of modest mice and men.

I talked shit about a pretty sunset, but I blame it on the Tetons.

Modest Mouse was a big part of my college experience. If you’re a millennial of a certain age, they were probably a big part of your 20s as well. I learned about Modest Mouse from two guys in my high school Newspaper class—Zach Harris and James Bookert—in Georgetown, Texas. (the wildest thing about this is that James lived in Seattle, Washington for elementary and middle school and first heard of Modest Mouse on KNDD The End via a radio legend named Marco Collins, who later in life became one of my dearest friends. LIFE IS SO WILD AND BEAUTIFUL.)

College was a weird time for me, fueled by Christianity, Mountain Dew, clove cigarettes, and indie music. I went to college in Belton, Texas, just an hour north of Austin. I went to a religious college, but had a tight-knit group of friends we called the Mountain Men, who liked climbing, camping, and going to concerts. I remember driving to Oklahoma City to see Rufus Wainwright. Every year, (before it got exorbitantly expensive and extensive) college friends would all go to Austin City Limits Festival. In 2004, we stood in a crowd for an hour, waiting for Modest Mouse to play. This tall hipster in a tank-top and a headband, who smelled like sweat and drugs, elbowed his way past us and everyone else who had been waiting, screaming at everyone, “I KNOW MORE THAN JUST ‘FLOAT ON’ OKAY, SO I DESERVE TO BE UP HERE MORE THAN YOU.” I tried to murder him with my eyes, thinking about the Modest Mouse discography (burned copies of This Is a Long Drive for Someone with Nothing to Think About, The Lonesome Crowded West, and The Moon & Antarctica that I tried to draw the covers on the blank CDs with Sharpie that lived in my car’s CD book binder) and seethed. Later in life, I learned that no matter how much you love a band or an artist, there will always always be someone louder proclaiming they love them more.

I loved everything about that Modest Mouse show. In my teens and early 20s, the band felt like the embodiment of the gritty parts of life I knew were beautiful and present, but mostly too afraid to look directly at. Modest Mouse’s music was a call to a sand-blasted and salty life of an unknown, when I was living land-locked in Texas, the only world I’d ever really known.

In the last couple years of college, I had a best friend who was a boy who I had tried dating. It was always an on-again-off-again thing, but we felt so connected in music and art that I thought (especially at Bible college) that meant that it was destined to be an end-game relationship. I’m not a bailer, so I wasn’t going to bail on this relationship completely, but it was complicated. I was also in an on-again-off-again thing with his roommate, the more boisterous and adventurous leader of the group. Once I went to a wedding with the leader and when I showed up to the Mountain Men’s loft apartment in a nice black dress, the best friend of mine came over to me with his iPod and had me put on the headphones while he played this song:

…and pointed from his iPod and back to me, before suddenly, wordlessly walking away with his music in hand.

Everything was so complicated and messy, but at least those years had a great soundtrack. My best friend that I kissed every once in a while and I were taking a break from kissing. I don’t know if I was kissing anyone else these days, but one summer night in his loft at a get-together with lots of friends, the tension between us two was thicker than the muggy Texas air. I was mad at him for something; he was mad at me for something. I would’ve gone on like this for hours/weeks/years, but he asked if I would come downstairs with him to talk.

It wasn’t our first fight, it wasn’t our last fight, but it was the fight I remember most vividly. We stood by his car on the sidewalk and talked about the things the other person had done wrong. We asked questions like, “What are you doing?” and “Why are you flirting with them like that?” and weren’t mature then to answer with the reality of, “I have no fucking clue what I’m doing” and “Because I’m sexually and emotionally repressed and some hormone within me is attracted to some hormone they are exuding.”

Instead we talked in circles and said mean things to each other with few breaths in between. I was taking my turn talking when I saw my friend’s eyes get wide, looking at something behind me. He gasped and took me by the shoulders and turned me around. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing… six or seven dogs, just sauntering across the street.

My friend, who was just talking with a heated tone, gently said to me, “It’s a wild pack of family dogs.”

“Let’s pause this and go follow them,” I said.

The pack picked up their speed a bit to a slow gallop of sorts. We ran like kids after this wild pack of family dogs. I didn’t even know this was a real thing. Was this a real thing? Was this a vision?? We followed them down to the creek that was under the bridge. We watched from afar as they crossed the creek and ran towards the train tracks and out of sight. We stood in awe and silence for a long time, just looking back and forth at each other with our jaws dropped. It felt like a sign—a sign for what, though? We didn’t know. But at least a sign to stop fighting. So we did.

Evan and I don’t not fight. A mutual friend of mine once told our friend, “What I know about Rachel from her social media is that she really loves that one lake in Italy and she really loves her husband.” I mean, fair enough. But we argue just like any other couple who has been together for 15 years, almost always around expectations, insecurities, or unanswered bids.

On July 4, 2024, after a couple days of driving from Seattle, we landed back in Jackson in our brand new apartment. This was a big deal for our little family. I wanted to have hot dogs and cocktails and watch the fireworks from our new place. I don’t think I communicated these expectations, but nonetheless, not a single grocery store had hot dogs (or buns) in stock. Everyone was exhausted and grumpy from the move that we just low-key argued and passively watched the fireworks from here and passed out early.

Anyone who knows us or follows along here, knows that the following months were not easy in the slightest for our family. I tried to encourage Evan, by reminding him we’ve started over, scared, before. But things got harder and I wanted to bail. I am NOT a bailer, but, in September 2024, I wanted to bail.