend a few days on the river, and then they made their way back just in time to meet us at Schussman North.

After all the unpacking, I had to leave Heather and head for Tucson, and my parents gave me a lift back to town. For the next week or so, they’ll use Tucson as a home base for some further explorations. For the next couple of days, however, it’s all business: Advanced procedures in ultrasound, a workshop to be held at one of the swanky resort-hotels down here. In the meantime, their trailer is parked in my driveway.

My house is lonely, familiar but foreign at the same time—empty of people, dogs, and furniture. I haven’t quite found a way to be comfortable there yet. So for now, I’m broadcasting live and direct from the trailer. Here I can pick up wifi from the house, and the bed is more comfortable than anything else left inside. I’m too tired to read or even listen to some music, and there’s nobody around to talk with; TV does the trick, and since my TV is in my media cabinet 250 miles away, the little TV here in the trailer does the trick (thanks to an extension cord to the house). It does feel a little strange to recline in a camper in the driveway, but it’s not too bad. I can’t quite imagine getting much work done out here, though. I think Jeremey’s RV is probably bigger than this one. (I’m sure that in the vocabulary of these sorts of things, I’ve already offended him by likening a “trailer” to an “RV,” though to be perfectly honest there’s not a lot that sounds recreational about his place. Work work work, mostly, especially since he disconnected himself.)