The summer is gone

It's November. Practically December. The summer has come and gone. The aspen leaves around my quaint little home have turned and fallen. Months marked by learning a new place. I'm not actually sure where it went but so it has. I've come to realize that keeping up on a blog for me is not easy but I do know that it is still there. Posts from the last years travels, and experiences. From meeting people, living and moving on. Such is life. Today I opened one of my old journals. I've affectionately began referring to it as my adventure book. Those who know me best, know that I love lists. They seem to make order out of chaos. Looking at the few pages that I scribbled in, I found a list. What joy! A life list of sorts and all quite large projects if I do say so myself. On that list- become a yoga instructor, get my masters degree. check, check. Four more items remained unchecked but that is okay, I'm still working on it.  Here I thought may be a good place and time to share some moments that have unraveled over the last months. Reader enjoy.

Time on the Road

Somewhere near the North Rim, Grand Canyon, Arizona

(above) Cactus on the road to the Green River in Arizona. (Below) Canyons with the Henry Moutains in the foreground, Utah

Cedar Mesa at sunset, Utah

Cabin Life in Ketchum

Structured life has begun once again. I found my way to Idaho a little more than four months ago. Prior to that I lived out of a truck. And while the truck took me to many adventures, most of which revolved around the desert south west, my heart yearned to settle. I wanted to garden, I wanted to can food, I wanted to wake up in a bed.

Life took me here. A new job turned into much more. It has turned into a new chapter in life. With this chapter came a new pup named Lily, a perfect quaint little cabin in the woods and boundless opportunities to explore, adventure, visit beautifully amazing hot springs and reunite with true nature. So this is my life. Today I finally rode my bike to work only to realize that the fixed gear commuter that carried me mile after mile in flat Corvallis, Oregon is a real monster to try to ride up hill in a hellish headwind. I suppose one of two things will happen. Either I will get in pretty darn good fixed gear shape real fast or the more likely outcome: the Oregon commuter will be swapped for something a little more hill friendly.  

Camas Prairie

The more time I  spend in Idaho the more amazed I am. We have resumed our weekend warrior schedule, making the ambitious exploration jaunts on the weekends. In grad school this killed me; Mondays left me longing for sleep. Here it is different. My backyard still holds so many undiscovered treasures that the weekend warrior missions are not the previous 3+ hours of driving just to get there. AND I am no longer writing a thesis. That helps too.

 

 This past weekend we made our way to the Camas Prairie. To the passing eye it looks nothing more than a sagebrush flatland. Passerby you are deceived! This place is fantastic. We explored on foot for hours and discovered deep blackrock canyons, cavernous lava tubes and even came across an old junkyard. One man's trash is another's treasure. When you take the time to set out on foot it is impressive what you may find...

Rusted out

 A snowy hike in the foothills turned up this impressive rusting out relic of mining endeavors

Oh Idaho

 

end of the season chanterelles

The end of the season. Chanterelles. Or maybe just the beginning.  The jaunt to Oregon was bittersweet. A final foray for the season and a mission to collect belongings out of the storage unit. Wrapping up life in a place you call home is never easy but I think the continual downpour might have made it just slightly more so.  Two days spent at the coast turned up the strongholds in the chanterelle kingdom. The ones that refused to give up but instead proved to hide like nobodies business. It took not only a full-on rain samurai suit but also a considerable amount of digging around through water laden ferns, moss and fir needles to uncover these little delicacies.

 

Busy Baby B

The times are a changin. The newest addition to the extended family; busy baby B. I'm adoring the opportunity to get know him and marvel at his perfect mini-person features. Loving be an auntie.  


hotsprings

 The last few months have provided the opportunity to visit some new hotsprings, a favorite pastime of mine. On the way back from Oregon we stopped for a few days at a lovely place called Avalanche Ranch. A small working farm, antique barn and cabin rentals complete the experience. Although I very much enjoy the springs lost in the mountains, the uniqueness and beauty of the many pools at this place are quite welcoming.

The newest pool at Avalanche Ranch; a cedar tub in the old barn

 

I've been to a number of "natural springs" and yet every time I travel through Idaho it never ceases to amaze me. The springs here have an appeal unlike anywhere else. Generally clean, without hoards of people and surrounded by beautiful forests make Idaho's hotsprings an unbelievable experience.

And finally onto the most recent find and one of my favorite yet. The hotsprings along the Verde River in Arizona. This place is remarkable. It was a historic lodge from the 1920's that burned down in the 60's. What remains is this: the springs, the old foundation and a lot of care from some hotspring loving locals. The springs themselves are a bit terrifying in depth. Something like 9 feet that crawl under the stone structure only to open into caverns. Not somewhere one would choose to venture but indeed a pleasant soak assuming you stay on the surface. The catch to this place is that it requires a decent wade through the river to get here. We opted to hike above the spring and then blow up the packrafts and partake on a bit of squirly ride to the springs in lew of the immersion. A smart choice in November.

Ruin

 History in some of the most unusual of places. I've found a new interest in recent ruins; they have stories. Sometimes the stories are on the surface and other times they are locked deep within. These old army barracks were a bit like a maze- dorm style bedrooms, work spaces, a theater, labs, dining halls. Abandoned, a history left for demise.

 Colorado ghost towns...remnants of mining and life at 12,000 feet.

 



the four month island

Four months. Time dissolved as though it never existed. The days long but length retains little meaning when the daylight stays well beyond its usual invitation. Time is measured by meals (and time in-between) Breakfast. Lunch. Dinner. Each time new eyes set sight on the floating dock it was new; new to them and therefore new to me.  The beauty of a long day is that it is what you do; you are simply living. Living on an island of bears. Each piece functioned and thus the system went. Take a piece, even a small one, and the system begins to slow. This was the extraordinary reality of the island of bears. The energy was the breath. One day I walked by the outhouse, the one I shared with 11 other individuals. For the first time I actually took note of the door. Exit. Here is where you exited the island. That is until another comes along.  Out the wide crack you see them waiting their turn so you enter back onto the island. I watched the grass come in; the leaves appear on the trees and the remnant snow of winter fade. The first of the flowers came out; the dogwoods, the lupine, the yarrow. The garden went in. The loons wandered from the nest with a wee one trailing, a single baby.  I know the day the fireweed first started to bloom.  The day mama bear appeared with her babies. This year she had two.  I awaited the rose’s arrival, they never really came. I think it was a cold year. The moose and her calves; long legs and all. The daisies, white that covered the ground. Summer. I blinked and the  cranberries showed up. Mushrooms. Hillsides of purple and pink that even the tallest of men cannot peek over. I blinked again and the colors came. The fireweed nearing the top of the stock.  The birch trees began to shift their mood to yellow and the fireweed put on quite a display. The currents… wow. A windstorm blew in and  I thought it might pull every remaining leaf off the stem.  They hung on. The wildflower field was another story; it looked like someone had run a comb through it and parted the grass in a well -organized fashion.  The giant birch tree that lay across the trail would take testimony for this story. Mama bear appeared once again, this time her cubs plump and healthy. Five loons. They danced in a circle on the middle of the lake. The woods undeniably smelled of autumn.  It was time to send the fuchsias in on the float plane. The woodshed was tidied and ready for another long winter. The chicken coop got an overhaul. The days had turned to nights and the nights began to quiet. Down coats came out with the headlamps. Bags were packed and sent in. Four months over as though it never existed.

TBA

A story: I was 22 years old and was just about to finish up my undergrad degree. I was focusing on natural resource management and rangeland ecology. This was the last summer before graduation and I was looking for a job relevant to my career field. I looked for jobs with the Forest Service and with the BLM. I was offered a position doing rangeland inventory. In the job search process, I had also applied randomly for a job in Durango teaching arts and crafts at a children’s summer camp. Not relevant what so ever but I had a longing to be back to Durango; I had lived there a few years prior and missed it terribly. Sure enough I also got offered the Durango gig. On my plate came two choices: the responsible one… the career builder or the other one…. The fun one. Which do think I choose? Off to Durango I went. That summer was revolutionary for me. I found myself surrounded by a community of life-loving individuals, young and old. We played, we created, we dreamed, we explored, we loved. Many people from this epic summer are still in my life today. Friendships that will last a lifetime. At the end of the summer, I packed up my car with two friends and we explored the southwest for a week. We camped in magical places and saw sights I never imaged so beautiful. During this week, I picked up a growler of beer from a small brewery and the growler, long emptied, rode around in the trunk of my car. We returned to Durango and I lingered even longer, hesitant to return back to the Front Range and back to college to finish my final semester. I knew I had to go. I was bitter.

Yet, I returned with a new outlook on life. A window had opened for me and knew how easily it was to fly through it. Days on the Front Range were tough. I loved my friends and family but there was this pulling on my spirit that told me there was more I needed to do. One day, rooting through my trunk, I found the growler and my heart sank. I missed the adventures that added this treasure into my life. I taped a piece of paper to the growler and wrote the letters TBA. Each day I diligently added money to the growler. Some days it was only coins, other days, particularly the most frustrating days for me, I added dollars. My funds grew. For what, I did not know. They were for TBA “the big adventure”…whatever that was. My graduation grew closer and I was offered a management job at the florist I had worked at for the last few years. I took the job. I graduated in December and mid-way through the month I realized I needed to move on. I started looking for jobs…all over. Putting out applications anywhere I thought I might be interested in going. My mentality: I had nothing to lose, I could accept only what I wanted and it never hurt to see what came back. Choices. Options began to spring up. I narrowed it down to North Carolina. I had never been there before but had heard it was beautiful. I had two jobs on the table once again. Both teaching environmental education. One on the coast; a well-established center that paid better than the other. The other: in the mountains, just starting up, didn’t pay well, had a garden. The garden sold me. I accepted a position at The Herringridge Environmental Center in the Appalachian mountains. I nervously stewed over telling my boss at the flower shop. I worried for weeks. And then finally I told him. He was ecstatic for me. This was the 180 I was not expecting. I stayed on at the flower shop through Valentine ’s Day and then finally the time came. I began “the big adventure.” It started with a week with my cousin backpacking the Grand Canyon. We hiked into valleys with sparkling waterfalls and watched the sun rise and set over the red sandstone cliffs. We re-learned who each other were. We had not spent time like this since we were children.

I moved to North Carolina at the end of the month and starting teaching little ones about the soil, wildlife, the environment. The center was based on a theme by the Lorax. The ecology center was a residential program; on the last night there was a big scavenger hunt for the truffula seed throughout the surrounding forests. Life-sized lorax costumes adorned our staff. One night, as the sun was going down, I was running through the woods with children hot on my pursuit. I ran from them in a giant yellow swammy swan costume. Four years of college to don a giant chicken suit and evade children with a fake truffula seed in my hand.  This was my job. I got paid to do this. And so the story goes….

As the years went on I found myself exploring new places – California, Alaska, Oregon. I’ve taught along the way. Finding a special niche in experiential education. I’ve met amazing people. Sure, life has not always been easy to pick up and go; I’d actually say it is quite hard. When you begin to find strength in a community, it is hard to move away and re-establish yourself again. But it has been an adventure. I remind myself that I can always go back to any of these places. It has almost been six years since my big adventure began. Life is changing, I find myself slowing down a bit. Longing for land to call my own, for a community to stay in for a while, for a garden that I work on for more than a single season, for my own animals, to keep bees, to be closer to my family. I guess this is the next big adventure to come.

Along the way, I’ve kept a list. It has been my to-do list. My personal list. It keeps me motivated and helps me to realize what is truly possible. I recently crossed off my master’s degree from this list and it felt so amazing. If you are reading this and you have that desire inside of you, get it out. Onto paper. Write it down. In doing so, I think it helps to remind you that it is possible. You just have to want it. I think too often we tell ourselves that our dreams are not attainable. They are only dreams. You tell yourself you don’t have the money, or time, or you are too committed to other things. These are disguises to hide fears about meeting your dreams. You let the challenge stop you. The difference between a dream and a reality is that you have to take that leap. Face any fears that linger there and don’t let them stand in the way. There is a way around challenges. It is possible to move and travel on very little. I am living proof of this. Time is what we make it and commitments are real but if approached correctly, people will understand when you have to pick up your feet or when you change your mind. It may take creativity, but it is doable.

61° 59′ N 152° 04′ W

 61° 59′ N 152° 04′ W

Today, this is where you can find me. Mid July. teaching yoga, greeting guests, serving meals. A month and a half ago I packed up life in Oregon; packed it into a storage unit and closed the door for four months. I found my way back up to the place where my adventures began almost four years ago. Back into a little island of wilderness that is separated from the hustle and bustle of everyday life… no roads, no sirens, no cement. The loudest noise that meets my ear is the landing of a float plane, or a helicopter, or the howl of 19 sled dogs at 4am. The days are long, this I cannot sugar coat but life all the same has but one singular focus… this place and these people. The newspaper arrives in a brown mail bag three days late and news travels by word of mouth. Don’t get me wrong, I could be more in tune. I choose not to. For this short time I am on vacation from the world of news and have adapted my thought process to include what is happening with my family, my friends, and about my island wilderness. I think sometimes it takes that step back… that is what these months have begun to shape into for me. My eyes are noticing things that get lost when life moves at a quicker pace. I've slowed it down and in doing so I’ve observed what plants are coming into bloom; I find myself waiting in anticipation as the fireweed blossoms develop…. they are almost there. When they burst the hillsides around us will light up with purples and pinks. For almost a month now I've watched a mama bear with her babies. I’ve noticed how her babies have gained dexterity over these last few weeks. They don’t trip over their own paws quite as much. I've sat in one place and the world has walked through my front door. Literally. Where life will go after this summer I am not so sure but for now I'm in a holding pattern. Content.

Pacific Northwest

It is almost the end of May. The rains are retreating and sun is beginning to lengthen it's appearance. A solar eclipse occurred three days ago and clouds broke just long enough for us to witness. Life has been full of learning and busy times which have woven themselves into what will now become transition. Closing of one chapter and the opening of another. here are a few recent favorites from my adventures in the Pacific Northwest. 

The Alsea River

the Havest

Sunset on the Olympic Peninsula