This past summer, I traveled with a friend to a festival in Mendocino where we had our first-ever legitimate festival vending experience. While, there, an older local woman came into my booth. Being a somewhat reclusive, solo, bad-ass, in-the-country hunterswoman, she was very taken by my selection of crystal bullets. we spoke for a while, and she told me that she had loads and loads of bullet shells at home, as she loves to hunt - and, notwithstanding, is one of the best and most accurate shooters in the county. She said that not a soul comes onto her property without knowing to be highly aware - or scared - or both.
She asked if I'd like for her to mail me a box of her spent bullet casings, and of course I said that I would. She bought an amethyst bullet, I gave her my address, and she left.
About a month later, a box came in the mail with no return address (except for the word BOONVILLE). I knew it was the casings from her, but in my busy swirl, I put the box in my craft room and forgot about it for a good 4+ weeks.
Finally, this weekend (in cleaning my craft room), I decided it was time to open the box. In doing so, I opened a trove of of true treasures. Not only did she send me piles of bullet casings, but she also sent me ancient rusty nails and keys, cool pieces of rock, and a fine collection of bone and teeth pieces.
I was so honored to receive such a thoughtful bundle from a far-away stranger; though I wish so very much I could send her a thank-you note in return, I will revel in the bittersweet beauty and mysterious magic of the anonymous return-label. Instead I must send my thanks on the wind, knowing that they will, at some point, arrive on her misty, winter doorstep, singing in the foggy coastal air that drips from her trees.