June-Pearl

We hadn’t spoken in 4 months. When I got word his grandmother died a few weeks ago it cracked the door just enough to cast a little light into the darkness of our connection. A few days ago he sent me a Snapchat of his 2 new baby goats and told me he had two more the day before that. I looked down at Moby, our Chocolate Lab, and said, “your dad has already moved on and has 4 new kids”.

In 2020 my partner of 2 years, Edgar, and I decided to sell the house we’d lived in for 18 months, and move from Albuquerque, NM to his family’s ranch in northeastern New Mexico to build an off-grid shipping container home. It seemed like the right thing to do, the world was ending. The 1400-acre cattle ranch was already inhabited by his 91-year-old Grandma- Ilene and his 60-year-old Uncle- Roberto. To give ourselves some space we bought a 6’ wide by 25’ long trailer to add to the existing camp of slowly deteriorating trailers behind the house. It was a typical ranch with more cars than people more stuff than storage space, countless feral cats, and constant wind gusts creating dirt devils and a unique concert of squeaks, creaks, clanging, and wind chimes. I’d sometimes visualize this once valuable junk left out to rot blowing away one atom at a time like grains of sand with each desert wind that blew by.
The first few weeks were blissful. We had escaped the big city of small-buquerque. We would wake up every day look at each other and exclaim with so much joy “We live here!” The day the shipping container arrived felt like Christmas. I was running around with multiple cameras to document the whole thing. Very exciting times. My favorite moment of that day was when Uncle Roberto brought Grandma over to see the Shipping container on his 4-wheeler. Grandma was a tough but tiny countrywoman whose shriveling height was well under 5 feet and weighed barely 90 lbs. She looked like an elf sitting behind her son who was over 6 feet tall, 250 lbs. As they approached, I realized she was sitting side-saddle on the ATV, and sandwiched between her and Uncle Roberto was Sammie the 12-year-old Australian Shephard. That mental snapshot will never fade. Things were so happy then.

How it all went so wrong, I’m still not sure. It was a slow boil. Thinking back, it started before we even moved out to the ranch. Sure we had issues, but so do all couples, right? Being stonewalled and having your partner completely close off just meant I should try harder, right? It was not time to give up….we had built something, right? We met at yoga, he must be an enlightened guy under all that repressed anger. This was just a phase we had to get through, right? Maybe it was his job that made him irritable and everything should be fine now that he quit.

For the record, it was his idea to move to the ranch. Sure I was the one interested in off-grid building. I also had a healthy sense of my knowledge and capabilities. Every time I tried to have a conversation about how we would accomplish this huge feat of building off-grid I was met with “I know what I’m doing…..It will be fine……we will have lots of help…..Don’t worry”.
When I attended the Earthship academy in 2019 my big takeaway was a phrase one of the instructors slipped out in a lecture. “Move to Taos, build a house, lose a spouse.” I was hopeful (since we weren’t moving to Taos) but knew this endeavor would make or break us.

When we got to the ranch in November of 2020 I was pumped to get started right away before the weather changed. I felt 6 months in an RV would be pushing our limits and expressed this deadline well before we left Albuquerque. We were on the same page then. But once out at the ranch, he said no, we are not starting the build till March- five months away. I love working in the cold in winter. I do not do well in the heat of summer and I felt now was the perfect time to start so we could work inside all winter. This was not up for discussion. The master had decided and I had no further agency to change his mind. I tried to stay positive. I did everything else to get us ready. I read, researched, planned, prepared, and began purchasing materials. Every few days I asked him if he would sit and talk with me about the project. I just wanted a sounding board to bounce ideas off of and a second opinion before I bought something. Every time he would tell me no. I do not want to help. I do not want to research. I do not want to talk to you about the building project. He would help everyone else with anything they asked of him. He would drive 1-4 hours to different towns to shop every other day for I don’t even know what. He even fessed up that his whole kundalini sadhana practice was a way to avoid me. He’d go to bed at 7 pm every night so he could get up every morning at 3 am for a 2-hour practice that he did not even engage with to avoid talking to me.

Eventually, he became obsessed with getting goats. Goats are great….I wanted goats too, but let’s not put the goat before the house, right? Couldn’t we please just finish the house before getting animals that we will need to build a shelter for? Animals that will tie us down. At least, for now, we could travel when we wanted to. This was also not up for any kind of discussion. I valued his opinion and wanted him to be part of the decision-making process of the future we were building. I wished he felt the same. One day he was going to pick up his goats and I was either going with him or once again left behind in the dust and stench of his diesel truck to deal with cooking and cleaning for his family alone while dwelling on the ever-fading dream of our hopeful future together.

Looking back, I see the carrot he dangled before me.  He knew this was something I wanted to do.  He knew we were having problems and I was thinking of leaving him before we moved to the ranch.  He knew he could use this dream to isolate me even further and continue the cycle of abuse.  He knew he could stonewall me but walk around grandma’s house laughing and smiling like everything was kosher.   He acted as though he was the greatest guy on earth here to take care of grandma and I was just a whiney little nag who couldn’t handle country living.  I can handle a lot, believe me.  

For 5 months we lived in a camping trailer with no running water which meant we did not use the toilet or shower even though it had a very nice- albeit small- bathroom. We did not cook in the RV either because it was too much of a hassle without running water to clean up. With the bed popped out the seams of the trailer pulled apart and left gaping cracks that allowed cold air to blow in all winter so the heating efforts were practically null and void. We had to sleep under so many heavy blankets I would throw my shoulder out rolling over in bed. We lived in the high planes and frequently had 50+ mile hour winds all night long fall, winter and spring. These winds slammed into our trailer like a giant’s hand punching our walls with brass knuckles. When the wind caught the vent in the kitchen it sounded like that same giant was playing a kazoo in our trailer.

We had to go into the house for everything. We went into the house as soon as we woke up for warmth. We cooked and ate every meal with Grandma and his uncle. We used the bathroom and shower in the house. Our relationship was suddenly a communal living situation. We had no privacy as a couple and certainly none as individuals. There was not an inch of space in that house that was not taken up by a knickknack, used tin spice container, vintage medicine bottle, painted rock, or just some junk put on display because no one had the heart to throw it out. There was not a warm space for yoga that grandma could not see me and watch me and make comments about my flexibility which she did. There was not a quiet corner I could make a desk or art space. Every spare room was filled to the brink with stuff, including some of ours since we’d moved from a 3 bedroom house to a camping trailer. I never complained.

I did not go into this blindly. I was thinking it through. Before we moved out there, we were meditating together in a sacred tea ceremony a ritual that kept us feeling connected. We would express feelings that came up after the tea meditation. I told him how excited I was to move out there. I told him that I was fully invested and would take care of grandma when the time came that she needed help. I just asked for one thing. I asked that we be conscious of how this move might affect our relationship. I knew ahead of time that this more than likely would put a strain on our relationship and I wanted to head it off by asking would he please have one meal or even just coffee one time per week with me alone. It wasn’t a big ask and it felt feasible. He had a sly look in his eye at the time that I mistook for consideration as he hugged me with assurance. Instead, I gave him surefire ammo. One more vulnerability he could twist his knife into later. Once at the ranch he would tell me I was selfish for even bringing this up. He said Grandma needed him and he couldn’t leave her. At this time grandma was fully functional and independent. She had been living out there just fine without us, we did not move there to take care of her and she still had Uncle Roberto to keep her company if we didn’t join her for dinner. Yet he refused.

I never thought I could end up in an emotionally abusive relationship. I failed to see that it even was abusive till I left. I just knew I was a people pleaser and as usual, did whatever I could to keep the peace. Of course, I decided to support his decision to get goats even if I thought it was a bad idea at this time. This was what my partner wanted and I respected that. Everything would be fine I reassured myself. We drove 4 hours through freezing weather, extreme wind, and brief stretches of sleet and snow in early march to pick up the goats near Alamosa Colorado.

We were greeted by the ranch owner’s pregnant belly partially exposed as the clothing attempting to cover her belly had reached its full potential weeks ago. She waddled us over to the pregnant goat named Sonora and helped us get her up on Edgars Chevy truck bed and into the makeshift pallet crate my partner had devoted the past few days to building. While he fastened the crate shut, she waddled me over to the house and invited me in, I still wasn’t sure why until we found her daughters playing with 2 baby goats on the living room floor. One of the goats stood up and peed on the carpet. The expectant mama casually said ‘good thing I planned for that.’ Still not sure what that meant. These babies were ours too I surmised when she picked one up and handed it to me to carry. Edgar barely spoke to me the whole drive there, I had no idea we were getting baby goats too. I thought it was just the one pregnant goat we were buying. The babies were very friendly and wanted to be touched held and loved. I immediately fell in love with them and Sonora and my mood was lightened a little on the way home. I wanted to name the brown one Sacagawea I announced.

We brought them inside when we got home and let Grandma play with them and hold them on her lap. She loved it. It turned out to be a happy day. Maybe things would improve.
Over the next few months, there were good times, the
re were bad times and there were really really bad times. I had already been crying after one more failed attempt to try to connect and communicate with my partner on the morning of June 28th when I got the call my brother had taken his life. I told Edgar I could not handle any more sadness and since he refused to communicate, compromise or respect any of the ideas, research, knowledge, or even specific materials I bought for the project, I told him to just finish the house on his own however he wanted to. At this point, I’d given up on my fantasy that this would be an award-winning tiny home when we were done and I just wanted to finish it. I didn’t want to fight anymore. He insisted he knew what to do and how to do it and wasn’t going to follow my plan anyways. We were only 10 percent finished 7 months into the project.
Fast forward to the last straw. It’s now November. My friend, Eli, had been staying with us on the ranch and it had been helpful as she got to see some of the nasty behavior he usually reserved just for me. This helped me put things into perspective and stop living in denial.

I had become depressed. I felt like a shell of the being I was before I met him 3 years ago. That was the happiest time of my life, the time just before I met him. I truly wanted a partner then, I finally felt ready for a very strong relationship. I wanted to grow a partnership with someone else who could see the magic all around us. I believed he was that person.
We’d been having issues with Sacagawea for a couple of months now. My friend Eli and I would take the goats for a sunset walk every day. One day Sacagawea just reared up and started bucking at us. Nothing seemed to stop her. She seemed determined to ram one of us every walk. We wanted to keep the goats natural and decided not to stop their horn growth, so she had almost a full-grown set of horns by now. It hurt when she got you. She became a pistol to walk with but we still tried. Her incidents were increasing. After bruising me several times, she rammed another visiting friend, this time a sneak attack from behind leaving a black and blue circle the size of my palm on her thigh. Then, on that fateful day at the end of November, she punctured a hole in Eli’s leg as Eli tried to put her back in the pen.

This concerned me. All I said was, “honey, what do you think we should do about Sacagawea now that she has injured 3 people and has become increasingly more aggressive.” After ignoring me for his football game for several minutes, I calmly repeated my question on a commercial break. He stood up, put his hands on his hips, and walked over to me in angry dad mode. Every conversation I tried to have with him in the past year since we’d moved to the ranch went something like this….

“We’re not going to do anything about it. You know, I haven’t had a chance to tell you yet, but these are wild animals and you and your friends just don’t know enough about that, you grew up in a city. I grew up around animals. You guys are causing her to be aggressive, she’s never been aggressive with me. You guys need to just stop walking the goats….”

I replied “Please do not be condescending. Eli has worked on goat farms and you grew up in Albuquerque. We’ve put down cats, an aggressive dog, and two roosters this year for undesirable behavior. I’m not saying we should put down our goat, but I wanted to discuss options because it’s a liability for us if she hurts someone. If you don’t respect me enough to have a conversation and compromise then this is not a relationship.”

“If you don’t like it, you can pack your shit and leave” he turned back to the TV and that was the end of the conversation. The master had spoken. No more words will be heard.
That was the moment I knew it was over. Our relationship had become like a tree in autumn every fight was a leaf falling. The last leaf had finally fallen.

One week before this incident he came into the RV to find me crying. He sat down and said I’m sorry I’m not the man you need me to be.

I said I don’t need you to be anything but kind and respectful. I told him stonewalling was cruel. I told him going to bed angry and unwilling to resolve things was cruel. I told him to please never tell me to leave in the heat of the moment argument if he didn’t mean it. I told him I could not accept that kind of behavior anymore and please to never do it again if he wanted me to be his partner. I had been telling him this for 2 years now.

He went back to his football game after our ‘talk’ about Sacagawea. I returned to my respective digital distraction device. We ignored each other, aside from one attempt I made to remind him about the convo we just had about how hurtful these actions were. He wouldn’t speak to me before going to bed and just laid down on top of my laptop because it was on his side when he came to bed. He turned the light out on me as I tried to gather my things to sleep somewhere else. In the morning he deliberately left Moby- the dog my family gave us and took Robo the dog his family gave us and went to meet his family for breakfast. He made no effort to smooth things over. He gave no fucks my feelings were hurt. It’s like he wanted to hurt me. It’s like he feeds off others’ pain.

I packed my shit and I left. That was 4 months ago. Today he reached out to tell me he had 4 more baby goats and now has a total of 8 kids. I’m still not sure how to tell Moby.