My husband's boots*
*that I never want to see again
Dear Kula Diaries,
I hope that all of you are having a beautiful start to your new year. In the Kula Diaries Vault, somebody had asked a question about how I met my husband. This story answers that question, but goes beyond it a little bit — into a story about a specific pair of boots that I don’t really like to see. Most people know me because of Kula or The Musical Mountaineers… but don’t necessarily know that I had a previous career with BNSF Railway as a Special Agent. While I wouldn’t trade Kula Cloth for anything (except maybe a really good cookie recipe)… I’m also really proud of my time working for the railroad and for the impact that I was able to make on railroad safety during that time. If you have any other questions about my time at the railroad, I’m happy to answer them — just pop the questions into the Vault!
Ok, let’s get to the story… choo choo!
I found my husband on the railroad tracks. Well, at least that’s what I tell people. It’s mostly true. In 2012, after being laid off from my dream job as a Park Ranger, I panicked. I wanted to do something in the ‘outdoor industry’, but as a laid-off Law Enforcement Ranger, I didn’t know where to start. I looked around at where I was, and thought that I was stuck in law enforcement. “It’s the only thing I really know how to do,” I told myself… completely ignoring the fact that I was teaching backpacking and writing a moderately popular hiking blog. People had always told me that you couldn’t make a living doing what you loved. And I believed them.
And so, on a whim, I applied for a job as a Railroad Police officer with BNSF Railway. I never saw myself as a ‘normal’ police officer — being a Park Ranger was a really specialized type of Law Enforcement that included a lot of resource protection. I spent many days on the Hood Canal protecting oysters and clams and salmon… and other critters that couldn’t protect themselves from the hands of poachers. When I was laid off from my job, I was devastated. I had been a National Park Service volunteer since the age of 12, and losing my job as a Park Ranger felt like the collapse of a dream. When I saw the Job Opening for a Special Agent with BNSF Railway, I was ecstatic — I didn’t know much about trains, but it seemed like a really unique and specialized segment of Law Enforcement. I applied… interviewed… got the job… and a few months later (after I passed an intense background check and psych testing)… I was hired.
My family has an unfortunate history with trains. I grew up knowing very little about my Uncle Tommy … except that he had been hit by a train when he was 18 years old. Later in life, I would learn that mental illness had contributed to his death. The tragic story of my dad coping with his brother’s fatality haunted me. Little did I know how full circle my life was about to become. As a Railroad Police officer, one of my primary duties was contacting trespassers on the railroad tracks and educating them about the dangers of being in the vicinity of trains and railroad tracks and equipment. Railroad property is private — so even in areas where the tracks ‘seem’ accessible… it’s actually Criminal Trespassing to wander around on the tracks. And, for good reason — trains are horribly dangerous, and it is absolutely not worth it to hang out on railroad tracks for any reason. Most people think that they will hear a train coming, but as somebody who served as a railroad police officer for 5.5 years, I am here to personally tell you that it is not always easy to hear a train coming. I have witnessed horrific tragedies that could have been so easily avoided by simply deciding to take a photo somewhere else. During the time that I was a Special Agent for BNSF Railway, I personally handled 17 railroad-related fatalities… and I was one of only 7 officers who were responsible for patrolling the Seattle area.
Most of my time at the railroad was really great. There are many incredible moments in my job as a BNSF Special Agent that I’ve never shared publicly — like the time when I actually pulled a woman off the tracks from in front of a oncoming train in downtown Seattle (she didn’t see it coming)… and the time when I found a woman standing on the tracks who had decided to take her own life… and was able to stop trains and coax her to safety… and the time I got a small boy off the train tracks just before an Amtrak sped past at 79 mph. Those moments made the job worth it for me — I knew that the impact that I was making really did matter, because I could see it. I carried ‘Junior Special Agent’ stickers in my front pocket and gave them out to everybody that I talked to — I wanted them to have a good experience with me, so that they would feel like our interaction had been positive. I hope that some of those folks still remember our conversations and that they’ve led safer lives because of them.
I had been working for the railroad for about a year or more, when I walked into a railyard office in Everett, WA to ask for directions to a railroad bridge. The railroad ‘roads’ are complicated, and it is even harder to find your way around a railyard when trains are blocking your path — so I headed into the Trainmaster office to ask for directions. The Trainmaster of a railyard is basically the supervisor who oversees the employees that run and build the trains. I walked into the office and introduced myself to the Trainmaster on duty… a Mr. Aaron Allison. “I’m looking for directions to Bridge 37,” I said. “Oh, it’s pretty complicated,” he said back in a concerned tone, “I probably should go with you and show you, or you could get lost.”
Aaron hopped into my police car and pointed the way to the bridge. As we were almost there, I remember thinking suspiciously to myself, “That was literally only two right turns….”. Aaron was kind and thoughtful and we chatted in the car as we drove back and forth from the bridge. When we made it back to the yard office, he didn’t seem very anxious to leave my vehicle. I later learned that he had not been scheduled to work that day — he had been called in on his day off to fill in for another employee, and was really annoyed that he was working… until I showed up (his words, not mine). After our initial meeting, we occasionally exchanged friendly greetings, but I was not interested in dating somebody else from work. Eventually, we ended up eating lunch together at work… and then Aaron, very nervously, asked me if I would be interested in watching a movie with him sometime. To be completely honest, I wasn’t initially interested — but he was so nice and kind that I decided to do it.
That was over 10 years ago.
In a lot of my relationships, there was a similar pattern: the ‘Honeymoon’ phase would lead to a phase of detachment… avoidance… and ultimately, the end of the relationship. Everything always seemed to be great for about 2 years, until we really had to learn how to live with each other. Suddenly, my hidden wounds would surface… and the person that had appeared so ‘perfect’ in the beginning began to take a different shape in my mind. As soon as the excitement was gone… so was I. It was a repeating and exhausting cycle that was based on needing something from outside of myself. I thought that another person was supposed to ‘complete’ me in some way, and when they couldn’t, I left. I hadn’t yet learned that looking for my own happiness in another person was not only unfair, but also, impossible.
After my divorce, moving into a relationship with Aaron didn’t have the same ‘Honeymoon’ phase feeling that I had been used to in previous relationships. I loved him, but the ‘euphoria’ that I had come to associate with ‘true love’ wasn’t as intense, perhaps because I was more guarded and slightly traumatized after a failed marriage. And while I was deeply in love with Aaron, we similarly fell into the predictable pattern: our curious conversations were reduced to logistical communication and our ability to connect with each other gradually slipped away. I spent more time with my face smooshed into my cell phone, because it was easier to avoid the discomfort of looking within myself. It was easier to blame somebody else for how I was feeling.
When I left my job as a Railroad Police officer in 2017 with a dream of starting a career in the ‘outdoor industry’, Aaron continued to work at the railroad — his solo income became the way that I was going to do ‘whatever it was’ that I was going to do. Never once did he doubt me, even when I had absolutely nothing to show for my big dreams of creating something from nothing. When I finally had the idea for Kula Cloth, he didn’t once flinch when I emptied every single penny… and then some negative pennies… from our bank account to make a square piece of fabric that was designed to absorb urine. On the nights when I sobbed myself to sleep because I thought I had made a huge mistake, he reassured me that I would figure it out.
Aaron had an atrocious schedule that required him to alternate working night shift and day shift… every two months. His scheduled shift was 12 hours long, but he was required to show up 30 minutes earlier… so from the time he left the house until the time he arrived back home, he was usually gone more than 14 hours per day. When he was working night shift, he’d leave our house at 4:50 PM and wouldn’t be home until after 7am the following morning. After I left my job, I threw my heart into creating something… because my ultimate goal was to retire Aaron from the railroad. I watched as the stress of his job and the lack of sleep had started to impact his health. Even though he didn’t like his job, every single day, he would drive to work without complaining… without ever telling me that I needed to be ‘more successful, more quickly’. In my daily meditations, I visualized Aaron leaving his job at the railroad. With my eyes closed, I could see and feel Aaron’s last day at work. I didn’t know how it could possibly happen, but I believed that it would.
A video we recorded together in 2018, about 8 months after I left my job.
As time progressed, the idea of leaving his job was still terrifying, because Aaron wasn’t convinced that Kula Cloth could sustain both of us. He also struggled, because he didn’t really know what he wanted to do. As the days and months turned to years, we continued in the same routine and our connection and communication dwindled even more. I felt like I was moving at the speed of light — trying to do everything that I could to launch Kula Cloth into a ‘real’ brand… and Aaron was living in a world where he was stuck on repeat. Every single day, he’d wake up at 3:30 PM … groggily take a shower… I’d make him a breakfast sandwich… and he’d drag his lunchbox to the front door with a mug of coffee. He wore a pair of big, clunky brown steel-toed boots to work, and they sat by our front door — a constant reminder to me that he would be leaving every single day, and that our time together was spent mostly over text message.
I’m not sure how it happened, but in the midst of our lowest moment together… Aaron decided that he might want to try making some stained glass again. He had worked on stained glass projects many years ago, and needed an outlet. For Christmas, I bought him a special kit that contained all of the equipment that he needed to start making stained glass. When he was working nights, he’d still stay up late on his weekends (so as not to throw off his sleep schedule), and he spent hours and hours working on creating glass pieces. Suddenly, it was like the universe had delivered our answer. On the darkest of days, the light shone through… and it glimmered and sparkled through the color of glass. We had no proof that Kula could support both of us, and I told Aaron that I didn’t need proof. When I had left my job five years prior, I didn’t have proof that I could do anything at all… and when I had believed it was possible, I had been shown the way. I knew that we had to step into the unknown — although this time, we were doing it together.
On May 31st of 2022, Aaron walked out of his job at the railroad for the very last time. I drove him to work at 4am in the morning that day so that I could also be the one to pick him up in the afternoon. As we left our house for the office, he slipped on his big, clunky boots for his last shift… ever. I dropped him off, and then 12 hours later, I returned to pick him up. In my heart, I had seen that moment play out about a trillion times before — and now, it was really happening. It hadn’t happened like I imagined it would. In my mind, I had been living in some fairytale world where Kula Cloth was a magical land of sparkles and glitter and I had started the company, and two days later retired my husband from his job. It did not happen in two days. It didn’t even happen in two years. And when it did happen, it was a bit messy and unpredictable… there was no fanfare or applause… we just walked out of his office, and that was it. He was done. We went out to a little restaurant that night and we ate french fries together.
When Aaron first left his job, he started his own stained glass business called Lake House Glass. Without knowing how it was going to be possible, I wanted him to have at least a year to try to figure out who he was, beyond his identity at the railroad. He immersed himself in his glass business, and was very quickly busy with more stained glass orders than he could handle. His job at the railroad had been very stressful, and it took him months to fully relax and re-orient himself to living a life where he could let go of the feeling of urgency. We had been so disconnected for so long, that we also had to work hard to re-establish the relationship that we had neglected. Slowly but surely, we found our way back — and this time, it wasn’t a relationship built on a fleeting hit of endorphins and a sense of needing ‘completion’ from another… but rather on a mutual trust and love that went far beyond anything that we had ever experienced. We might not have had the euphoric start to our relationship, but we entered a new phase that I had never experienced: a deep and genuine friendship, care and passion that was rooted in a love that had no opposite. Eventually, Aaron became more and more interested in the operational side of Kula, and he decided to take a break from glass and start working with me — not because he had to, but because this time, he really wanted to.
A few months ago, Aaron was going to use a weed eater on our property, so he put on his work clothes since he knew he’d get pretty dirty in the yard. I walked around the corner in our house and saw him standing in the entryway… lacing up his big, brown steel-toed boots. Instantly, I felt my entire body tense up. Lacing his boots had always been the very last thing he did every single day before leaving the house… before the countless days and nights that we would spend apart… before the distance crept in. “I can’t see you wearing those!”, I told Aaron, “It’s too upsetting.” A flood of memories and guilt and shame came rushing back to me. “I’m not going anywhere,” Aaron laughed reassuringly, “I’m just weed eating.” We stood at the door and hugged a hug that didn’t have to end quickly because Aaron had to rush out the door to be gone for the next 14 hours. We hugged a hug that felt like we both knew that the boots didn’t really matter anymore. It had taken a few years, and it wasn’t perfect, but we had done it. We were home now… together.
Last weekend, we finished our Lighthouse Quest. In July, at the strict command of a Coast Guard Captain, we had embarked upon a quest to visit 12 lighthouses in Washington State. On a blustery, cold day, we hiked the short distance to the Cape Disappointment Lighthouse and asked another park visitor if they wouldn’t mind taking a photo of us. My hair was blowing in the wind and we were laughing as we explained our seemingly irrational excitement at visiting this specific lighthouse. The man who was taking the photo held my phone for a few moments and then hesitated before he took the photo. “I don’t know what it is, but you just seem like a really good match for each other.” I could feel Aaron hug me a little tighter. Against all of the odds, more than a decade after we first met on the railroad tracks, no amount of honeymoon endorphins could fake the love we felt… because this was not that type of love. The man lifted my phone again to take the photo. I can’t be sure of this, but I’m almost positive that my smile was as bright as the beam of that lighthouse.
Friends, thank you so much for being here. The last few weeks of working with my husband, I’ve been reminded of just how much I have to be grateful for. At one point, it seemed like a distant and impossible dream that he would be home with me — and now, I don’t take it for granted that the lunchbox we pack everyday contains both of our lunches in it. Our life together is far from perfect, but I feel so appreciative that I get to share my days with a kind soul like Aaron. This past week, I was telling my mom about Aaron’s railroad boots, which is what inspired this story.
When you are in the midst of wanting something different than where you are, it’s very easy to focus on where you are not. On even the darkest days, I would try to set aside time to visualize Aaron’s last day at the railroad — when it felt like the most distant and improbable and unrealistic goal, I still believed that it would happen. As I’ve progressed on this wild and unpredictable journey with Kula Cloth, I’ve learned that, indeed, believing that something is possible is what matters. You don’t need to know how — you just need to start by inviting the possibility into your heart, and then seeing what happens.
I’m sending so much love to all of you — however and wherever you are right now. May your day be filled with joy, ease and peace.
Ok, I wasn't expecting to get teary reading this, but I did! The good kind of tears though :). Thanks for sharing this story.
Love your stories! You really put your heart and soul into it. Warms my heart to know your back story.