MMmmmm, peach salsa and saltines kick ass. (I didn’t have tortilla chips, and the whole point was to eat peach salsa. Oooh, with cream cheese, it would be even better.)

Anyway, my boobs are killing me, I’m tired as fuck, the nausea seems to peak mid-day, and so far is alleviated by eating something, preferably with protein. All is well, so far.

Telling my parents was sort of a last minute decision.  We were going to wait, but then we were on our way there and were going to be there for the night, so what the hell. If things were to go bad next week, we’d tell them, so might as well garner some good vibes from the immediate family and not just the internet. They were excited, of course, even though I’m due on literally, the busiest day of the year for them.  I pitched it as "I have good news and bad news," and they weren’t worried at all about the day, so that’s good.

Weird story, all intertwined, that I want to flesh out into more of an essay once I get copies of stuff.  I’ve written about how proud I am of my dad, before, and I still am.  In this weird twist of whatever, though, there’s a new level….

My dad’s dad died when he was 16. I never knew him, the grandpa I refer to is a step-, and the only one I’ve known. He married my grandma the same year my parents were married, so it’s not like a stepdad my dad grew up with, but it is the grandpa I grew up with… anyway. My dad’s dad was a cool guy, from all the stories I’ve heard, and a smart guy, and the agnostic that got our agnostic party started.  He was a scientist, and a teacher, and he traveled all over the country to both learn and teach. He got his Ph D from Yale, when my dad was a kid.

The latest conservation project that my dad has worked on invovled 330,000 acres in my home county, and was recently completed.  It’s been used as a model for other community land trust initiatives, because it was a grassroots campaign that ended up raising millions of dollars to conserve the forest and keep it open for traditional uses, etc.  Much of the land was originally owned by Yale, and Wagner, a timber company. (I don’t have the details this second, which is why I want to expand on it later.)  Now it’s conserved for generations to come.  Dave and I, today, went out to the land to see the new trails they’d blazed, and it was nice to see.

Also, today, though, my aunt sent my dad a book she’d come across at my grandmother’s or in her old stuff or something… the Yale Conservation Review (or something similar) that had an article of my grandfather’s published in it, way back when.  And my grandfather’s article was about the need to preserve land for future generations, traditional uses, educational purposes, etc. . . . which was just what my dad has worked for for the last 10 years.

And today, we were walking on this trail, that exists forever as a direct result of my dad’s work (and countless others, too) which upholds an ideal that was established through a university 40 years ago — by land and by student — and the next generation of S****** is burrowed up inside of me.  The next time we go to the lake, we’ll probably be parents.  It’s such a weird, full circle situation, that stretches from San Francisco to Connecticut, to Colorado (where my sister’s house is over a ridge from the lake where my grandfather used to take my dad fishing) to Maine, to this newly blazed trail on newly conserved land being tread upon by a newly pregnant granddaughter that was never known. 

My parents are planning on donating the construction of a trail, or maintenance, in order to name it after my grandfather.  I need to get the details — my mom is sending me a copy of the article — and write it all down, while i can, while I still have my father around to fill in the story.

How totally, totally circular, no?

(this story also made me weep, which seriously, i am NOT A PUSSY, and have been crying more in the last three days than ever in my life. I really think I’m pregnant.)