The Field

One of my friends said one time, "I love how when you refer to 'the field' you actually mean a field."  This is what it looks like, or can look like, in Wilderness Therapy.  This is after a torrential downpour came through.  The red dirt floor of the shelter, where we were running therapy sessions, turned into a swamp.  Red muddy lanes of ditches filled the long road.  Our dog's tail soaked up the mud and...  you can imagine what came next.

And can the desert ever look as fresh as it does after a rain storm?

I came across this passage, in a book by John Updike, that I love, S.  The forward contains a passage from Nathanial Hawthorne's The Scarlett Letter, which describes the main character, Hester Prynne.  It's the intro, which I think relates to the way the girls out here come out of the wilderness:

"She was lady-like, too, after the manner of the feminine gentility of those days; characterized by a certain state and dignity, rather than by the delicate, evanescent, and indescribable grace, which is now recognized as its indication.  And never had Hester Prynne appeared more lady-like, in the antique interpretation of the term, than as she issued from the prison.  Those who had before known her, and had expected to behold her dimmed and obscured by a disastrous cloud, were astonished, and even startled, to perceive how her beauty shone out, and made a halo of the misfortune and ignominy in which she was enveloped." (p. 1)

In some sense, that's what the girls look like when they leave,"characterized by a certain state and dignity" after, perhaps, being caught up in some sort of "disastrous storm".  Scarlett letters get burned in the fire.  That's what I love about the wilderness.  

Welcome to the field.

Omaha -> Denver -> SLC -> Bend

Erica and I high-fived a couple times in Idaho exclaiming, "Good Road Trip!"  We decided we could write a children's book about it (or at least, I did).

"You've taken us on quite the treacherous road here, Sarah." said Erica as we drove through the Rockies.  Fresh snow covered the mountains from Winter Storm Venus that had recently swept through.  Originally unfazed by driving through mountain passes, Erica seemed to change her mind once she realized the steep 6% grade of the roads and the weak engine of my little Ford Focus 2003.  Any kind of snow on the road would have required we close our eyes, throw caution to the wind, and hope for the best.

Colorado Route 70 W

We had stayed in Denver an extra night due to the snow, but were able to experience a bit of it when picking Erica up at the Denver airport.  My friend who we stayed with - also 6 months pregnant -owns an SUV with robust tires.  We plowed our own way through inches of fresh slush and snow on the highway, passing vehicles stranded on the shoulder, to meet Erica from her punctual flight.

Before I arrived in Denver, I had spent the day anxiously scouting the Nebraska landscape for signs of tornadoes.  My parents had suggested I check the weather report for the West, saying they heard there were "storms" out there.  To my horror, I discovered forecasters coloring Texas, Kansas, and Oklahoma as red danger zones packed with thunderstorm and tornado warnings.  Upbeat reporters were gawking over the baseball-size hail.  I clicked on another link that brought me to the snow storms heading into the Denver area.  The change of seasons was turning my blue sky into aggressive storm clouds.

Misadventure

Nebraska blessed me with a light rain, but Colorado ate me up by allowing a massive thunder cloud to threaten the entire landscape.  Once I realized I would be entering this bruise of a sky, I quickly tried to find an alternate route.  But it was to no use; I was surrounded.  I gripped my steering wheel, heart racing, and clicked on Sufjan's Avalanche album.  With a chorus of instruments and voices, I slowly entered into the brief pounding of rain and hail on my windshield.  Water flooded the road for a few tense minutes.  Sufjan was replaced by jazzy samba as I slowly avoided two vehicles who had hydroplaned in the lane next to me.  Hula girl fell from my dashboard and my windshield cracked somewhere along the way.

Old Friends

Colorado Springs

Cute cute cute Sloane

Reunited

We left Denver on the day that showed multiple suns on my weather ap: Monday.  Blue skies guided us the entire way through Colorado and Utah.  Big horned mountain goats ate grass along the mountains of Rt. 70, inches away from the road.  The mountains transformed into the canyon landscape of Western Colorado and Utah.  We played pop through the desert and Sufjan's Come on, feel the Illinoise! as we drove around one more mountain and into the city of the Great Salt Lake.  We were greeted with freshly baked bread, margaritas, and big fluffy pillows.

Hospitality

Somewhere in Idaho I glanced at a truck that had a warning sign, "Long Load" and for a second thought it said, "Long Road."  We drove by dinosaur backs, purple sky, and could trace all the rain storms in the surrounding sky.  We counted how many Fed Ex trucks with three trailers we saw (5, but probably about 8).  A Jack Rabbit bravely crossed the road slowly hopping his huge back feet.  Juniper trees and sage bushes began taking over the landscape.  Erica saw a hawk catch a mouse.  Farms turned to lavender fields.  Finally, I could see small shadows of the mountains of Bend in the distance: Bachelor, The Sisters, and Broken Top.

Idaho

Dinosaur Land (Oregon)

After ten final hours of driving, we pulled into Ten Barrel Brewery where Erica's husband was there to meet us.  Now my car is resting in the driveway of my new respite in Bend.  The marathon is over, let the summer begin.

Thanks to everyone who was a part of this adventure!  Special shout-outs to my tires, windshield wipers, Starbucks cold brew, and This American Life.

Minneapolis

The Spring Hallways of Minneapolis

As I drove through Wisconsin, I happened to be listening to two episodes of This American Life that took place in this part of the country: Not It! and Cops See It Differently, Part One.  I had forgotten that the show is actually based out of Chicago.  Not It! investigated the influx of Puerto Ricans curiously sent from their government to Chicago with a promise of drug treatment.  Another episode talked about Kankakee, IL being crowned the worst city of America back in the 90s and how David Letterman sent them two gifts of Gazebos as a joke to revive the city.  Citizens now have rallied to tear them down and turn them into a Rocking Chair to bestow on him for his retirement.

Cops See It Differently, Part One investigated relationships between cops of Milwaukee and their residents.  I listened to this after a Fresh Air episode where Terry interviews an NYPD cop who just published a book about being "On the Job".  Now, I just have to upload Cops See It Differently, Part Two for my drive to Omaha.

Growing up on the East Coast, I think sometimes there's this notion that nothing else exists beyond it except for tumble weeds.  Lots of tumble weeds.  What's in Iowa?  Who lives in Nebraska?  Aren't there only Lamas in Idaho?  I did my state report on New Mexico in elementary school because my best friend had just moved there after 4th grade.  I pictured her living in a desert amongst the cacti.

Then you drive out to these places and realize... there's people out here!

Minneapolis is strikingly green.  It's my fourth time visiting my friend here.  Every time I come, she's at some new phase in her life: boyfriend -> husband -> pregnancy &... baby!  I rearranged my route just so I could meet the little sun spot.  He's a cuddler, so it was worth it.  Sitting on the back porch, we could smell all the lilacs in bloom next door as heat lightning lit up the clouds above us.

Everything is quickly becoming drenched in summer.

Today I'll be passing through two new states: Iowa and Nebraska.  Check, check!

Chicago

Chicago Fog

My drive to Chicago began with Caribou (Thanks, Jeff!)...

...And a surprise phone call from a Bend friend sitting at the airport about to fly to his home city of Chicago.  He was making sure I had a place to stay.  I find it's so rare that I actually talk on the phone anymore.  It was such a nice way to begin a 7 hour drive.  Thanks, David!

I drove through the flatlands, or heartland, of America.  Hazy farmhouses and cornfields scattered the landscape for miles and miles and miles.  Shadowy slivers of tree branches stood through the misty cornfields.   Ohio and Indiana blended together, one picked up where the other left off.  Meanwhile, the turnpikes took a large percentage of my cash.  For such an expensive route of travel, most of it was a corridor of orange cones and construction.  Perhaps that money was supporting the dozens of service areas along the way.  I was happy for the Starbucks option, but not sure it was worth it. 

Chicago and Central Time snuck up on me.  A fog was sitting over the city and the lake.  It wasn't until I saw a thick shadow of a tall building that I knew I had arrived.  The city turned back time as I sat in traffic along Lake Shore Drive watching the runners along Lake Michigan, the green areas, and the beaches. 

I was told that the area I was staying in, Uptown, was a product of the roaring 20s, a victim of the Depression, and a low income housing area for a number of years - up until today.  Now there are some coffee shops popping up, which means the white people have rediscovered it.  Gentrification is on!

Chicago seems like a sprawling city that I need to get know better another time.  I woke up to sounds of kids on the playground and stepped outside to take a look at the back porches of the dozens of buildings around me.  It's warmer out this morning than it was in the fog that I arrived in.  Catching up with an old friend (Thanks, Ben!) and enjoying the hospitality of my friend's sister (Thanks, Laura!) made this stop quite delightful. 

On to Minneapolis!

PA & My Crippled Friend

Hey, PA.

Driving through the rolling green hills of Pennsylvania, the time went rather quickly.  In no time (well, 6 hours) I could see the steel of the Pittsburgh buildings.  The road to Pittsburgh was filled with a variety of Speed Limit signs: 55 mph, 65 mph - 70 mph at one point.  There was one point where I drove by a hiding cop with his speed gun (?) out, pointing it at traffic.

NO!

From my rearview mirror, I saw his scaly white car crawl out of his watering hole.  Like an alligator he slithered up the highway until he was behind the car trailing me.  He put his lights on.  The car behind me pulled over and gave into the predator.  Captured.

WHEWF.

As I drove across the state, I could feel the scrunched up brows of the East Coast slowly unraveling into a wide-eyed smile.  The quickened pace of New York and Boston transformed into a laid back stroll along the Pittsburgh streets.  Pirates fans were headed across the yellow bridge to the stadium as I popped out of the parking garage, feeling overheated in my jean jacket.  As I walked with my backpack, pocketbook, and side bag, I was also putting my hair up at the same time while checking directions on my phone.  The humidity was soaking up the hair on my neck.

I made it to my friend, who I've known for almost 20 years.  That first year of summer camp she was staying in the tent next to my cabin.  Layers and layers of life and memories later, here she is opening a new chapter of her life in downtown Pittsburgh.  She's a little crippled at the moment, hopping around the city in crutches due to a stress fraction in her heel from a marathon relay.  Not someone known to ever use a crutch, it's quite the spectacle.

And now, the moment I've been waiting for... the road to Chicago!  It's time to play all of the versions of Sufjan's Chicago songs.  I'm a little obsessed with Sufjan these days... but it's only appropriate.

You came to take us
All things go, all things go
To recreate us
All things grow, all things grow
We had our mindset
All things know, all things know
You had to find it
All things go, all things go

Packed Up, Packed Out

The Road Ahead

Everything is packed in boxes again, for the 10th time since 2010.  I've moved twice a year, in and out from one place to the next.  Some places were for necessity, others for change in scenery.  My apartment after college, where I stayed for 2 1/2 years, has been my longest place of residence for the past 12 years.  I'm looking forward to the day when I break that record.

A diverse variety of bird callings woke me up this morning.  Yesterday, when I pulled into the long dirt driveway of my childhood home, my cat bounced over to greet me.  The woods around me shimmered green and yellow with shadows of long, tall trees.  The crunchy sound of an animal stepping through the forest startled me.  I stopped for a moment to look and listen carefully.  Wondering if there could be a bear strolling through the leaves and bushes, I picked up my squirming cat and brought her inside.  When I listened for the footsteps again, the sound seemed to have disappeared.  As I was bringing stuff into the house, I glanced over at the front yard to see a deer walking around.  I pulled opened the sliding glass doors in the house to let in the warm breeze and finally sat down to have a glass of water.

This is the house I lived in for 15 years of my life, 17 years on the same piece of New Jersey property.  I've been a part of building it - walking over the beams and helping paint the walls as a three year old.  Sitting at my kitchen table, I read an article about Sufjan Stevens in Uncut magazine.  It had been sitting on my shelf in my room since March, but I hadn't had time to even think about it.  I love this quote:

"You have to cast out your demons and rebel against your traditions, but you always have to crawl back to the homeland."

Crawling is how I would describe my return journey here, after a intensely busy and fast-paced semester.  The homeland tastes sweeter after journeying around on the other side - the moving, the boxes, the up and down stairs, and feeling displaced.  I feel relieved of the world when I'm here.

What a gift the present can be.  

Now it's onward through 6 hours of Pennsylvania.  68 degrees and partly cloudy.  No snow.  Concrete highways.  Hope to see some lovely, rolling, green hills.

Goodbye home, see you in the Fall.