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For six months, we went up north only on weekends, working furiously to tame a patch of the land and build a one-room tarpaper shack where the five of us could sleep.
Michael Schaub, National Public Radio This isnt Cinderella in hiking boots, its a woman coming out of heartbreak, darkness and bad decisions with a clear view of where she has been. We called it up north while we were still living in the town an hour outside of Minneapolis.
#1 New York Times Bestseller A Best Nonfiction Book of 2012: The Boston Globe, Entertainment Weekly A Best Book of the Year: NPR, St. A breathtaking adventure tale and a profound meditation on the nature of grief and survival . Waking or sleeping that summer, we were scarcely out of one anothers sight and seldom saw anyone else.Louis Dispatch, Vogue Winner of the Barnes & Noble Discover Award Now a major motion picture starring Reese Witherspoon and Laura Dern At twenty-two, Cheryl Strayed thought she had lost everything. We were twenty miles away from two small towns in opposite directions: Moose Lake to the east; Mc Gregor to the northwest. We played it while planting and maintaining a garden that would sustain us through the winter in soil that had been left to its own devices throughout millennia, and while making steady progress on the con- struction of the house we were building on the other side of our property and hoped to complete by summers end.In the wake of her mothers death, her family scattered and her own marriage was soon destroyed. In the fall wed attend school in Mc Gregor, the smaller of the two, with a population of four hundred, but all summer long, aside from the occasional visitor far-flung neighbors who stopped by to introduce themselvesit was us and our mom. We were swarmed by mosqui- toes as we worked, but my mother forbade us to use DEET or any other such brain-destroying, earth-polluting, future-progeny-harming chemical. Such as if a doctor told you that you were going to die soon, youd be taken to a room with a gleaming wooden desk. We were led into an examining room, where a nurse instructed my mother to remove her shirt and put on a cotton smock with strings that dangled at her sides. Id fainted oncefurious, age three, holding my breath because I didnt want to get out of the bathtub, too young to remember it myself. Shed held out her hands and watched me turn blue, my mother had always told me. She held it stiffly with the other hand, trying to calm it. She wore a purple hat and a handful of diamond rings. She spoke in Spanish to the people gathered around her, her family and perhaps her husband. If I looked at him we would both crumble like dry crackers. Paper roses, paper roses, oh how real those roses seemed to be, she sang. Look both ways, shed call after us as we fled like a pack of hungry dogs.
All that day of the green pantsuit, as I accompanied my mother and stepfather, Eddie, from floor to floor of the Mayo Clinic while my mother went from one test to another, a prayer marched through my head, though prayer is not the right word to describe that march. I couldnt let myself believe it then and there in that elevator and also go on breathing, so I let myself believe other things instead. Id asked my mother all through my childhood, making her tell me the story again and again, amazed and delighted by my own impetuous will. She sat with her hands folded tightly together and her ankles hooked one to the other. In reply, he took a pencil, stood it upright on the edge of the sink, and tapped it hard on the surface. One jolt and your bones could crumble like a dry cracker. Later we came out to wash our hands and faces, watching each other in the bright mirror. I sat between my mother and Eddie in my green pantsuit, the green bow miraculously still in my hair. There was a woman who had an arm that swung wildly from the elbow. There was a beautiful dark-haired woman who sat in a wheelchair. Eddie sat on my other side, but I could not look at him. A song without words, but my mother knew the words anyway and instead of answering my question she sang them softly to me. My mothers name was called then: her prescriptions were ready. They would give us five-dollar bills to buy candy from the store so they could be alone in the apartment with our mom.Using other people’s research or ideas without giving them due credit is plagiarism.