Dear Jeep Family,

Bought my first Jeep on a Friday in March. I know the precise date of that infamous Friday because I’m a teacher. On that day, I put a red bin of files and papers into my silver-new Jeep. Admin promised we’d return to the classroom. But I blinked.

And opened my eyes far, far away.

I miss home. I miss the classroom.

I still drive my Jeep, but I drive it in this godforsaken state–far, far away. Hasn’t been easy.

True story: on one sick-searing evening, when longing for home clawed skin raw, I stepped outside to catch my breath and lean upon my Jeep’s hood. Tucked, there, into the Jeep’s door handle sat a little duck in a sailor hat with hair like Walt Whitman. You know…the old poet…wrote song of myself…giant beard.

“Failing to fetch me at first, keep encouraged; Missing me one place, search another; I stop somewhere, waiting for you.“

Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass

I picked up the duck and for the first time in this strange, new state, I felt welcomed.

Since then I’ve discovered a sanctuary (in the Jeep, not the state). I discovered the Jeep community; a cohort, an “off-road society” of sorts. There’s even a secret signal: wave two-fingers. Jeep people get it.

So in honor of a duck, the Jeep, and bad poetry, I’m releasing my own birds and post-its to the world (aka #birdshit. I ain’t Walt Whitman).

Call it experiment. I’m curious. Who do my ducks end up with? Where do they go? If you capture one of these lucky ducks, comment below: state, make, model; name: optional; guess: home.

You can also hashtag-post-tweet my words. Or don’t. I’ll never know. I’m analog. “Wire-Cut” (IYKYK).

I do have one request. Hold no bird hostage. Release the ducks to other Jeep people. As for the #birdshit poetry, do what you may. For sport, you can see it preserved on the insta-gram. Here’s your formal invitation (password: 🐤🐤✌️).

With this family, my ducks will go home.

love,
a fellow rider