As many of you well know, I used to produce a microzine called Durable Goods. It started in 2009 and ended in 2013. Many things were accomplished with this zine and its distribution reached every continent in the world, every state in this country, and was archived in countless zine and university libraries. Over the years, I have been asked if I would start Durable Goods back up. It is always a hard question. It was my most favorite project that I’ve ever produced, but toward the end it was labor intensive beyond my singular capability. I was folding 250 copies every two weeks by hand as well as handwritten note cards, stamped bookmarks, and handwritten envelopes. Add in a full time nursing job and a kid and trying to have my own creative output. It became too much so I ended it at its peak.
Recently, I was approached by Scot D. Young of Rusty Truck about this very thing. Is Durable Goods ever coming back? The thought of being that involved in one project with where my life is now seemed overwhelming, but as we talked, something came to mind. Scot works with teenage kids who have been through the wringer—abuse of every kind, poverty, hunger. These kids find some direction and solace in writing. This struck a chord with me because my whole life has been saved and elevated over and over again by writing poetry. It has always loved me. It has always been there.
So, Durable Goods is coming back for a special issue series. There will be eight issues, one for each of the kids. Some of you may know that Durable Goods has traditionally been invite only and I sent the kids their invite letter yesterday. Scot will work with them on writing the poetry to fit the parameters of the zine and also teach them how to submit their work for publication. This project is about showing them how to put themselves out there but also that their words can mean something, that they can be heard, that they can make a difference not only to other people but to themselves.
I will be offering up the opportunity to receive this series of 8 zines just like it used to be. Postage has gone up a bit since then, but I still only charge for what it will cost for me to send. This project is about physical connection and sharing creative understanding. Here are the prices:
Domestic $6.50 (includes all 8 issues with shipping) International (Euro) $11.15 (which works out to be $13.00 US) International (Pound) $9.50 (which works out to be $13.00 US) International (Canada Dollar) $16.25 (which works out to be $13.00 US) **Any other conversions will be assessed per need basis
A new feature is that you’ll be able to send the cost of the issues via PayPal (leathyd or by looking up Aleathia Drehmer) or Venmo (Aleathia-Drehmer). You can also send me payment in the mail or you can send a chapbook of your own writing that is of equal value (address to be provided privately). Please remember to include your mailing address with payment or email (email@example.com). Thank you.
We have had many generous folks who are paying kindness forward. Currently I have 5 domestic subscriptions paid for if anyone is interested and cannot afford to be part of the project and my aunt Michelle just kindly donated one international subscription. Scot D. Young had an anonymous donor who is sending funds to buy the kids supplies for writing, Richard Hansen of Poems for All is sending them a selection of tiny poem books, and Jack Varnell from Social Yet Distanced Podcast has offered a podcast about the project when it is finished.
We are hoping to have something done by the end of October. Feel free to email me with any questions. Thanks for supporting these kids and small press poetry. Aleathia
My poems “His Eyes Raised to Heaven,” “The Trouble with Demons,” and “Maddog 20/20” have found a home at Rusty Truck. Please stop by and have a look as well as sift through the archives. There are some hard hitting poems found here by really great writers. Thank you Scot Young for taking these pieces.
Support Small Press Poetry. Be Kind. Write every day.
I am pleased to announcethat I have another poem available to read at Spillwords! You can enjoy my poem “I’ve Forgotten What Day It Is” on the website now. Have a look around. There are wonderful pieces of work there.
I awoke around 5:15 a.m. to a hard wind in the trees and the smell of rain. Since I was first up, I had to get the rest of the group moving. The weather report had called for rain by 9:00 a.m., and we didn’t want to end our trip hiking out in a storm. We prepared our packs with a rain fly just in case and left our raincoats out. All of us ate oatmeal and chugged some coffee. The night before we had gathered plenty of water to make it the final six miles out. We left the camp before the man and his son were awake so we didn’t get to say goodbye. I was able to pee again before we left and I felt I had turned the corner on a critical situation.
The initial part of the trail was a steep decline and then a reciprocating incline before it flattened out into something more gentle. It was a blessing because my legs were so tired and the rest of the group was definitely feeling the previous day’s trek. But with each incline my hamstrings and glutes revolted, and slowed me down, so I put myself at the back of the pack. I kept catching a lot of roots on that trail and stumbled a few times. I was worried about falling and paid closer attention to where I was stepping. When we emerged from the forest, it opened up to a dirt road that would serve as our last mile or two of the hike. I love a good home stretch and savored every step of this walk to the finish line. The pavement was like a re-entry to society. We were stepping back into life as we know it. Back to jobs and bills and soft beds. Part of me was ready for this, but part of me had a hunger for more.
We all hopped into Chelsea’s car that we’d left at the end of the trail. Sitting on something soft felt like a luxury that I had taken for granted in my life. It was a short drive to drop off Mo at her car where we made plans to meet up for breakfast on the way out of town. The drive to pick up Lisa’s car moved us through the valley of the two ascents we had climbed. Lisa pointed up to an open swath of land and told me that was where we’d eaten lunch the day before.
I started to cry thinking about what this human body could do. I’m crying now because the hike was challenging, but I had no idea exactly how high I had climbed. That moment changed the perspective on what I had achieved personally. Then Lisa turned and pointed to the other side of the road and showed me the second hill we climbed, the one that almost killed me. Though I realized at the end of the hike how unprepared I was physically, mentally, and emotionally for this trip, I greatly appreciated what my body did and what it could do again.
After we picked up Lisa’s car, we ordered breakfast to go from Caruso’s in Naples. We all smelled terrible so we ate our breakfast on the ledge of the library windows next door. I had a cinnamon raisin bagel with maple walnut cream cheese and real thick cut bacon. I could’ve cried over how delicious this tasted and how much I needed that moment of joy in my life. Less than five minutes later, the thunder and lightning started. We made it back to our cars just before the deluge. It was a blinding rainstorm and we could barely see the road. In every sense of the word, I felt thankful for my life. Every decision we made on that trail got us out of there before the rain.
What I Learned
I learned hubris has no place on the trail. Before I left, I’d thought this hike would be no big deal. I was never more wrong in my whole life. I needed to be more mindful about how my body would handle this kind of exertion. It could have cost me my life.
I learned that sometimes it is okay to trust strangers. Despite the fact that I was the most inexperienced hiker on the trip, none of the women ever made me feel less than. They stopped to help me and taught me many lessons about hiking along the way. Even the strangers we met at the last camp were gracious, and gave us extra food and packed out our trash.
I learned that this body has a limit of about 9 miles with a 20+ pound pack (mine was 30-32 lbs if I’m honest). Not following the guidelines that Lisa gave me to only pack 20 lbs was a mistake that could have seriously injured me. Again, a point of hubris for me. I’m an avid disc golf player and my disc bag weighs at least 25 lbs. I had imagined that another 5 lbs wasn’t going to slow me down, but the difference was distance and elevation.
I learned I am one of those people that benefits from a higher carb to protein ratio for snacks and food if I am going to have enough energy. I’d packed mostly proteins and fats, which did not help when I had rhabdo on the second day. My body was carb and salt starved in the worst way. In all things, balance. I had not remembered that.
I learned that sober living is what I want to do. I’d chosen sober living after a series of drunken boyfriends in which I took on their environment of drinking. It stripped away everything about me I loved—my creativity, my drive, my energy, and writing. I’ve had one drink in the last two years and I regret nothing about staying sober. #LaCroix4ever
I learned I am stronger than I think I am on so many levels.
I learned I can be my authentic self and people still like me.
I learned that community and teamwork are everything.
I learned how isolated I’d become over the years, building up distrust for those around me because I was afraid of being hurt again.
I learned there is a lot of healing still left to do.
I learned I can call upon my ancestors for help and they’ll listen when I need it most.
This was a life changing journey that I am still feeling the effects of. My muscles were weak for over a week and I still have been tiring easily. I’m listening to my body for a change instead of the voice inside my head that tells me to push everything to the limit, even when the outcome will be bad. There were so many valuable lessons on this three-day trip. Still, so much to unpack mentally, but I’m here for it.
Thank you to Lisa, Chelsea, and Mo who supported me on this journey. My life was better with you in it. Thank you all for reading this incredibly long series of blogs. I hope you get out there and hike. The fresh air will do you good. Stay safe.
I was the first one up in the morning, as I am always awake by 5:30 in the morning. I witnessed a beautiful sunrise and wrote in my trip journal. I did my best to center myself each day to prepare for the challenges ahead and to build my morale. My body was sore, but I felt eager for day two. I woke everyone else up so we could stay on schedule and, as a group, we decided we had enough water to start the trip. This section of the trail crossed water several times, and we would be able to refill as needed.
We hiked in a mile or so and found an excellent water source, which was also a lovely, meditative spot. While we worked together to fill water (#teamwork), Chelsea read a passage about self love and caring for yourself as an example for those around you. It was something for us to contemplate on our journey until the next stop. We each spoke aloud our thoughts on the reading and what we wanted to think about before we packed up and started walking again. This part of the trail was very enjoyable and not too taxing. It spit us out onto a road, and we had to walk uphill and then downhill on pavement for a good portion. We took in nature and played guessing games to pass the time.
About a mile before we were to ascend again, we stopped for a snack in the shade as it had been warmer on the road. The valley was lush and green. It gave me a deeper appreciation for the place I live. We are blessed with so much wilderness. There was another short decline down the road and the last thing we saw before starting up the abandoned logging road was a cute half blind horse. She made us all smile. We would need it for the steep incline that would go on for three and a half miles.
This climb was challenging for me and several times I was disappointed in myself for how poorly my body felt and how quickly my mind went along for the ride. There was a deep regret for some of the pack choices I made. A mile and a half before we crested the hill, we came upon an abundant patch of wild raspberry and blackberry bushes. We foraged them like children and stuffed ourselves with the fruit’s sweetness as if it were candy. It was enough to get me to the top.
We had a flat walk through the woods a bit farther until it opened up into a massive field of wildflowers and sunshine. There was a cut in the trees that displayed the expansive vista of the valley and the hills on the other side. We ate lunch here with our boots and socks off letting the breeze cool our feet. We laughed at the hill we had just climbed and I marveled at how quickly the body and mind forget such pain once it’s gone. Lisa read another passage after lunch. This time we learned about local tribes of Seneca and how they believe we have to set examples for the seven generations that come after us as did the seven generations before us.
This was a powerful notion considering the current political and world climate we live in. We thought about leading the youth today through our own positive actions and choices. The view and the idea of how we are all connected would be my favorite highlight of the entire trip. As we packed up our gear and prepared to descend the hill we had just worked so hard to climb, I shared my chocolate covered espresso beans with the group (charity, again).
A mile or so in, the descent down the hill was a bit thwarted. Lisa had purchased a map for this section the night before and checked the website for any trail changes, but when we got down into the woods rather far, we saw that all the orange trail markers had been blacked over. We were at a loss of what to do because going back up and out was not an option if we were to make shelter in time before nightfall. We followed a logging road downward until we realized that this would not lead us where we needed to be. It was a bit nerve wracking as it was trespassing so we went back uphill to where the trail should have been and bushwhacked our way out of the property until we found the road.
Later we would discover that this easement had been taken away around March. This was not readily noted without having to scroll several pages on the website. We walked a short distance on a dirt road until we found the orange markers that would get us back into the woods and on the trail.
On the large downhill section off the hill, we stopped to rest just before the end of B1. Chelsea had set her pack down in the logging road and then sat down to relax. About ten minutes later, she noticed the tiniest tick on her arm. When she started looking, they were everywhere on her body. The rest of us checked ourselves to make sure we hadn’t walked through a nest, but we had no ticks on us that we could see. It was determined that she had probably set her bag down in a seed tick nest. We were there twenty minutes while she and her girlfriend picked ticks off of her and they lost count after thirty. It was definitely a morale dumper at that point as the threat of Lyme’s Disease is very heavy in New York, and its long-term implications can be life changing.
It was then that I realized I hadn’t voided since we left camp around 7:30 am and it was 2:00 pm. Everyone else had stopped on the trail several times to void. Being a nurse, this concerned me. I’d been drinking a lot of fluid, but it was warm, and I was in pants and a very thin long sleeve shirt (to battle both ticks and sun exposure). The overexertion of the first hill mixed with heat exhaustion made everything in my body hurt. I chalked this up to being overweight and not acclimated to this type of hiking.
With this concern, I thought I should at least try to see if I could make urine. It was scant and coke-colored and I knew I was either in the throes of severe dehydration and on my way to rhabdomyolysis. This is a potentially dangerous health condition that I knew could ruin my kidneys and at its worst, cause death. I worked hard on consuming more water and carbohydrate gels to see if this would help. It seemed to ease the ache in my muscles for a short time. We were traveling downhill in the shade, so this helped.
We dumped off the trail into a flat meadow and the view was amazing. The path continued along the roadside for a short while and then we dipped into another field. As we entered this part of the route, I was a little crestfallen. This was the final leg of the trail until we reached camp for the night, but it was all uphill and I already felt terrible. The entire ascent, I was behind the pack just trying to will myself the energy to make it, but the more I climbed, the worse I felt. About a mile from camp, I had to stop and remove my pack. The dizziness, nausea, and all over body pain was crippling. My breathing was shallow and fast. My Garmin had my heart rate at a steady 160. I stood there, knowing I was on the edge of shock. The cure awaited me in camp but I had to get there first.
Chelsea, who was also struggling, had fallen behind and Lisa was by her side. Mo and I moved up the trail a little to wait. We stood there a good while before Mo, walked back down the trail to see if she could do anything. I had taken my pack off again to try and get cooler, to see if I could drop my heart rate down to something more respectable. When it stayed steady at 130, I put my pack back on and began to walk very slowly and meditatively up the hill. I needed to lie down, and doing this on a trail butted up against a ravine didn’t seem like the safest bet.
I started to lose focus on reality. The shuffle of my boots against stones. The eerie stillness of the forest. The way my own heartbeat sounded like a metronome. The metallic strike of my trek pole on hard earth. In all of this, I talked to my father who had passed away years ago. I asked for his strength. I looked for something that connected us. The entire last mile tears rolled down my cheeks. I was emotional and exhausted. I had underestimated how hard this trip would be and overestimated, with hubris, how it wouldn’t be that tough for me.
A hundred feet from camp, Mo caught up with me, and as we approached, we noticed there were already people at this lean to. I almost started sobbing because they had put their tent inside the structure, and I needed to be able to lie down more than anything in the world. I wasn’t sure what we would do. Mo had a different perspective. She was happy to see others on the trail and had no problem engaging in conversation. The lingering effects of this pandemic and constant isolation had really ingrained itself in my social skills.
After talking to the man and his son for a while, and playing with their dog, Sky, we learned he was an experienced hiker there with his son and his father. Three generations of hikers together. He removed his tent from the shelter without us having to ask and cleared the camp table so we could make dinner. The older gentleman wasn’t staying for the night, though remarked he thought we were such a nice group that he wished he’d brought a blanket so he could stay. The son and grandson hiked him back to his car, which gave us a chance to change clothes, eat, and set up. I wasn’t hungry but forced myself to eat oatmeal. We still had to hike down the trail to refill water before I could lie down, and I pulled every ounce of strength in my body to do this. Our water supply was nearly dry by the time we entered camp and refilling was vital.
By the time the man and his son returned, we were settled with our places to sleep. I’d already been lying down for some time trying to rest and hydrate. Their dog Sky, a chocolate lab, came up on the platform and snuggled in with me. It was all I could do to keep from crying. She was a comfort when I was feeling defeated, physically and mentally. Sky was a sweet and well behaved trail dog. I’m not sure my morale would have risen without her there to calm me. I hurt everywhere, and in my mind knew that I was physically in a dangerous place with no way to fix it in camp other than the purified stream water I was drinking.
Part of me knew my pride had me in the situation I was in. I could have gotten off the trail as we crossed the main road before the second ascent. I’m sure if I would have told Lisa how bad I was actually feeling, she may have insisted I call for someone to pick me up. But I wanted to finish. I needed to finish. I watched as my new friends built a campfire. I fell asleep to the sound of everyone talking and the crackling of wood. Even the hard surface didn’t bother me as I drifted off hoping for a better tomorrow.
Around midnight, I woke to the sound of a coyote howl in camp. It was so loud that I thought it was right in my ear. I’d slept with my head toward the open sky because of the extensive amount of spiders dangling from the boards at the other end. Waking up with one in my mouth was not on my to do list. The cry made me sit up quickly, causing dizziness and a pain that coursed through my legs. I couldn’t even stand up to move back to safety, and I knew I couldn’t reach the knife in my pack. The darkness and my weakness made me vulnerable. I pushed myself back deeper into the lean-to with my arms and then held still. I heard the coyote moving around the camp and then a rustle from the man’s tent. It gave another howl, and then it ran in front of the lean-to. I was in pure survival mode between the dehydration and this threat of bodily harm.
Of course, this is when my body decided to fill my bladder to the brink. I’d been waiting all day and this was the most inopportune time. For safety reasons and because I don’t see well in the dark, I sat in the lean-to for almost an hour before I ventured out to pee with my trek pole in tow as a weapon. I did go a good amount. Though I couldn’t tell the color, it satisfied me that my kidneys were on the road to recovering.
I slept on edge much of the night due to being alone inside the shelter. The pain from hiking and the severe dehydration made me ache all over, and the anxiety from the possibility of the coyote making another pass through camp had me skeptical that I would be able to get any rest. I slept despite all of this, mostly from pure exhaustion, and I even had strange dreams.