graduation

Two years in the making;  it finally gets checked off the list...

Snow on Warner Mountain

 The Pacific Northwest provides some pretty spectacular adventures, there is no doubt about that. About a year ago I added this item to my list and this January I checked it off. Renting a forest fire lookout. People here love these; with justified reason. But because they are so well loved, if your idea of an adventure to a lookout has anything to do with a weekend day, well than the planning upfront requires something along the lines of 5 months. They tend to be that far booked out! I booked the Warner Mountain lookout the previous August and still was only able to get a Sunday and Monday night reserved. Turns out I am a lucky girl and my days just happened to unexpectedly fall over a three day weekend. Joined by a longtime friend from Seattle and her significant other, our party of four made the venture into the hut on skis and snow shoes. The website cautions you that the road is not maintained for winter travel and it is advised to park a good distance away and hike in (good distance = 8+ miles). We had two pretty hardy trucks so the adventurous side of us put us something like 3.5 miles away. We questioned this choice but decided to play our cards. The next few days that followed it snowed. I don't mean a little. I'm referring to something along the lines of feet of snow. It snowed A LOT.

 

 so conversations went along the lines of "hmmm it is really a blizzard out there...yeah there is kind of a bit of snow coming down" In the midst we enjoyed ourselves. You see, inside the hut you are quite cozy. I was amazed to find a propane heater, a fully equipped kitchen, tables, chairs, a bed. We were set. During the day we used our back country setups to do a bit of skiing and exploring and in the evening enjoyed hot toddies, good food and good company. On departure day, we had received so much snow that our tracks in were so far from covered, I questioned our choices of parking. Out we went, blizzard to accompany us. Reaching the truck we found it practically lost in white. Chains on and 4 wheel drive set to low we amazingly creeped our way out with not even a slip. The daring parking move in the snow; would I advise it? not at all, not unless you really enjoy digging. We just got lucky. Upon leaving we passed the new Warner Mountain residents on their trek in. They had covered something like 4 miles from their car already and were still about 4 miles out. They had parked their Subaru way down the road and were making the day long slog in. I guess we had it a bit easier.

South

 Absentee. That I have been from my blog for some time. But in that time much has changed. my eyes have seen new experiences and met new people. I've seen changes throughout my family, moved to a new home and ventured a three week road trip across the Yucatan Peninsula in Mexico. Purchasing tickets was a bit of an endeavor; we wanted to go south. that was the criteria. Monitoring website after website for cheap fares became exhausting after some time. you just get sick of it. but one Tuesday night in late November turned up some reasonable tickets into Cancun. Not quite my style but it'd do for a port of entry out of the states. So there we went. Cancun-bound for two nights before picking up a rental car (found through a less-know Mexican car company).                                 One night, that was it. Cancun was like a sandy Las Vegas. It took less than 12 hours for us to re-arrange our rental car for earlier pick up and get the hell out of Sand Vegas. Our Chariot for the next few weeks: a dodge "something."A miniature white spaceship that proved to be a beast in the sand, excellent on gas mileage and only complained once when we tried to take it across a road with holes as big as the car. It regained it's composure after we limped it 4 hours out of the way to provide it with a bandage (a new tire). The first few days of the journey found us in touristy places; ones where we still managed to find places to camp and cheap street food but still were littered with tourist souvenir shops and kiosks selling tickets to the newest "eco park." I can't complain however because this first week also found us still a wee bit high strung from the months of craziness we left behind and these popular tourist destinations exist for a reason; they have absolutely stunning white sand beaches. We planted our rear ends in the sun and commenced to washing away the Oregon white skin with help from Mexican cervezas.

The weeks that followed found us in rural Mexico. Off beaten tourist tracts and loving every minute. We pieced together Spanish. Enough to purchase tacos and local fruits, to ask for directions, to ask permission to camp and rent scuba diving gear.
I believe I've mentioned it before but I thrive on lists. i love them. I was able to cross-off some of my own "to-dos" on this trip so it seems only fitting to break down the remainder of this trip into some of the best of the best pieces; recommendations for those who may just be making this same venture sometime in the future. Enjoy.

1. Diving. Wow. Xcalack proved to be best of the best. Hiring the local dive master and boat not associated with what seemed to be the only dive shop in town was the way to go.
2. Cenotes- a must visit for diving, snorkeling... swimming... whatever. just go see them.
3. Izamal- yellow, think yellow.
4. Campeche- a colonial style city sitting on the heart of the ocean still encompassed by an old fortress of stone walls.
5. the street tacos. fresh oranges with chili powder
6. Puenta Herrera. Trust me you can get there. take a spare tire.
7. Book as you go hotels, plans just can't do you justice (just not during Christmas time!)
8. The bikes (see below.) you'd be amazed at how many people you can fit on one. really.

"I teach them to learn with their feet"

On my last morning in Colorado I woke up to a dusting of snow.  How many times over the years I’ve woken up in that very same spot to the sunlight cutting through the windows. And every time, when I wake to see snow I can’t help but have the same of feeling of wanting right then and there to get outside to play. Snow is exciting. I put my coat over my pajamas and looked at my shoe options. The rushed packing for the short trip provided limited options: running shoes, strappy sandals, black danskos.

Damn my feet were going to get wet; I stepped into the danskos, their winning element over the running shoes: an inch platform and no ventilation holes.  Walking out the door, I remembered a pair of too large plastic boots that I had shoved into the back of a closet some time ago. Hoping to find them in the place I remembered, I rummaged through the closet in my old room. Sure enough. Out with the danskos, into the rubber boots.

Single sprigs of green grass poked up out of the layer of snow here and there. The sun had begun to melt the light layer as it warmed the trunks of the trees and rocks. Outside it was beautiful. There is something about sunshine, newly fallen snow and chilled air. My sockless feet felt the cold through the thin rubber boots. I turned to see nothing but my footprints leading from the house, to the barn, to the garden…. My trail in the snow.

I thought about a conversation that I had back in Oregon some weeks before. Halloween night actually. We were at one of Corvallis’s classic dive bars, amusing ourselves with the horrible karaoke, $1 PBR, and creative fashions that emerge one night out of the year. Walking back from the bathroom, I crossed a guy sitting by himself on the stairs. No costume, no drink. As I walked by, he softly said “I like your wings.” Now normally I would smile, nod and keep walking. Instead I stopped and replied “where is your costume?” he answered “eh, I wore it last night.”

He asked me what I was doing in Corvallis; I explained my master’s program and very quickly a conversation evolved not about costumes, not about the bar, or of OSU; but about teaching people. He was passionate about teaching and showing people new things. From my years of doing the same, I’ve learned to see passion in teachers and in students. You can see it most in their eyes. When a person is truly passionate about something, their eyes change when they talk about it.

I’ve come to believe that it is not content that matters most in learning situations but instead it is the experience and it is what that experience invokes in each of us that weighs the heaviest. “I make them take off their shoes and feel the ground” He said. We are so accustomed to walking but how often do we actually take the time and feel what is under our feet? It was brilliant idea. He taught his science by feeling. He had people walk over objects and surfaces and explore what it felt like to the skin on the bottom of their feet. Through this process, he taught about marine life, and forestry and soils all by having people walk across them.

So I thought about this as I walked through the snow, it was so very cold; the idea of taking off my boots was not appealing but even still as the cold seeped through the thin rubber of my boots I thought about the concept of learning with my feet. The tools that we use to teach one another, so many, sometimes on purpose but other times we pass along learning experiences without ever even knowing we’ve done so.

easier through a lens

Beauty comes in many forms. I'm not sure why but sometimes it is much easier to see through a camera lense.

Making Churchela

 I'd like to lay claim to making the time these days to undergo such a project without an ulterior motive; but alas this not such a project. Turns out adding in a "for fun" 4 credit course is not maybe the best idea when trying to balance out an unusually hectic fall but needless to say a anthropology of food class has provided some interesting learning opportunities. Spending a Sunday afternoon making  Churchela with a group of lovely ladies from my class proved to be quite an experience. Churchela stems from Georgia among other places. The most simplistic explanation: a string of nuts dipped in a condensed grape juice left to dry which creates a sweet, candy-like treat.

I had been on a ankle rolling endeavor to collect the walnuts hidden among the grass in S's front yard and they turned out to come in quite handy for this project. Another one of my churchela comrades collected the end of the season grapes from a neighbors yard. We dug up string and needles and the project commenced. 

We mashed the grapes down in a big pot, bringing it to a boil until the liquid began to thicken. Straining out seeds and skins, we returned the liquid to the pot and put it over low heat until it reduced itself to a near 3rd of what it had been. The meantime found us cracking and stringing walnuts (and attempting hazelnuts...no go- they broke and ended up in bellies instead of on strings)  

When the grape juice was ready, we thickened it ever so slightly more with a handful of flour. The best part then: dipping the strings so they became gooey messes. Finally hanging them to dry for a few days and va-la Churchela. We had four of us working on the project and we figure that we spent somewhere in the realm of four hours to make our ordeal; in reality the project required something like 16 hand hours to make. Probably not something I'd just whip up on a whim but pretty damn cool to see the process through. Our first crack at the time-honored Georgian treat looked not so much like the pictures I pulled up on the internet; we later determined we needed the grape liquid to have reduced even more. Even still, the best part came in the process of making, the wine drinking that paralleled the project and the conversations.

This whole project was brought on by the visit of Ken Albala, a do it yourself food advocate. I picked up his book "the lost art of real cooking" which offers some great recipes that connect the maker back into the process. Albala's Blog covers a whole array of projects and recipes and is more than worth the visit.

I was first introduced to the Art of Spinning in Scotland. Staying with an amazing couple in Penicuik, they introduced me to a family friend that spun so much wool that the shelf lining the entire living room was full of spindles of beautifully spun fiber. literally hundreds of spindles. Over the course of an afternoon I got the crash course on how to prep the fiber;  washing, picking, carding and drafting. And then came the best part, the spinning. She loaned me a hand spindle "to learn on" while I stayed in Penicuik. Well....I learned that the art of spinning is quite a challenging one. And at the end of my day, 11pm would find me standing as high as I could possibly get on a chair or table or bed, the higher I could get, the less I had to stop my handspindle; I could let the yarn keep growing and growing. BUT I learned that it sure is disappointing when your yarn busts off at the mid-section  and then all the rest of it uncoils itself. Yes it is truly an art. So in leaving Scotland, I took something like 40 feet of yarn with me, only that forty feet took me almost a week to produce.

I really think that sometimes in life you're just supposed to learn things. And life will just keep pitching those opportunities at you until either A.) you accept or B.) you throw your arms up in the air and run like a bat out of hell. So a year later found me living at the the end of the road, deep in the heart of the Chugach Mountains. A winter care taker at the Eagle River Nature Center. Alaska is different in the winter. It is not like the summer where every place you look there are visitors. No, the people that survive the winter really want to be there, especially those that are willing to make the drive back into the valley in the depths of January. we would get the fire started early. At 10am they would come, a guild  of lovely ladies (and sometimes a fella or two) to spin wool. Bags of fiber in tow they would daintily position their wheels in a semi-circle around the fire.  For two hours, their hands would pull and turn. They welcomed me into their circle and taught me the beginning ropes to the wheel. Now I thought my hand spindle was impressive, but damn if the wheel didn't spin out yarn 50 times faster than my own hands could do it. And so it went, one weekend every month they came and each time I would learn something new.  "Someday" I told myself.

I got a phone call from my mom about 2 weeks ago. She had returned from an amazing trip into the mountains of Colorado. "I got you the best gift ever" but she wouldn't tell me. She left me hanging, I'd just have to see it the next time I came through Colorado. And circumstances played out, Colorado came sooner rather than later and I found myself there this last weekend. I walked into my old room and what sat in the corner? Well a spinning wheel of course. An antique wheel that fits me just perfectly. It's going to require a little doctors visit (I think there has got to be spinning wheel doctors, right?) I'm in love. another hobby. the going joke around these parts is that I need a "dork shed." Yes it is going to contain all my strange hobbies- growing mushrooms, microscopes, my baking experiments........ and now the spinning wheel. I think the dork shed is just going to have to be a yurt.

In Passing

When your footsteps walk a path day in and day out, changing that path can be the most challenging of times. We are learning this. The learning process is hard. But, I think in passing we are also learning what it means to lean on others especially when your legs don't quite feel as sturdy as they always have. We are learning the importance of stories; and the importance of listening.  Who ever claimed that "laughter is sometimes the best medicine" really was onto something. Still, I think it is also important to remember that medicine also comes in the form of letting your eyes rain, especially when you can let them rain with others. Nothing would grow if it never rained. And with the close of a day brings the changing of seasons, and of chapters, and of times. You never know what you'll find when you leave the beaten path.                                           

Celebration

Four years ago found me deep in the Sierra foothills of  California, not far from Murphys. Here I believe fostered my appreciation for wines. Murphys is a quaint town which offers some of the most amazing small scale vineyards, shops and beautiful surroundings. It was here that I discovered my liking for port, and have not since discovered one I like as fondly as the small lots produced by Zucca Mountain Vineyards. But now, as life has moved further north, my palate has shifted to pinots, and rightly so as it is the heart of the Willamette Valley. A whole new perspective has been blessed upon my dinner table, a diversity in a single varietal that I never could have wrapped my mind around any other way than living in just this place. This past weekend, in fine celebration of M's engagement, we brushed the surface of the local wineries, a craftily chosen five of over 400 located here in this region. A favorite of the bunch, Brooks, which bestowed upon us a private tasting, an amazing host and a flight of wines that would please any connoisseur. A Lovely way to celebrate, enjoy and experience....

people

I'm convinced. One of the finest joys in life come from watching others. One of these days I going to make someone very angry with my camera. not on purpose of course. but yes the day will arrive that the person I take a picture of will actually not be so stoked on the notion. they will tell me about it.  But that is okay. People are at their very finest when they don't realize they are under the lens, When my picture is being taken, it makes me feel like i'm under a microscope too. I understand. yet I think the idea of pictures, a moment frozen in time, are invaluable. they capture what our memory cannot always contain and what are eyes sometimes fail to recognize.

There is a man at the market that plays the fiddle. He might just be my favorite. Maybe not so much because of his music. no, I think more so because he is he. At that very moment he is perfect. The other night, riding home late on bikes I came across a scene I longed my camera for but accepted the memory as a close second option. I watched a woman in a white dress soulfully play a violin. barefoot, she moved only to the changing of the pitch. In front of her stood a man. black suit and tie. two feet in front of her. nothing else mattered at that moment. The moment was perfect. It defined every essence of beauty I could possibly dream up. Take time out of your walk, your busy day. 10 seconds. stop and look around you next time you are in a crowd of people. you never know what your eyes may see.