by Tracy Ross
People say the river was named this because the current is so strong it’s impossible to travel upstream. But when I was a little girl, I stood on the banks watching sockeye salmon struggling toward their ancient spawning grounds at Redfish Lake. Nine hundred miles from their starting point in the Pacific, they arrived redder than overripe tomatoes, their flesh already breaking apart.
In the early 1970s, thousands of fish returned here to lay their eggs and die. Then we put in dams along the Columbia and Snake rivers. By 1975, eight concrete dams stood like barriers between the Pacific Ocean and Redfish Lake; by 1995, the sockeye population had dwindled to zero. Many people took this as a sign that the world had become too corrupt for something as pure as native salmon to exist. I might have believed that, too, until the summer of 2007, when four Snake River sockeye made it home.
The ultimate irony began to buoy me—in that same year, I, too, had reversed the trip. I had managed what the river declared was impossible. Just like those salmon, I had fought my way upstream on my own impassable river. Now, it was time to return to my real life and see if I could carry out my own, new equilibrium.
Not long after my trip, I was schooning down the Snake River in a boat with Mayz Leonard and her family. It was evening, the air was warm, and blue-and-purple dragonflies darted in the pale, tall grasses. Giant whitefish rose to the surface of the water and swallowed clouds of gnats and mosquitoes. The mud on the river’s edge smelled like life—and a million years of granite and volcanoes. To our sides, the blocky walls of the Snake River Canyon rose skyward. And stretching between them, like a silver thread nearly five-hundred feet feet above the water, was the Perrine Bridge.
BASE jumpers now flock to the bridge to climb onto its steel railing and leap off over the water. Twenty-three years ago, I would have died jumping off the bridge. If I had been lucky, my body would have floated up against the lava-rock-cluttered embankment, so that everyone would know I was not some runaway but a girl with too much pain to continue living. But when BASE jumpers leap, they free-fall for several seconds and then pull a cord attached to a small parachute. Using risers to control their direction, they hover over the water and then land in the scraggly bushes at the river’s edge. We drove the boat until we were bobbing directly below the bridge and the jumpers. I found it beautiful to sit with Mayz’s family and watch the bodies floating toward us.
It looked effortless, the way they drifted on the wind currents rising off the river, but I knew that they’d taken measures to protect themselves from danger. With their parachutes, they could have the experience of flying and still know that they were in for a safe landing. As I watched them, I began to realize something about my own experience.
I put myself in the shoes of the BASE jumpers, who—unknown to them—were flying off the first great turning point of my life. I realized that although I had just done something life threatening in the Sawtooths, I’d been my own protector. And I thought that maybe, after all these years of looking for someone else to save me, I had finally become my own salvation.
Author’s Note
I’ve recounted the events in this book as I remember them; they are my memories, told from my point of view. Others may remember events differently, but I have tried to be honest, fair, and accurate on all counts.
Acknowledgments
This book never would have happened without the early support and encouragement of two outstanding editors: Jon Dorn, editor-in-chief of Backpacker magazine, and Peter Flax, editor-in-chief of Bicycling. Together, they took an incredible risk sending me to Idaho three times to report the magazine version of The Source of All Things. Their deep care and exquisite editing led to that story winning the National Magazine Award, and to my eventual meeting of both my agents, Todd Shuster and Lane Zachary, and my book editors, Dominick Anfuso and Leah Miller. I don’t have words to express the bottomless gratitude I feel for Lane and Todd, who did more work on my behalf than any person should ever have to, and bolstered my confidence over and over when I believed I couldn’t do this. Dominick and Leah provided encouragement during my darkest moments and helped to elevate my book from mere life story to work of art.
Melanie Stephens, Mayz Leonard, Meredith Mahoney, Amy Burtaine, Julia Stephens, and Linda Edmondson (sisters all, plus one mother-in-law), were inexhaustible champions, full of love and support, and constantly cajoled me to write more. I’m lucky to have such dynamic, generous friends. Max Regan helped me organize my thoughts and kept me interested in my own work by pointing out metaphors, connections, and meaning I didn’t know I was creating. Michelle Theall, Angela Hart, Rachel Odell, and Hannah Nordhaus all read the manuscript in its various stages and gave insightful (though sometimes hard-to-hear) feedback.
Special thanks to the magnificent Claire Dederer and Mike Kessler, who came in at the end of the process and helped immensely. Claire loved my book unabashedly (giving me a final jolt of confidence), even when it was still covered in blemishes. Mike, master storyteller and soldier of truth, pressed me to tell all, especially when it came to the final revelation that I had been drugged, lest I shortchange my readers.
I don’t have words to express my love and gratitude for my husband, Shawn, and my sons, Scout and Hatcher, who keep me grounded, focused on the good things, and laughing. I love you to the moon and back, and through the Earth, to China.
And finally, after all is said and done, I thank my father, who, from the second I started this search, promised complete and total honesty. His choice to do so has severely impacted his life and will mostly likely only continue to do so. I’m grateful to him, my mom, and my brother, for having the grace to let me tell this story.
Reading Group Guide
The Source of All Things
Tracy Ross
Tracy Ross confronts her stepfather while hiking in Redfish Lake, Idaho, with a tape recorder, demanding a confession. The crime: her own sexual abuse by the very man she had cared for and loved since she was a little girl. The Source of All Things is a memoir about Tracy’s struggle to understand the childhood abuse she suffered at the hands of her stepfather and how she finds salvation in the raw, natural world. This is a story of the resiliency of the human spirit, our capacity to love, and ultimately, our ability to forgive.
QUESTIONS AND TOPICS FOR DISCUSSION
The role of a “father figure” in Tracy’s life has always been missing: “How long have I been searching for a father? Nearly as long as I have breathed air” (page 7). How has this void affected Tracy’s life from the start?
Donnie comes into the Ross family with “the kind of light only a man in need of a new family can shine” (page 21). Everything, at first, is perfect. He loves nature, teaches Tracy about the grandeur and beauty of the wilderness, and is exactly what this slightly battered family needed. But soon, strange traits in his parenting style appear. The day before she turns seven, Tracy believes her birthday will not be complete without first losing a tooth. Donnie agrees to help and actually tries to take out her tooth with pliers. What, already, does this say about Donnie as a parent?
On a family outing to the Nat-Soo-Pah hot springs, Tracy learns that Donnie’s baby sister, Debbie, had drowned when she was three years old—a fact that he had always kept secret. How do you think Debbie’s early death affected Donnie and his treatment of Tracy? Is there a connection between Debbie’s death and his unnatural closeness with Tracy?
As many young girls develop, the changes they go through can often lead to low self-esteem and body-image issues. But for Tracy, in the mountains there was no judgment of how her newly developing body looked: “in the mountains, my size was matched only by my desire to fish, hunt, hike, and swim. It helped that there were no mirrors for me to judge myself in” (page 41). Discuss other reasons for Tracy’s early love of the forest and mountains. What are some of the attributes Tracy gives nature?
Right after the first instance of abuse, Tracy is overwhelmed with an onslaught of emotions. She writes, “I knew that my dad h
ad done something bad to me. But if my parents were so sure I’d been mistaken, I must have made myself believe them. Who was I to question the people who fed, clothed, and protected me from things like Bigfoot and monsters under my bed? If there was a God, to me, they were It. I had no business refuting their version of reality” (page 50). How can a child deal with this conflict in reality? How does this affect Tracy’s relationships with others throughout her life? How does the abuse impact both her marriages?
Tracy takes to writing poetry to help cope with her abuse. She begins to give these poems to her mother as a cry for help. How does her mother react to these poetic secret messages? Why does her mother respond the way she does?
Tracy recalls how she felt guilty about the abuse she suffered, writing, “I tortured myself with stories. I told myself my abuse couldn’t have been as bad as I remembered” (page 86). Why do you think victims react like this? Why might they defend the actions of their abusers?
A person describes Tracy’s situation years later: “If you’re a kid and you get hit by a car in a crosswalk, people visit you with balloons and well wishes. But if you’re a kid who gets hit in the crossroad of life by sexual molestation, nobody will even talk about it. They expect you to brush it under the carpet” (page 93). Do you agree with this statement? If so, why is this reaction to sexual abuse prevalent in the mainstream populace? Why is there a stigma attached to the victim?
After child services removes Tracy from her home, her mother tries to reason with Tracy about what Donnie had done: “What if it was the devil and not Dad who hurt you?” (page 103). Why do you think her mother tries to defend her obviously guilty husband?
Tracy’s mother leans heavily on her daughter for emotional support. “Seeing her like that—keening and wild-eyed, like a character out of a Greek tragedy—had the opposite effect on me from the one I believed she was going for. Her hysteria had drained my compassion and filled me with disgust, making me vow to become emotionless” (pages 112–113). Why did her mother’s response create this reaction in Tracy, and how does her vow to become emotionless impact the rest of her life? Does it?
After returning from a brief stay at her aunt’s home outside of Portland, Oregon, Tracy resumes living with her parents under a court order outlining rules for how Donnie must behave. What was your reaction to this turn of events? What were your feelings when you read the regulations set by the state to “protect” Tracy? Were you surprised that Tracy and her stepfather were allowed to live under the same roof?
One of the great conflicts Tracy experiences is the duality of her feelings for her dad. “I’d hated the way he harmed me, and never wanted to go through it again, but still I knew instinctively how badly my dad was struggling” (page 130). How does this make you feel? Can you understand Tracy’s separate and distinct emotions regarding Donnie?
After escaping to art school, Tracy discovers the restorative and healing power of art. “At Interlochen I found a world that was clean, and unblemished, and filled with people who were dedicated to a higher power. The power was art. And in its reflection, I saw myself” (page 149). What is this power Tracy discovers? How can the practice of art lead to a more healthy and fulfilling life? Is there an essential healing power in creativity?
Even when she is in a loving marriage, Tracy worries about starting a family: “I knew that if I had kids I would just screw them up.… Having babies and caring for them was for someone loving and stable. . . . That someone was not me” (pages 240–241). Through everything we have learned about Tracy, do we feel she is ready to become a fully functional and loving parent? Is anyone really prepared for children?
Tracy realizes that her adult life cannot continue until she faces her demons and her feelings of betrayal: “Dad had created the lie, but Mom and Chris let me carry it all. Never once did either of them ask me what had happened during all the years I’d been molested. In some ways, their refusal to ask was more painful to me than the actual abuse” (page 265). Do you think Tracy is right to be upset with her mother and brother? How has her relationship to them been damaged by the abuse?
Tracy finally confronts her stepfather at Redfish Lake. What were your feelings as you read Donnie’s confession? Do you believe that he understands the depth of the damage he did to Tracy? Is there some kind of penance for his crime? What was accomplished at Redfish Lake?
At the end of the book, Tracy is still unsure what kind of relationship she and Donnie will have in the future. Do you think they will be able to find common ground again? Is reconciliation possible? Will Tracy ever truly be free from her ghosts?
ENHANCE YOUR BOOK CLUB
Tracy’s life is bound by her love of the raw and natural wilderness. Her passion for the natural world is, at times, what saves her from the brink of madness. To experience another woman’s affection for nature, pick up Annie Dillard’s Pilgrim at Tinker Creek. Written in 1971, this fantastic book details Dillard’s spiritual experience with nature after she nearly died from pneumonia. This Pulitzer Prize–winning book is an essential bookend to The Source of All Things.
Tracy Ross is a contributing editor at Backpacker magazine, based in Boulder, Colorado. Visit www.backpacker.com and read some of the articles about exciting hikes throughout the country and specialized gear for any backpacker needs, along with featured editorials from in-the-field adventurers like Tracy Ross and others.
Memoirs like Tracy’s fit into a very interesting and helpful category called bibliotherapy—a specialized area of literature that acts not only as a confessional of one’s own experience but provides healing through the reading about the trials and tribulations of difficult experiences, such as child molestation. Check out sites like www.healingstory.org or www.silencespeaks.org to read other stories that act as a catalyst for healing.
A CONVERSATION WITH TRACY ROSS
What sort of feelings did you experience as you undertook this poignant survey into your past and your struggle?
This obviously was not an easy book to write, and I approached it with incredible trepidation. Yet as I wrote, I tried to view myself as a character, and like any character I write about, I tried to have compassion for myself and my story. I had to keep telling myself that the truth is what matters and that I wasn’t writing out of revenge or anger. There was no vendetta; I just wanted to share my unique story. I thought about other young girls who are experiencing the same thing but have no outlet, creative or otherwise, for their hurt, confusion, and anger. It helped that both of my parents were behind me; throughout the process they continually said, “This is your story. Tell it as you see fit.” That freed me to write from the heart without concern about their stories or their feelings. But I will say that once the writing was flowing, that was the easy part. Managing my own fear, doubt, worry, lack of confidence: that took the bulk of my energy.
Your style is lyrically blunt and rich with philosophical insights. What influences, as a writer, did you draw from in the creation of this emotive literary journey?
I draw inspiration from a wide range of writers, but this book benefitted most from four: Dave Eggers for his pacing and rule breaking; Julia Scheeres for her clear, approachable writing; Nick Flynn for his beauty and eloquence; and Mary Karr for her incredible ability to bring scenes and people to life. Of course there are dozens of other writers whose works float along the surface of my subconscious always—from Wallace Stegner to Joan Didion to Chris Cleave—but when I needed inspiration, or got stuck and needed a literary jumpstart, I turned to the first four I mentioned.
As a child you were drawn to the honest and clean world of the wilderness, a place that held “no mirrors” to you. This is the eventual place you hold court for your father. Why did you choose this setting?
I went back to Redfish Lake because it was both literally and metaphorically “the source of all things.” It was both the location where the abuse first started and the place where I first learned to love wilderness. As a writer I’m drawn to such intersections, wher
e beauty and tragedy collide, creating their own form of strange magic. I’m not religious but I find spiritual strength in wilderness. I knew in the Sawtooths that I would feel closer to whatever God is, and that he or it was watching over me as I asked my dad these terrible, painful questions.
The way you write about nature brings to mind the works of Annie Dillard and Louise Erdrich. Did these authors influence your writing? Do you feel a connection with these authors for their shared passion of not only the written word, but of the natural world?
As much as I respect Annie Dillard and Louise Erdrich, I don’t connect with them as much as I do some other writers. I don’t think of myself as a “nature writer” but more of an adventure writer or a writer who uses place as a background for powerful stories. My heroes are mostly men—men with heart and vulnerability. I’m thinking of Wallace Stegner and Cormac McCarthy, Jim Harrison and Tobias Wolff. I love these writers because their focus isn’t “place” or “nature,” and yet the natural world defines their books. Spiritually speaking, I have always loved the great outdoor poets, whom I can’t help but viewing as my spiritual mentors. When I need a break from prose, and need to hear the music of wilderness in writing, I’ll flip open Axe Handles by Gary Snyder, or The Mad Farmer Poems by Wendell Berry, and lose myself in their music. Harrison affects me the same way, as well as Mary Oliver, who is so good at putting the barest amount of words together for the greatest emotional affect.
