the last fall…

I’m trying to be optimistic about how I’ll get through the fall season in Benezette. The little cabins are almost full for September and October is filling in fast. It’s such a victory when fall rolls around. It’s the moment the business finally turns a profit. It’s when I get to see returning guests, feel the crisp fall air, spend nights around a campfire listening to the elk calling for a mate. And I hate that I’ll be doing it without mine.

I heard my first bugle of the season recently and the evening low temperature is falling into the 40s. Soon the roads of Benezette will be full of seasonal camp visitors, cabin guests and the brave souls who come for day trips with the hopes of seeing herds of elk. I love fall anyway, but it’s also when I (and the business) get the chance to shine. To make the most of every guest stay. To provide tips and hear guest stories about the year since I’ve seen them last and their plans during their stay. I love hearing about their adventures and learning about new things to do in the area from their experiences.

But this year will be different. I can’t quite convince myself that it could be the last fall for all of those things. I can’t imagine how I’ll shine when everything feels so sullied. I’m great at putting on my game face when it matters. I know that I won’t not do that for my guests.

I now know that this isn’t just a quietly held fear – it’s a reality playing out on paper. Jeremy officially filed for divorce 62 days after he told me that’s what he wanted. His request is for an even split of our assets, and I’ve lost countless nights of sleep trying to imagine how that could possibly play out. And while I am profoundly devastated by the end of my marriage, the thought of losing my guests—of losing those connections—somehow hits the hardest.

I wonder how getting through this fall alone will feel in the cool, early morning mist, on my quiet camper front porch with the weight of the end of our life together, and the potential end of this entire dream, looming.