A Walk Through the Wilderness: adventure

Showing posts with label adventure. Show all posts

Sunday, September 9, 2018

Grace

Jefferson Park, Mt. Jefferson Wilderness

There's something about Cat Power. She's got a new song out, Wanderer, that I already just love. The Greatest used to echo the walls of our post-college rather empty apartment, during a time when we had cardboard boxes for side tables and no furniture. I easily romanticize it now - backyard fire pit and hammock is all you need, within walking distance to a coffee shop - even better. The room had to be empty in order to hold our thoughts and feelings -

and dance parties.

Now, listening to her lyrics, and actually reading what she's saying, I'm realizing that she is, in fact, a poet. Her voice is her instrument and I'm hearing what she was writing all along.

Once I wanted to be the greatest
No wind or waterfall could stall me
And then came the rush of the flood
Stars at night turned deep to dust

Sunrise from Aubrey Butte

It's been a summer of biking. I've been riding my bike in the early morning and was seeing the sunrise, but this has slowly shifted to the moonshine and stars. The other morning, the moon almost looked like an eclipse - a silhouette of a circle in the curve of a bright crescent. Sometimes the horizon looked like it was on fire, or actually was on fire - with the haze of the smoke. I dive down Mt. Washington drive and cruise past the sprinklers through a burst of cool moisture from the Deschutes River. I've been more in tune with the tilt of the earth and the changing of the seasons, when the night sky is emerging and the temperature is dropping.

Book Party on Orcas Island

It's been a summer of books. I've completed The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society, An American Marriage, The Testament of Gideon Mack, The Dive from Clausen's Pier, and am currently working on The Ensemble as well as Little Fires Everywhere. I have rediscovered the value of the library - having forgotten that it was there. Free books and movies? How could I have forgotten?! I have not read this much since The Babysitters Club and Nancy Drew. Here's a memorable quote:

“But home isn't where you land; home is where you launch. You can't pick your home any more than you can choose your family. In poker, you get five cards. Three of them you can swap out, but two are yours to keep: family and native land.” - Tayari Jones, An American Marriage

Puppy Headed to the Ocean

Me and Puppy at the Coast

Mt. Jefferson

Mt. Jefferson, Sunset, and Moonrise

Mountain Flowers

The Reality of Mosquitos

Flower Fields for Days

Spoiled by Feasts on Orcas Island

Just Both Needing Haircuts

Paddling with Puppy

The Madrona Tree on Orcas Island

Arriving at Waldo Lake

Night Sky Over Waldo Lake

Last Morning at Waldo Lake

An Evening Paddle at Crescent Lake

It's been a summer of adventures. Memorial Day weekend kicked off our summer with a backpacking trip to to the coast, followed by days of my parents visiting, a trip to the East Coast, reunion with camp friends (and the unsuccessful search for the tin), girls' trip backpacking through the Jefferson wilderness, weekends spent lake swimming and SUPping, celebration with friends on Orcas Island, and topping it off with camping at Waldo Lake. Now I can feel the heat leaving us and can't believe the leaves are starting to change. I'm starting my search for pumpkin-flavored items.

Me, Ander, and Mr. Buckley

It's been a summer of grace. Little moments of gratefulness have flooded this summer in the midst of changes, challenges and the usual curve balls that life tends to throw at you. There's a sweet spot between struggle and success that keeps you alive - in the sense of, you feel the moves and shakes of this world rather than caught in a hamster wheel of routine. This is growth. It doesn't happen all the time, but when you're in it, linger uncomfortably just a little - life can be full of too much numbing routine that lets us settle for too long.

Florence and the Machine came out with a new album. Her song Grace speaks to it.

But this is the only thing I've ever had any faith in
Grace, I know you carry us
Grace, and it was such a mess
Grace, I don't say it enough
Grace, you are so loved

May you continue to wander with grace. Now, bring on the Fall.

Tuesday, March 8, 2016

The Metolius

What I couldn't get over about the Metolius River is how big, how blue, how beautiful the water is. This "river" is a tributary, meaning that it flows into a larger river rather than the ocean. It's not uncommon out here to find rivers, lakes, and basins, with this gorgeous turquoise or blue color that makes them look so very fresh. It just springs out of the ground this powerful, mouth-watering, blue water. You just want to dive in and float along the rapids, even though they would probably swallow you up immediately. It's just so inviting. You want to drink it (and maybe you could).

From what I could tell on Wikipedia, meltwater is what produces this kind of tint - coming from the grinding of rocks underneath the glaciers. Apparently the cascades have some hefty glistening glaciers at the top, which have been shrinking in size over the past century. The rivers, streams, and springs depend on the snow melt of Spring. Walking through Shevlin Park, many of the little streams are dry river beds until the snow melt happens.

On our little hike up to the fish hatchery, we saw a couple of fly fisherman. This is actually the only kind of fishing allowed on the river. They only added to the rustic and beautiful feel of such a pristine spot. Can't wait to check out this trail in the summer when we can go for a little dip. Some spots are so clear and deep, begging to be jumped into.

Saturday, March 5, 2016

Road Trip

The title speaks to exactly what this was: lots and lots of road. So much road! So much road trip. I made the mistake of not counting the miles, but I would guess... over 4,317.

Driving across the country can be easily romanticized. I've crossed this country five times now, and can't say I would be excited to do it again: it is a YUGE country (as some might say).

I appreciate Joni Mitchell's take on these roads in Refuge of the Roads off of her Hejira album. Driving feels existential and ordinary. Lots and lots of highways taking you from forests to plains to deserts, through canyons and mountains and along seashores.

During this January road trip, I lived in fear of facing a snow storm in my two-wheel drive Ford Focus. With this in mind, we took a Southern route that dove from New Jersey down to New Orleans, through the Southwest, and up the California coast. We were lucky. We meandered through snow clouds of Arizona and New Mexico, the flurries swiftly scampering across the road occasionally. Cloudy mist surrounded us through Northern California and Mt. Shasta, with watery stripes across the pavement on rt. 97 up to Bend.

Refuge of the Roads

Joni Mitchell

I met a friend of spirit

A drunk with Sage's eyes

As I sat before his sanity

I was holding back from crying

He saw my complications

And he mirrored me back simplified

And we laughed how our perfection

Would always be denied

Heart and humor and humility

He said, "Will lighten up your heavy load"

And they send me then to the refuge of the roads

I fell in with some drifters

Cast upon a beach town

Winn Dixie cold cuts

And highway hand me downs

And I wound up fixing dinner

For them and Boston Jim

I well up with affection

Thinking back down the roads to then

The nets were overflowing

In the Gulf of Mexico

They were overflowing in the refuge of the roads

There was spring along the ditches

There were good times in the cities

Oh, radiant happiness

It was all so light and easy

'Til I started analyzing

And I brought on my old ways

A thunderhead of judgment was

Gathering in my gaze

And it made most people nervous

They just didn't want to know

What I was seeing in the refuge of the roads

I pulled off into a forest

Crickets clicking in the ferns

Like a wheel of fortune

I heard my fate turn, turn turn

And I went running down a white sand road

I was running like a white-assed deer

Running to lose the blues

To the innocence in here

These are the clouds of Michelangelo

Muscular with Gods and sun gold

Shine on your witness in the refuge in the roads

In a highway service station

Over the month of June

Was a photograph of the earth

Taken coming back from the moon

And you couldn't see a city

On that marbled bowling ball

Or a forest or a highway

Or me here least of all

You couldn't see these cold water restrooms

Or this baggage overload

Westbound and rolling taking refuge in the roads

Traveling has changed a bit since Joni or her musical contemporaries were exploring. A cross-country journey nowadays likely includes podcasts, audiobooks, Google Maps, and Air Bnbs - or at least, ours did. Fully technologized and less moments of silent wonderings and starings out the open windows of an air condition-less vehicle. Knowing the traffic and weather patterns make travel easier, or just give you more to worry about ("We have to get to Albuquerque before the snow does!"). The silence is still available though, and the open windows, and the existential questions. It's up to you. Go current or go old school. I personally like to get gas when we're around half a tank, especially when traveling through the desert. I'd also rather use the bathroom a million times than have to go desperately without a rest stop in sight. And every time we cross a time zone, it's important to make a noise as if you're going through a time warp ("Whoa whoa whoaaaaaa!!"). Sometimes we have long conversations, sometimes we don't. Don't forget to take photos.

Despite my reluctancy to drive cross-country again (ever) there are a few things I love about it:

The road. The road changes gradually. You pass through time zones but your body has naturally adjusted. There's no jet lag. Green leafy foliage are flooded to become marshlands which dry up to tumbleweeds and brush. The dirt turns to a red sandy mix. The land flattens. Palm trees begin to pop up, starting in Arizona until you find yourself at Palm Springs, then Venice Beach. These disappear along CA 1, replaced by pine trees, then redwoods, mixed with Tuscany-esque farmland beaming bright greens and yellows in the golden hour. Patches of snow and fog reappear, followed by ice covered lakes and snow-topped buttes, leading you in Oregon. This road is life; it is always changing it's form.

The music. Let's see... what did we listen to. The Tallest Man on Earth Dark Bird is Home with favorite song "Sagres" and "Dark Bird is Home."

Was I ever part of knowing with your hands in mind. Little screams into the wonder, and a wild set of rides. Come on... (Sagres)

Sylvan Esso Sylvan Esso. Oh Wonder Oh Wonder with favorite songs "Livewire," "Midnight Moon," & "Plans."

I've got plans to get to you, you know, don't you know? Going to make a paper plane and float to you. You know, don't you know? We'll be scraping the sky with our fingertips, screaming "This is the life, we were born for this" (Plans)

I drove us from the mountains of Asheville to lightly trafficked Atlanta listening straight through to Oh Wonder and Monica Heldal Boy from the North while Jordan slept, as he was fighting a strange virus most of the trip. The state of his health also signaled "Doctor" from The Bird and the Bee Recreational Love.

Doctor, Doctor, Doctor, Doctor... Give me pills, or give me love...

Another favorite from this album was "Los Angeles" - played very often during our drive into, around and through the city.

(LA, la la la la la) Stop asking me where I come from (Living in LA, la la la la la) Tell me how to love someone (Living in LA, la la la la la) Stop asking me where I come from (Living in LA, la la la la la) I love you more than anyone

What else. Those were the favorites, mixed with a few other things I'm sure (coughAdelecough).

The podcasts & audiobooks. We listened to typical NPR-listener-favorites of our generation. A combo of This American Life, Radio Lab, Fresh Air, The Moth, Serial (!!!), Hidden Brain, and On Being. I haven't looked at these podcasts since returning but am now just reminded that I never finished Serial... The Moth was particularly helpful once the sun set and we had been driving over 7 hours. We listened to stories through the winding dark wet/snowy roads from Flagstaff down through Sedona and into Phoenix. The elevation rise and fall was dramatic, as were the tales of a woman and her boyfriend and his ex-girlfriend of significant years who he still was friends with.

As for audiobooks, we listened to B.J. Novak's collection of contemporary short stories One More Thing through Texas and into Arizona. These can be tricky to follow, as they can be short and when you're listening you may not realize one has ended and another has begun. They are clever, witty, and ironic. Stories connect with each other. Actually, really I listened to them and watched the widening landscape of West Texas while Jordan played I-pad games.

Please listen to Jim Gaffigan's Food: A Love Story if you're into laughing out loud. It was particularly appropriate for us since he goes through all the food across the US. He has chapters devoted to New Orleans, BBQ, Doughnuts, Green Chile... many of the items we had come across ourselves. It was relevant, hilarious, and important to listen to in the voice of the man himself. We're still quoting and cracking up about some of his lines. I remember laughing out loud at this one:

Being southern means liking grits. Grits are not for everyone. It's almost as if someone was like, "If you like the taste of biscuits and gravy, but without the taste of biscuits and gravy, then you'll love our man-made wet sand."

He talks about his theory that New Mexicans are actually hoarding all the green chile. I wish I could find quotes from his piece on the cheap prices of doughnuts ("I guess I'll get 12 doughnuts for a nickel..."). Other lines include:

If aliens studied Earth, they would come to the conclusion that the United States is somehow consuming food on behalf of other countries.

Has peeling an orange ever really been worth it?

The culture. The US is a big country. It is geologically, ideologically, and beautifully diverse. I am always glad to be reminded of this as I drive across the country. The strip malls and gas stations look the same, but then you have these pockets so drastically distinct from elsewhere. You find out what is similar and what is different. New Orleans. New York City. Boston. Big Sur. Asheville. The Rockies. Utah in general. When it comes to politics, you are reminded of how difficult it must be to appeal to the majority of these people - how do you even do it? And why are there only two political parties?

I am also always reminded of the incredibly diverse natural beauty. Our drive along the California coastline and inwards to the wine regions made me so excited to return to get to know it better (the pinots, the sauvs, and the rest). Big Sur lived up to its reputation as one of the gorgeous spots on the coastline. It reminded me of Scotland - as anything with a rocky shore, green hills, and overcast weather does. But it wasn't just CA 1 - the road into New Orleans was fascinating. We drove across extensive bridges taking us over marshland and down into the city. Then there was the city itself. We stayed in a pocket of the Garden District where the buildings fit my image of what the beautiful deep South would look like: elegant porches with high ceilings, ivy tying up the beams, and colorful window shutters lining the long French windows and doors. We walked around at night in an air that I can only describe as deep Southern air; a touch of moisture, rich with flowery scent, and draped in moonlight.

Then there was the food (see Jim Gaffigan's chapter on New Orleans, which he describes as the best in the US). I'm typically sketched out by roadside food. However, we stopped a couple times in Texas for their BBQ and it was so smoky delicious - I've just never experienced that before. It was fun to watch the menus change. Once in Austin, we were starting to see breakfast tacos on the menu, only to be reinforced in New Mexico. New Orleans offered this incredible fusion of french, spanish, and creole. I was reminded of South America. We had ceviche, jerk chicken, and delicious sauvignon blanc. They served kombucha at the cafe around the corner, along with breakfast bowls with poached eggs, kale, and avocado. All my favorite things.

the places we went

blairstown, nj / asheville, nc / atlanta, ga / new orleans, la / austin, tx / albuquerque, nm / surprise, az / los angeles, ca / carmel-by-the-sea, ca / redding, ca / bend, or

All i'll say for highlights is: LA on the weekend is lovely. The traffic is quieter. I find it amazing that such a city has a beautiful beach right there - NYC cannot make this claim. LA does feel glamorous, and I'd like to go back. My picture of Atlanta was redeemed by staying with my friend in her beautifully revitalized log cabin. Atlanta has cozy neighborhoods and parks; you can live next to your friends. And it's warmer in the Winter. The Southwest does not disappoint in the Winter: warm, dry, and just oh-so-sunny. The waves at Carmel, CA were the largest I've ever seen. Can't wait to return to the wine country. Finally driving through Northern CA and into Oregon was just awesome. Oh and so glad to finally see Asheville. I can see why people want to live there: the mountains, the beer, the book store.

Despite all these wonderful places, we're happy to be back in Bend, Oregon - where the natural beauty and beer flow abundantly. Happy to be in our new home.