Central Illinois

10/21/10 – Central Illinois – There is a feeling of fall in the air. Most leaves still hold fast to their trees but enough have fallen to give a crisp rustle underfoot. Our walks are now mostly among deciduous trees… maple and oak, catalpa with its vanilla-bean like seed pods swinging in the breezes, sumac just turning fiery orange, and occasional fuzzy juniper. Campgrounds built for hundreds of families in the summer are occasioned by 3 or 4 rigs, placed as far from each other as possible. The quiet of the morning sun, its warmth on the back, and fresh air feel hopeful even as the leaves unveil their rust and gold and burnt orange among their green neighbors, and fall lightly with the breeze.

We stopped yesterday in Springfield, IL to visit the Lincoln Home and the Presidential Library. A thoughtful afternoon contemplating the time of his Presidency, the tragedy of slavery and the Civil War; the Union of the States and the death of so many souls. There was nothing pretty about that time. It got me thinking about the nature of leadership… What is the difference between a leader and an ideologue? Could it be that they are the same… that a leader is only a person with whom we agree. Lincoln was far from universally liked or supported. He acted when he didn’t have the country behind him, but he had faith that he did the right thing. We revere him now as a great leader… but many thought of him as an ideologue. Worth thinking about in the controversies of our time.

We talked with Heather and Pete last night. We’ll be arriving at their place in Pennsylvania on October 31. I’m looking forward so much to seeing Nathan again. He’ll be almost 10 months when we get there. The last time we saw him was in July. As we move closer to the east coast and family on this side of the continent, I think our homing instinct is growing. When we reach Maine in mid-November we’ll be ready to settle in a bit.

For now our journey continues. We head south today to the confluence of the Mississippi and Ohio Rivers and then start northeast along the Ohio until we reach western PA.

Southern IL has been a treat of rolling farmland, frequent small nestled villages, very wide flood plains, and the return of deciduous trees. Days sunny and warm, sky so blue it seems to burst with joy, nights crisp and sometimes just cold! We are very pleased to have the propane furnace in our little rolling home! Our journey continues to unfold treats of wind, air, water, rock, sun, earth, and people before us. We are thankful for each day.

10/15/10 For the past three days we have started traveling, thinking this would be the day we leave South Dakota and begin our eastward journey in earnest. We do, after all, want to be back in Maine by mid November… that’s a month away. We’re still in South Dakota! Oh well, we find ourselves wonderfully content on our very slow eastward trek. We will make it home, ambling in a nomad style.

Tonight we are camped in a South Dakota State Park near the Iowa border, having spent the day driving through big, open, and windy prairie land and flat farmland where crops (corn, millet, and moil) were being harvested. Hugh combines dumped their loads into tractor trailers in the field for transport to bin storage and trains. As we moved from west to east thru the state, the black hills gave way to dry grass land dotted with black beef critters and then slowly transitioned to slightly rolling cropland, mixed fields of green winter wheat and dry golden-brown corn. Now tonight we are camped in a wooded area, green, moist, and delightful. It has been a long time since the land we passed thru was other than dry and Spartan.




Our time spent on the high prairie and deeply carved mesas’ of the Badlands was special. The eroded and water-carved landforms that cut into the prairie captivate the imagination. Walking among knife-edge sharp landforms, looking across the great expanse of prairie, I was taken with a sense of the sacred. Much related to the Wounded Knee tragedy happened in the Badlands. That event punctuated this already sacred area… We were glad to be visiting in October, a time of few tourists. It was possible to stop, walk on the land, sit and listen to the silence, feel the wind and the sun, and be present with the Spirit of the place.

We traveled on the “Loop Road” thru the Badlands. Rounding a corner we were treated to the sight of ‘yellow mounds’, a formation of brilliant yellow clay and rock, weathered to rounded mounds, capped by a stripe of purple and topped by soft gray sandstone. Startling in its simple beauty, it was so unlike any area we had been through. Mother Earth’s color pallet is indeed broad!

I guess tomorrow we will actually leave South Dakota, glad to have spent a week here and ready to find our way thru Iowa, Illinois, and on east.

Custer State Park

10/12/10 The bison moved silently thru the campground, 30 or 40 of them, first one way and then another, seeming oblivious to anything but their own path and the movement of the herd. Just as silently campers emerged from all manner of rigs, camera flash, awe, watching – holding children and dogs. Everyone and everything silent as these enormous animals came and went.

South Dakota Black Hills – Four days of unanticipated gifts…

-Descending 200 ft into a cave at Wind Cave National Park – Mother Earth surrounding and holding us…

-Finding the original opening to the cave where the earth breathes… touching her breath.

-Attending Black Hills Pow Wow with over 1000 native dancers and drummers;

-A day of biking out of Custer on the Mickelson Rails-to-trails Trail, thru ranch and hill land, past rock outcrops glistening with specks of mica;

-Native American Day celebration at Crazy Horse Monument..

And now waking to Bison in the campground… Gifts continue to unfold and draw us deeper into this amazing land.

Colorado

10/8/10 We woke last Sunday morning, parked behind a Shell station in Frisco, CO, between a big rig flat bed which had come in overnight and a Budget Rental truck that had been brought in on the hook just before we went to sleep. We wondered if the mechanic would work on our vehicle and get us on the road on Sunday… he had found a new radiator for her on Saturday afternoon but Sunday isn’t exactly a great day for repair services in the Colorado mountains! A bike ride, brunch in town, and a few hours reading outside the garage and we were on our way again, heading north and east toward Rocky Mountain National Park.

We wondered about the accommodations we would find. On the previous Thursday we camped in Cimmaron in a National Park Service area which was closed and locked on Friday; on Friday we camped outside Leadville, CO in a Forest Service site which had already been buckled up for the winter… someone forgot to tell the rangers that it isn’t winter yet… well, the night temperatures did affirm the need to shut down the water and declare summer over.

Leaving Frisco at 3:00 PM, we headed for the Park about 60 miles away, climbing in altitude as we went, thankful for the good work of the mechanic, and glad to be back on the road. Route 40 took us thru Grand County where Aaron had worked and we had visited on several occasions. As we drove we could see smoke from a large and growing fire billowing in the hills ahead of us. We were dismayed to learn that the fire was in National Forest Service land behind the YMCA of the Rockies facility outside Fraser. Our family had spent a wonderful Christmas there a few years ago. As of 10/7 the fire was 100% contained. http://www.inciweb.org/incident/2137/

Arrived at an open campground in Rocky Mountain National Park just before dark in time to watch elk graze in the meadow campground right next to our vehicle. Their bugling was the symphony which decorated our sleep that night.

Our journey on Monday took us up Trail Ridge Road, from west to east thru the Park. Leaving the meadow which was at 9,000 ft we climbed above tree line to 12,000 feet, winding and twisting as we went. A hike on the tundra trail at Rock Cut… wind and sun were intense, oxygen was limited, and 360 degree views of mountains, tundra table land, rock outcrops, and elk in high meadowland… what could be better! The fleece lined jackets we bought in Silverton were a blessing. Our day’s journey ended at Moraine Campground on the east side of the park, a place where we decided to stop for 2 nights.

The ‘layover’ day gave us time to be still, sketch, work around the RV, and take the Park Shuttle bus to Bear Lake for a delightful afternoon hike.

Wednesday morning we left the Park, headed for breakfast and groceries in Estes Park and then on toward Wyoming. After a few false starts we finally found the one place open for breakfast, had brunch enough to last the day, and were on our way again. The road from Estes Park to Loveland goes down thru Big Thompson Canyon… forever and ever, down deeper and deeper, walls closer and closer - Thank you, Mother Earth. You were distant and beautiful in the mountains at 12,000 ft. As the canyon lead us to 5,000 ft, you were still magnificent, close, solid, and raw. What a treat!



Eastern Colorado, Wyoming, and western South Dakota have offered new land forms… open grassland that rolls flat and low for miles, dry prairie, beef critters clumped near windmill driven wells, sun and sky so wide and big it seems never to end. If the mountains defined the land we have been thru, the sky and clouds define this area. We travel back roads, avoiding the fast traffic on Interstates, and following isolated pathways. A full tank of gas and lows of water gives confidence but the possibility of breakdown in a remote area always plays in the back of the mind.

Again we have been drawn to the beauty of this land and the strength of the people who love it. Today we head to the caves at Wind Cave National Park and then eventually on to the Badlands and our journey across South Dakota to Minnesota.

Aspen Gold

October 2, 2010

Dear Nathan,

You will never believe who we met here in Colorado… well you might guess because you probably have noticed that Wonderful Wooly, who weaves lovely dreams into your sleep, has been on vacation. He’s here in Colorado, visiting his cousin Pinion Painter. Wooly was delighted to see us and assured us that he left a hugh supply of dreams with Keton, the cat, asking him to sprinkle them into your sleep each night while he is away.

Pinion Painter is in charge of colors here. Wooly and he have been working at one of the most luscious jobs of the whole painting year. You see rabbitbrush spends the summer wrapped in glorious gold flowers. Pinion Painter is very partial to gold and loves those rabbitbrush plants so much that he saves his best gold paint bucket especially for them. You can see them smiling in their fluffy clumps of gold right at the edge of trails and over the mesa top hills.

Well, just like you, Nathan, they grow and change. They loved their golden glow. Pinion Painter did a scrumptious job coloring them. In fact he did such a good job that as they grew their flowers burst out of their color and became lovely tan and brown seed pods… the kind that Swirly Canyon, the Windkeeper, loves to send parachuting on their way over the hills.

The most amazing thing happened. Pinion Painter and Wonderful Wooly, seeing that rabbitbrush didn’t need its gold anymore, went right out and gathered all the gold color, mixed it carefully with sunshine dust, and painted all the aspen leaves in the valleys and on the mountain sides with that glorious gold. They really did a fine job at their work. Wonderful Wooly used that twitchy tail of his to fling the paint about, while Pinion Painter, a bit more precise in his work, tucked golden glow under each Aspen and even on the sides of big canyon walls. Wooly had such a fine time flinging his tail about that he zipped some fiery orange color from the mountain sandstone and painted half the aspen on the hillside with it. Pinion thought it a bit strange but did say he liked it.

So now the gold of the flowers and the fire orange of the mountains adorn the trees, seed pods catch the huffs and puffs from Swirly Canyon, and Wooly is ready to return to you and dream weaving, having been filled with buckets of lovely golden dreams, just for you. Keton will be glad to let Wooly sprinkle dreams again and you, dear Nathan, can snuggle off to sleep with swirling rainbows of color dreams, sent by Pinion Painter, to help guide you in GrowingBoy Land.

Lots of love,

Grammy Kay

Little Molas Lake, CO

9/29/10 Traveling north thru the San Juan Mountains in Colorado, we stopped early yesterday at Little Molas Lake NFS campsite, just past Molas Pass, elevation 10,900’, almost at tree line.

The lake, more like a deep mountain pond, is wrapped on all sides by 13,000’ mountains. The Colorado Trail, a hiking trail from Durango to Denver, skirts the side of the pond. Spruce, fir, and pinion pine scatter in the campground and on the near hills as they climb to tree line. Hillside mountain meadows fill in around and under the trees.

In the quiet of the morning the pond reflected hills and mountains, trees and sky with absolute, pure, still precision… two worlds – the same and wonderful. Back lit feather tops of grasses floated above other vegetation in the open meadows. Ground level blueberries, leaves turned vermillion, irradiated the ground cover while tall seed stocks of lupin-like plants stood straight and tall in the mornings sun.

Walking on the Colorado Trail, slowly while still adjusting to altitude (that’s altitude adjustment, not attitude adjustment), I was blessed with the intense quiet of the awakening day, the feeling of the sun penetrating the night’s cold and warming me thru layers of fleece, and the colors of fall, yellows and reds, which have entered our journey.

We may stay here one more night, a time to again see the brilliant pin point stars of early dark, the late night half moon that dulls the milky way, and the morning rise of daylight, returning us to a world of color and form and reflection.

There is a lot of Colorado and the west yet to travel, but right now nothing seems more complete than this tiny pond in its immense mountain hollow. Time stands still here. One has only to breathe the air and watch the moon settle down to the west against the clear blue sky of day. Hallelujah!

Natural Bridges National Monument

9/25/10 Working our way east thru southern Utah, we camped the night of the 23rd at the north end of Lake Powell, Glen Canyon National Recreation Area, Hite, UT. We left early the next morning, headed for Moab and Arches National Park. That was not to be. A side trip to Natural Bridges National Monument was supposed to be quick. We should have known differently when we talked with the intern at the Visitors Center. She had volunteered there and now was back interning and radiating a love for the place. It was infectious.

The three natural bridges in the Park were formed as the forces of uplift and erosion cut thru a white sandstone formation, creating the White Canyon and leaving the bridges behind. To get to the park, we had driven along the rim of the White Canyon, looking down into an ever deepening cut thru the sandstone. The Park roads and trails took us into the Canyon itself.

How could we be blessed to find ourselves at yet another magical place on this earth’s surface? Through the day of hiking and sketching and writing and looking I found myself developing a love for this beautiful sandstone. Unlike the sharp, raw and vertical walls of red sandstone canyons, we were now in a place where the rock weathered round and soft. I loved her bulbous rolls, cut and smoothed over the eons by the river way below; I loved her overhanging sides, rounded cliffs that shaded and cooled our trail hikes; I loved the way her crannies supported all manner of plant life… spiky cactus, scrubby pinion pine, mountain juniper and dry yellow rabbitbrush. Her vegetation, taken together, was a full green rainbow, set against the pink/grey of the sandstone… deep blue green, yellow and brown tinted green, grey blue green, bright yellow green, light green with red highlights, the variations go on (and change with the changing light). It was spectacular.

We camped that night in the ‘overflow’ campground associated with the Monument, a large open area accessed by a partially washed out road, offering space, views of the setting sun blazing off red rock formations in far mountains, and a glorious full moon… a lovely place to stop.

In the morning we decided to keep our compass bearing headed east toward Mesa Verde rather than Moab and Arches/Canyon Land area. That will have to be another trip.

I was sad to leave Utah. We had been treated to a journey through geologic time and outrageous land forms that could only be seen and touched, felt and walked on. The timeline of this land defies human imagination but her bold faces, raw and deep cuts, jutting mountains, long vistas, and twisting canyons enticed us, invited us in, and ultimately captured something deep in the soul.

Sunglow Canyon

9/25/10 We camped three nights ago (9/22) at Sunglow Canyon near Bicknell, UT, having been told about the site at a shop where we stopped to change drivers and stretch our legs. Sunglow is an isolated canyon, part of a massive west facing fold of rock stretching 100 miles north to south, the Waterpocket Fold. As we left the main road and drove east into the canyon, its tall red face caught the late afternoon sun. Rounding a corner we were there, in the narrow, isolated edge that formed the canyon.

The walls were tall, vertical, ragged and raw. Sun caught by the west facing canyon wall reflected throughout the canyon making it glow radiant orange. At the base of the walls soft, rounded outwash fans, looking like flesh covering the bones of her rock, gave evidence to the erosion and weathering of the walls above. Clutter of large plucked boulders, shards of sedimentary rock, and glacially deposited black basalt filled in below the outwash fans. Beneath everything a small stream, its bed wide and deep, cut flat into the sediments of the canyon bottom.

Walking into this narrowing, radiant place was magical. The canyon drew us with irresistible gravity. As we climbed over her boulders and touched her outreach fans, I was captured by a sense of awe, filled with reverence for this special place on mother earth.

Sunglow Canyon – An Appreciation Meditation

Sunglow Canyon, I walk on your mother rocks of red, sun radiant walls, black rocks of fire…

I honor your blood red walls;
I honor your erosion fans, flesh on bones of ancient, ocean-sediment rocks;
I kiss the layers of your history;
You draw me into your belly of light and dark, cliff and tree, red and gold.
I am held by your blue sage and yellow rabbitbrush, adornments on your iron colored flesh.
Fire of life illuminates you;
Sun is radiant upon you;
Silent secrets explode from you.

We came to this place, not knowing the soul that lives here, sent by a woman who sells flutes. Tumultuous sky, clouds, wind and rain were here this day, but left and the evening quiet settled in. A walk we said, just a short one… and Sunglow Canyon you led us to paths by your green capillary stream, erosion cuts on her banks evidence of the sometimes furry of your waters. Narrow and tall you beautiful canyon, you nurture green points of air giving trees, placed with random grace, just so… as if you know how their dark, dark green makes your orange/red face vibrate with life.

Walking into your center, mother earth, I give thanks to you, for you, with you. May my blood and flesh and bones be lead by the blood and flesh and bones of your solid rock presence. May my strength be from your strength. May your waters flow in my capillaries, your air breathe clarity to me. Wind, sun, rock, flower, tree, rain, slice of earth, roar of falling rock, silence of rising moon, trickle of flowing water, home of nesting creature, Sunglow Canyon, Holder of the Spirit of Unity, we honor you.

Bryce Canyon

9/21/10 Full moon rise at the rim of Bryce Canyon. The bowl of light above us glows deep blue to purple to white on the moon’s east and gentle yellow on the west as it chases the disappearing sun. No clouds, just moon and sky and light. Below us Hoodoo rock formations shine with a luminous orange, gold and apricot. Even after a long day of hiking the rim of the canyon, it is hard to step away from these formations. Their red sandstone layers, capped by white/gray dolomite, have been carved over thousands of years by constant plucking from freeze-thaw weathering and erosion leaving a landscape of pillars, fins, and carved plateau faces, a gapping rift into the layers of sedimentary rock which make up the Colorado Plateau. Standing here at 8,000 ft, on top of the world, one can see the plateau lands behind us, open, tilted and reaching into the prairie distance, and before us the wondrous work of water and ice, wind and rain, uplift and sedimentation. At this one brief moment in time we are gifted, standing in front of this vast sculptured land.

Our trip has taken us through the black basalt and magma domes of the Pacific Northwest, around the southern edge of the arid, gray/tan Great Basin (thank you Death Valley) and now to the erosion/sedimentation/uplift land forms of the Colorado Plateau. The bottom third of the plateau is exposed in the cut at the Grand Canyon, the middle third is seen at Zion Canyon, and here we stand at Bryce Canyon, above the top third, marveling as the full moon illuminates the works of millions of years of geological forces. The ravens that glide on the updrafts of the canyon seem not to notice. The bristlecone pines with their twisted, almost dead limbs, living on the windward, dry point of the canyon rim, seem not to notice. Even some human visitors, with their screeching vehicle stops and photo grabs, seem not to notice.

The land forms are magical. Their colors and shapes play with the mind and soul and invite one to walk deeper down into their world, be surrounded by carved fins of rock, knobby pillars, orange and white erosion skirts, and constant change.

People of all languages and ages stop here, walk the rim trail, embrace what they can, and then move back from the edge. Picnic and camping areas are nestled well away from the canyon rim, in places of human time and dimension. From the point of the plateau one sees for 200 miles to the south, over a vast series of plateaus. At places the repetitive plateaus look like the heads of so many teenaged boys from the 50’s with their flat top hair cuts!

Time and dimension exists on so many scales. As humans it is almost impossible to fathom the forces and time that have brought us to our place and time. One can only be open and listen to the land. We were amused today when we read a quote from Will Durant: ‘Civilization exists by geological consent, subject to change without notice.’ How true that seems as one watches the night come on the high plateau.

Zion Canyon

9/18/10 Early morning in Zion Canyon. The quiet is immense as I watch the the mosaic of rock on the close canyon walls. No other travelers, just red and white sandstone walls, sun on spires, changing, reflected light within the canyon, and my paint box. In the direct light of early morning the red sandstone rock pillars have a golden glow. The canyon land forms are wrapped in the intense blue of the sky and bounded by courageous trees which dare to take root on ledges above her precipitous walls. One comes to understand just how small they are in the presence of millions of years of earth’s history, turned up on end and cut through by the action of water. What we are and how we live matters, but mother earth, with her sun and rock, water, sky and change matters so much more. Water which flows out of sandstone layers today was deposited by rain 1600 years ago. It rolls from a cliff face, watering lush hanging gardens and nurturing a green oasis below.

I hiked along the canyon edge, looking down into the meadow, glancing toward the curving rocks above me, and focusing across the valley at the pillars and cliffs that defined the far side of the canyon. Amazing to be here, just walking and looking and seeing. The intense late morning sun penetrated each step of the hike, making the few places of shade welcome relief.

This land is stark, beautiful, and powerful.

Death Valley

9/17 So here’s the score for yesterday… Carters 7, Sun and heat, 10. Death Valley was an amazing place… and we wimped out in the afternoon sun. It takes mental energy (and lots of water) to be in 100 degree plus heat and remain present and rational. The sun won the struggle and left us totally delighted to find an RV Park in….. drum roll….. Las Vegas. The park had shade, electricity, water, and an air conditioned restaurant. We did the RV tourist thing with great gusto… ate at the restaurant (first such dinner since we’ve been on the road), tried out the air conditioner in the RV (it worked) and least anyone think we were totally fried by the heat, be assured we weren’t. We didn’t go to the casinos… although had we not been so hot and tired and cranky, we might have ventured out. That was not to happen. Air-conditioning (and the night air) made for a good long sleep. We leave Las Vegas and Nevada today, headed for Utah. Weather reports in Utah seem to be a bit cooler.

Yesterday’s experience of intense dry heat reminded me of a similar experience 45 years ago in India. There, with time, I learned to live with the heat rather than fight it. I have lost that skill and will have to re-learn it to fully enjoy being here… As I drove the RV up out of the Death Valley area, I found myself thinking that if the road would just climb a little more, we would round a corner and there would be cool air, green trees, running water… the heat had fried my brain but oh, the images of coolness were wonderful.

Yosemite

9/13/10 We have camped the last four nights in Yosemite Park, two nights at Crane Flats near Yosemite Valley and two nights at Tuolumne Meadows in the high country (8,600’). Yesterday we climbed Lembert Dome, an 850’ dome of granite which marks one edge of the Meadow. The trail started through a conifer forest, circling the base of the dome and climbing steeply. Daryle and I hike more slowly than we did 20 years ago. That is a gift in itself. With all our huffing and puffing on the climb we stop to observe more around us. There was much to see…

Bear cafeterias were everywhere – logs from fallen trees which the bears have ripped into with their claws in search of grubs to eat. Their food search speeds the breakdown of fallen logs, leaving detritus to be returned to the soil.

The understory of the woods was open, and for the most part, very dry. Occasionally we came across a patch of vibrant green understory, grasses and small ferns, supported in their growth by some source of moisture, often not seen. One such area harbored a single purple aster, nested in a clump of grass like a perfect gem stone in her emerald velvet show case.

Old and dead trees still standing, interspersed with the living ones, displayed their beauty in the swirl of growth lines around their trunks. No straight lines but contours which wrap around the lines of past upward growth. The trees stand, bark gone exposing gray weathering wood, shapes and twirls, planes worn or rotted away, homes to birds and insects… they grab the eye and bathe it with glorious shape and color. There too were trees which have succumbed to fire in the past but still stand, shards of charred trunk punctuating the green canopy of living trees. At a distance we see the red spike of a standing, decaying tree, vibrant in the sun.

Our hike levels out as we come around the back side of the granite dome and find the last section of forest trail before moving out onto the rock to climb to the summit. Directional signs cut out of steel plates, now rustyed to blend with the environment, point our way. I am very aware that we are walking in John Muir land, the place where his efforts to protect Yosemite Park began.

Breaking out of the forest path and climbing the gradual back side of Lembert Dome, one is treated to a panoramic view of the mountains and valleys of the high Sierras. We have joined a ranger led walk. His love for this land is infectious. Talking about the geology, pointing out peak after peak in a 360 degree disertation on the impact of continental plates colliding, subduction of the Pacific Plate and rising of the continental plate, formation of metamorphic rock and its extrusion as magma; the subsequent shaping of the surface by glaciers… and the history of native people living on the land, European settlers ‘discovering it’, and its protection as a park. His words and passion for the park were compelling but more so was the gift of sitting on top… sun warm and wind crisp… and seeing forever in this beautiful land.

We leave Yosemite today, going out over the Tioga Pass towards Nevada. It is hard to leave such a beautiful place behind, but the journey needs to continue… and besides, we have eaten most of the food in the cupboards and worn all our clean sox! Time to find a wishy-washy and grocery and stock up for the next adventure.

One last observation… the night sky has been so very dark that when I wake and look out the window by the bed, the stars are a riot which overwhelms the sky with their light. They can be seen the whole way down to the horizon, shining thru the trees around us. The quiet of the night is the matrix on which star light explodes.

All is right with this world. For the generations of people and animals yet to come, this land is a treasure which must be held dear.

Song

9/9/10 – Thursday evening, seven o’clock… the word I have been looking for to complete the song in my head jumps out at me. It’s not my song but a Wings song which speaks to me these days. Just when my dear Wings are singing in Bangor, the song returns to me…

Air moves us
…the sand carrying air of the coastal dunes, the fog swirling air in the redwoods, the clear sun air of the high mountains… they all move me…

Fire transforms us
…sun on the tips of morning trees, stars crisp and bright in the dark night, shorts weather warmth in the afternoon, an invitation to walk; the passion to see shapes and colors and patterns more fully, to paint the passion, to touch the finite and the infinite…

Water shapes us
… the flat plains, the jagged, water carved mountains, glacial carved valley after valley, foot hills where people nestle their activities near water, hillsides golden and green with dry grass and trees…

Earth heals us
…how could one not be centered, focused, passionate while day after day walking and moving thru this beautiful land…

And the balance of the wheel goes round and round, the balance of the wheel goes round
Sometimes this land is so big that it is too hard to embrace… to see its majesty… at these times I see the immediate.. the swirl of red bark on cedar trees, the rich blacks and grays of basalt rock faces, the intricate patterns of lichen and moss growing on the trunk of trees, the seed pods of the grasses… these bring focus and power the wheel of life.

To California

9/6/10 – We are camped tonight in California’s Del Norte Coast Redwood State Park, having traveled the length of the southern Oregon coast today. Arrived in the redwood park near dark. Tomorrow the big trees around us should take more shape… Today we stopped at Port Orford to walk to a point of land. From a cliff top we watched a whale swim below while seals slept on a rock ledge. What a magnificent view! Looking north Cape Blanco, a barren point of land, stretched into the ocean – the farthest west reach of the State of Oregon. In many ways, the land and the ocean were similar to that we saw on the central Oregon coast, just more wild. Pillar/shards of basaltic rock jutting into the sea connected to land by flat expanses of wet gray sand at low tide. It looks as if the rock has pushed its way out of the sand, rather than the sand having come from the abrasion of the rock.

Many long distance bikers on the road which is variously called ‘the Oregon Coast bike Route’ and the ‘Pacific Coast Scenic Highway’. It follows the high cliffs, providing vistas of the beaches and water below, and then returns to sea level, to climb again. Few people were seen in this remote area. The ones we did see from the cliffs looked like tiny moving, bending sticks as they played by the water. They flocked in the manner of the Oregon Dunes sand plovers, individuals making random movements, the flock moving together.

Lunch at Crazy Norwegians Fish and Chips in Port Orford. Try this for size… a fish taco made of taco shell, fried cod fish, cheese, salsa, cilantro, coleslaw and chipotle sauce. What a mixture of cultures! Fine eating.

Noted on the roadway were the signs… ‘Pacific Coast Scenic Highway’ (Total agreement there); ‘Oregon Coast Bike Route’ (one has to be very strong, fit, and a bit crazy to ride these hills); ‘slides’, ‘rock’, ‘elk’, ‘sharp curve’. Beautiful place.

9-7-10 – Followed the Redwood Highway today through the Del Norte State Park and the Redwood National Park, then on down the coast to Arcata where we turned east toward Redding California. We are camping tonight in the Shasta-Trinity National Forest – part of the northern California coastal range. Afternoon rains held off while we were among the redwoods. That gave us time to stop and look and listen to the redwood forest around us. Later the wind and fog rolled in off the ocean, chilling the air and bringing out fleece to stay warm.

To paraphrase John Steinbeck, one can’t spend time in the redwoods, experience their stillness, be lost in their size, without being changed as a person. Access to the redwoods has changed since he wrote about them… high speed roads carry busses of travelers into and out of attractions like humming birds flitting to and from a feeder; individuals take posed photos, a friend by this tree, a family member by a trailhead… and then move on. A few hearty ones take off with passes in hand and back packs of gear, headed for the back country. Even with the changes in access and speed, the redwoods capture people. They bear awe and majesty which dwarfs us as human individuals. Standing among them, one feels the wisdom of these living trees which have populated the planet for over 2000 years.

At Arcata we finally turned east, saying goodbye to the Pacific Ocean and aiming our compass bearing toward Maine. We have been on the road for almost a month, playing in the Pacific Northwest, sharing time with family, getting to know a bit about Oregon, the state that our son calls home. We are ready now to begin the eastward journey.

Wind, Water, Waves, and Cliffs

September 4 – A pair of child’s pink sneakers left on the sand pierced the grays and tans and blacks of the pebble/sand beach. We had traveled north from our campsite at Alder Dune on the densely vegetated, low dune area of the Oregon coast into the twisty, turney area of basaltic cliffs interspersed with wide expanses of sand beaches. Shards of black basalt stretched from the cliffs into the ocean, forcing the powerful waves of the Pacific to split into confused swirls as they lost power on the long flat beaches. From first level escarpments above the beach (where the road was built) one looked south to see layer after layer of cliffs jutting out into the ocean, skirted by sea level fog created by the spray of waves. Looking west the horizon line was clear and sharp – the grey green ocean touching the cloudless, intense sky.

Sand told the story… sharp ripples from wave action left their undulating marks the whole way to the high tide line… wide sweeping sand contours were deposited by the wind as it took the top off drying wave marks… streaks of light sand blown over the wet dark breaking waves sand… sand that curled around beach boulders and half buried them… footprints… dog prints… marks from sneakers and boots. At Hecete Head Beach three people, bundled against the force of the wind and blown sand, poked around the pebble boulder area next to the first escarpment. They looked among the tumbled rounded rocks for shards of garnet and jasper, loosed from the mountain valleys inland and brought by the rivers to lodge among basaltic boulders. They worked slowly, poking and turning rocks, clearly understanding where to look. The yellow orange of the garnet they found should have been obvious to the casual looker but clearly wasn’t. We admired their finds, shared stories of the joyful day, and moved on, leaving them to their treasure hunting. Our treasures were the sun and sky, the wind and water, the power of the earth and air and waves.

In the end, I was drawn back to the pink sneakers, left abandoned while their owner ran the beach, testing the waves, holding hands with a friend, jumping to keep the cold breaking waves below their waists. A mother, carrying piles of towels and little people clothes, watched, moved into and out of the water mimicking the distance the girls played from shore, guardian of their safety.

Tomorrow Daryle and I travel south from Alder Dune towards Coos Bay and the National Sea Shore. This adventure is amazing!

September 1

We camped last night in a forest service campground on the western side of the Cascade Range in Oregon. A grand night’s purchase for $6. Nestled among the tall cedar and Douglas fir trees of the temperate rain forest, the separation of camping sites, the quiet, and the stillness made for wonderful sleeping. The contrast to the last two nights can’t be starker… One night in Wally’s World (Wal-Mart) in suburban Portland (the price was right… the setting left much to be desired) and one night nestled among the mega RV’s in a city campground in Oregon City. I much prefer the Douglas fir to the RV giants for neighbors.

Yesterday we drove from Oregon City up the Clakamas River Valley into the Mt Hood National Forest and then on to the Willamette National Forest. Stopped at a pass to find out why so much congestion of cars and tents and trucks in an otherwise unpopulated area. Had an interesting conversation with the Information Officer for two major fire fighting efforts in the forests. Over 800 people on the fire lines. We had stumbled into Incident Command, with all its facilities to feed, house, transport, plan, manage, equip, and care for the fire fighters who had come from all parts of the Pacific Northwest. Just cooking enough food for all those hungry people was huge, as was safety, equipment management, finance, and information management. The effort had been underway at least two weeks and had cost over $5 million federal dollars. Interestingly the plan was to let parts of the fire go to burn the underbrush and leave the tall trees standing. That is a significant change from past practice.

Back to campgrounds – People are far more friendly when there is separation between the sites. No contact with other campers during the two nights spent in the parking lots of Wally’s World; very minimal contact in RV Parks; and pleasant conversations in forest service sites.

Woke this morning at 6:00 to see the half moon over my shoulder between the black silhouettes of fir trees. For an hour I watched the tops of grey ghost trees, wrapped in morning fog, emerge behind the black campsite ones, and then saw all ease from flat silhouettes into dark green shapes and finally distinct cathedrals of trees. I have been taken by the interface between the trees and ferns on the forest floor… green skirts that wrap the solid trunks. “Ghost trees” was the name for the shards of tree trunks left standing in the ash fields of Mt St Helens eruption… and ‘ghost trees’ is the image of the living trees in this forest – each its own beauty.

Today we continue south thru the Breitenbush River Watershed in the Willamentic National Forest and the middle Sanitern Wilderness.

We are blessed!

Mt St Helens and Mt Rainier

Thirty years ago I was deep in diapers, day care, little people giggles and tears, and work. I made time for myself by studying calligraphy and learning to love the form of letters and words. Barely aware of the greater world, the explosion of fire and rock at Mt St. Helens only glanced off my consciousness. Now the power of this mountain has become clear. Over the millenniums she had been shaped by fire from deep in the earth and molded by glaciers on her surface. April 1980 it happened again. In a single eruption, 1/3 of the top of the mountain was blown away, including the whole north face. Magma flowed, steam billowed, fire erupted. Ash up to 7 feet deep covered everything for miles and, caught by the winds in the stratosphere, circled the globe. In Maine I noticed beautiful sun sets in my small world.

We viewed the mountain from Windy Ridge to its east. What was grey and lifeless 30 years ago is now becoming green, sprouting wildflowers, alder shrubs, new growth spruce, pine, and fir, grasses and sedges. The north face, still missing in the circle of the crater, gives glimpse of two lava domes which grow inside her center. The mountain itself, giving off steam and magma on the inside of the crater, supports glaciers on the outside. Our day with Mt St Helens was one of sun and fire, magma growth and power. No more glancing off the power of mother earth!

There are other days when we receive gentle gifts. A hike in the alpine meadows east of Mt Rainier offered sun and cooling wind, open meadows of flowers clinging to the sides of hills. Alpine lupine painted the meadows with purple hue. Spotted with the vermillion red of Indian Paintbrush, yellow hawkweed reaching its heads above grey dry soil, ubiquitous pearly everlasting, pink and white heather, broad leaf corn lily, and so many other small flowers, the meadows were a gift of joy. Below us small ponds reflected the mountains and steep cliffs through which we walked. It is pure joy to be in the mountains, to see grand Rainier in all her glacial garb, and feel the intimate splendor of the flowers and trees, cliffs and lakes which cover her sides.

These day trips, guided by Kay’s Sister-in-law, Sarah, and shared with Sam (Kay’s brother), Imrose and Amit (friends from India), were an introduction to the Pacific Northwest Mountains. Now, following a few days in Tacoma to outfit the RV (thank you St. Vincent de Paul thrift store), fill her with food, find the things we so carefully stowed two weeks ago, Daryle and I are off on our own, camping the first night in the William O Douglas Wilderness area, east of White Pass, next to a small fishing lake. Weather has cooled down in the mountains, enough for us to want another blanket at night. Our journey of two begins… I am thankful for the chance and am humbled in my efforts to be open and fresh and present as we move on.

A few selected photos...

Mt Hood

Week One of the Journey

Having dragged what seemed like an enormous amount of clothes, books, cameras, computers, and other in sundry things thru JetBlue to Portland, OR last Thursday, we arrived and settled into our little moving house last Friday. It was exciting to feel that the long thought-about adventure was beginning. By Friday afternoon we were tucked in, Aaron had given us the first in a myriad of lessons on how the RV systems work (oh, lessons like… check the levels in the waste tanks often and when you dump them, let the ‘black water’ go first, then the ‘grey water’ – don let any of it splash back at you!) and we had met up with Kay’s brother Sam, wife Sarah, and daughter Lily. Along with Summit the big dog, we would all spend the week together celebrating Aaron’s graduation on Saturday and then camping in and about Oregon.

Of the graduation – it was well appointed. Set outside on a day that was close to 100 degrees, the big shade trees on Pacific University campus did their job in cooling. Speakers came from the graduating professional students… short statements of the hopes and dreams of their peers. Later in the day the PA Program class recognition ceremony was held downtown in what would be a wonderful space if only it had been air conditioned. Oh well! Heather says Daryle and I drag hot weather with us wherever we go – not totally true but it felt that way Saturday afternoon.

By Sunday we were ready to play! Sam had arranged a rafting trip for all of us for Monday so Sunday we headed up the Columbia River gorge to Hood River. What a glorious place. Moving through the green lush river valley, punctuated by precipitous cliffs and mountain ranges lined up to the east, we then turned away from the river at Hood River and traveled south, toward Mt Hood, through dryer agricultural area, fruit farms and wheat fields. The land forms in the Mt Hood valley were totally honest. Steep rolling hills dry brown with stubble of recently cut wheat - contour farming marking the shapes of the hills, sage brush rubble on the slopes too steep to contour, and fruit trees where irrigation was available. I was taken by the grey-blue-green of the sage against its dry, stony ground, black stems snarly and dry, random in their twists and bends, left behind after the green sage withered. Sunday night we watched the half moon rise and the sun set on Mt Hood in clear, warm air.

Rafting trip on the Deschutes River… great experience. Todd, the guide, managed us well. Of the six of us, only Aaron had rafted previously. Class IV rapids looked scary as we drove up river to the put-in place but the 100 degree temperature of the day rendered the water very inviting. Adorned with all the proper equipment and a good amount of adrenalin reserves, we pushed off for a 14 mile ride. It was a RIDE! Some smooth stretches which allowed time to look, lots of other boats which were quick to greet us with water cannons (of course we responded in kind until a truce was called), and then there were the rapids. Todd took us straight thru the largest waves, raft bending ford to aft as if it would fold in half, sidling up on the edge of eddies, and rolling around a tumultuous hole in the currents. Those adrenalin reserves powered our howls! Great fun was had by all. Even Daryle, who traveled without his glasses or hearing aids, enjoyed the adventure.

On then for Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday to Astoria at the mouth of the Columbia River and to the Oregon Coast. We were all becoming comfortable camping in the RV and tent. Ate way too much food, biked and hiked. Aaron, Daryle and I spent Thursday at Ecola Point, the place where, in 1806, Lewis and Clark reached the Pacific. This is temperate rain forest extraordinary with precipitous cliffs, bounded by sandy beach - craggy pillars of rock in the water. Rain forest friends included Queen Ann Lace, thistle, ferns with their twisting fronds, white fox glove, trees with bases so large that a person could sit between the root extensions. The beach, like beaches around the world, were populated by dogs and surfboards, waves and kites, silhouettes of families, children dancing into and out of the cold water, bright blankets flying in the wind as they are laid down, children lost in imagination of their own making, running, stretching, laughing. Sun warm and wind gentle; frisbees fly and bodies reach, instant beauty in the gesture. Stick boats sail and sink and are resurrected again. The wave hole on the far cliff is pounded, explodes with spray, and settles with no regard to the human play on the beach. And the march of surfers goes on, surfboard under arms they walk up beach to find one more wave to sail down current. As we left for the drive back to Portland, the enormous size of the trees with their moss covered branches and the sun filtering thru in speckles made clear just how unique this rain forest is.

Now, writing quietly in the RV, parked in Sam’s driveway in urban Tacoma, homeless folks walking past from the night shelter to the day programs. Life seems like such enormous contradictions.

First Tooth Sailabration

August 8, 2010

Dear Nathan,

What a glorious week this has been… its time to Sailabrate your first tooth, a remarkable achievement. Since you’ve not had a Sailabration, a little introduction will help.

You remember WonderfulWooly the Dream Catcher, don’t you. He has been spreading Dream Dust every night to help you sleep and grow and smile your happy hugs onto Mommy and Daddy. I’m sure you remember that WonderfulWooly sleeps in the cat closet during the day. His Twitchy Tail can just be seen behind the vacuum cleaner. In my last letter I told you Wooly gets grouchy if he is wakened during the day. Well that is true… but not totally true. You see, he loves First Tooth Sailabrations and would be much grouchier if we had one and didn’t wake him up. So first we have to wake Wooly and invite him to be part of your First Tooth Sailabration Extravaganza.

There’s a special way to wake him. You will find him all curled up in a tiny ball, his tail twitching just a bit. Tickle the tip of his tail while you giggle and sing “da, da, da” ever so quietly. You’ll see. He will wiggle a bit, stretch out, open one big eye slowly, and hoot the First Tooth Sailabration Song… that’s where you come in. Wooly’s song goes like this… its really for you to sing…

Oh my tooth,
My Cheerio Chomping tooth,
My watermelon munching tooth,
My ‘Mommy and Daddy are so proud of me’ tooth,
My ‘I made it myself’ tooth,
My ‘I’m sailing into new waters’ tooth,
Oh my tooth, my first tooth
We’re off to a new adventure my tooth and me.
YEA for MY TOOTH!

Wooly will fly up, turn a summersault, hoist sail, give you a nod, and together you will jump into the Sailabration boat.

Hold tight to WonderfulWooly till you get your sea legs. Feel your little boat, MolarSomeDay, catch the east wind, head past SoreGum Cove and Drool-on-my-Shirt Harbor and set a true compass course direct to GrowingBoy Land.

Mommy and Daddy will be there to greet you. So will your Grammys and Grampys and Uncle Aaron. They will be watching you and Wooly coming down the waves, flying your mainsail and jib, you with a firm hand on the tiller, and a gentle wind behind. Everyone will join your Sailabration with hugs and hoots and fine Cheerios to chomp.

So sail on Nathan, to GrowingBoy Land and beyond. May the winds of love be your guide and the waters of life be ever kind…

Oh, and by the way, you might let WonderfulWooly catch a nap below deck so he will be ready to spread Dream Dust after the Sailabration. The Dust will keep your compass course true and will help Mommy and Daddy keep the sad bears out of your path.

Lots of love. Sail On

Grammy Kay

65th Anniversary of Hiroshima – A Commemoration

August 6. We lie down on the cement patio in front of the Peirce Memorial at Bangor Public Library. Firsthand stories of the Hiroshima atomic bomb and a deep felt hope for a nuclear free world have been shared by Masanabu Ikemiya, a family member of survivors. Letters read from others. The message of reconciliation voiced as a word of hope. Honoring the thousands of individuals who survived the bomb blast only as a shadow on the pavement where they had stood, people lay down there in the sun. Outlines drawn around the bodies… I lay there on that beautiful Maine summer day, warm, protected from heat by clouds drifting overhead, eyes closed, thinking about what it must be like to experience your city/community in flames. Ilze Petersons would ring a bell at the end of the remembrance and invite us into the Library for a story and film. Almost on cue as we lay there, clouds moved and the intense heat of the sun pierced through. It radiated from the cement, burned from the sky, penetrated the pores, giving a glimpse of how intense heat can be. “Ring the bell that still can ring, there is a crack in everything, that’s how the light gets in…” The bell was slow to ring… time to wonder what the bell asked of us… time to think about hope and the power of reconciliation…

The bell does ring, we get up leaving our shadows on the ground. We are present, able to celebrate the crack which lets the light in, able to be ambassadors of nothing more than the joy in living, nothing less than hope for a nuclear free world, and nothing more earnest than a quest for gentle living on this world planet. So many things we don’t know as a people… the mystery of living, of the unseen, of the source of being, and yet we don’t need to know the mysteries of the wind to sail effortlessly in the world. We need only ring the bell that still can ring, leave shadows of our work, be part of the symphony of hope.


Well, life has its irony too. It did not go unnoticed to me that as we lay on the cement, just a few blocks away, Bangor’s newest music festival was getting underway… Wouldn’t you know it is called the KAHBANG Festival! What’s the probability Kahbang would start on August 6, the 65th anniversary of the Hiroshima bomb. Gotta love life as it comes! Oh, and then there was the disappearance of the shadows on the cement. Leaving the library after the movie “Railroad of Love, Spanning Australia and Japan”, one noticed that the chalk marks had been erased. Nothing was left on the ground from the remembrance. I guess we need to ring the bell loud and hard to keep its sound alive over the din of Kabang!

Ring the bell that still can ring!

We sent our bikes to Oregon last week and packed our cool weather clothes into a duffel to take with us. This trip is becoming a reality in spite of how unreal it still seems… that’s a contradiction in thought! The process of disconnecting from daily life in Maine is interesting. It is similar to leaving a job or moving to another location. One needs to push a large crow bar into the millwheel of daily life and stop the gears which otherwise keep on turning… cancel the papers, clean the kitchen, play with friends, and then let go. It is a freeing process. Deciding what to take on the journey and what falls into the category of ‘things I never thought I could do without but am leaving behind’ opens the mind.

So, what is going with us….
• A book of poetry by Mary Oliver
• Sketch book, pens, pencils, watercolors, and a large bucket of time and commitment to look, see, draw, think;
• Maps, glorious maps;
• Computer, Google, Face book, Skype;
• Howard Zinn’s book, A People’s History of United States;
• Bikes, boots, and wet suits – for all manner of adventure…

And what’s left behind…
• Friends
• Our daughter, son-in-law and GRANDSON – won’t see them until late October; Nathan may be walking/talking/reading/riding bike (who knows) by then – oh dear!
• Wonderful Women With Wings
• Vibrant Voices for Peace
• My beautiful studio and work space
• Home base

We go on this journey, expecting adventure, focus, fun, and the opportunity to see the far reaches of our beautiful country, and then return to Maine where life and community nurture us. A song has been running in my head of late reflecting the theme of preparations…

Forget your perfect offerings;
Just ring the bell that still can ring;
There is a crack in everything;
That’s how the Light gets in.

On biking and sketching

It was a gentle ride yesterday. I went by myself. That made all the difference. No feeling of holding someone else back… time to stop and look. Again I was awe struck by the beauty of the unfolding summer. Honing in on the roadside flora, the shapes of leaves which curl around flower buds were enchanting. I have forgotten more names of plants than I remember… perhaps a good thing… without a name the shapes stand out in all of their twists and angles and interplay. Emerging flowers in mauve pink, white, yellow, deep red draw my eye. I make the commitment to return with sketch book and pen today… but of course the weather has changed and the rain puts a damper on drawing… what matter, there are day lilies exploding by my kitchen window.

Last week I started a drawing class… figure drawing. The idea was simple. While on our trip across the country I would want to capture what I saw with pen and ink. Improving my skill in drawing would help. Little did I know how hard it would be. Of course I should have taken Drawing I before starting into figure drawing but I went for that which was available for the summer… If learning is supposed to challenge the person - mind, body, and soul - I have to be learning an enormous amount. New materials, new ways of looking at the visual world, shapes, proportion, angles, bones, ribcages (what manner of animal is captured in that cage?), joints… the human body is one amazing machine… I didn’t know it would be so hard to do it justice… and to convey a sense of form and beauty at the same time. With luck, practice, and confidence (which I am lacking now in this endeavor) by the end of class I will be able to succeed to some extent.

The class assignment for the month is to draw, draw, draw… make at least 25 sketches of the human head… all angles, all shapes, all postures. Daryle is kind enough to be my model to start out. I was feeling very intimidated by the whole effort until I started yesterday. He worked at his desk while I tried to balance large sketch pad, graphite stick, tippy easel, and hesitant soul (that was the hard part) to draw a reasonable likeness of him. Made two sketches. The good part is that one can tell it is a human head! One needs to look hard to see it is Daryle… we’ll see what happens 25 to 50 sketches from now!

So for relief and confidence building I turn back to the dance of the flora outside my window… No shape is more elegant than the unassuming simplicity and economy of one flower, one leaf, a bud or two, and the play between them… and yes, I can’t help but share the graphic I did for my dear Women With Wings after a celebration last week. Love and simplicity make so many things clear.

Sunday's ride

The Sunday adventure-ride really started on Friday. I was in Orono in the morning and figured that one more good training ride would help me on Sunday so I took my bike and planned to do a loop from the University, up Rt. 2 to Old Town, over Stillwater Ave to the Black Bear Inn, thru the industrial park to Bennoch Rd and then to down-town Orono and back to the University. Note to self: don’t try to ride thru the business area on Stillwater Ave again… not worth the traffic aggravation. I had heard tales from Aaron in the past about biking in Colorado and Oregon, seeing others on bike rides and just joining up. I figured that was part of his biking culture… when people ride, others just join up. Soooo, as I biked on the Bennoch Road and saw two people from my generation loading their bikes onto a car I figured the right thing to do was to stop and chat… and besides I needed to catch my breath from the hill I had been climbing. Glad I stopped. Learned about places to bike near Old Town as well as the Downeast Sunrise trail and biking in Washington State. Also found some people who enjoy getting out and riding during the day. I guess there is a universal biking culture!

Sunday’s ride was good. (You didn’t really expect me to say it was horrible, did you!?) An all woman ride organized by the Bicycle Coalition of Maine, one had to choose 5, 15, 25, or 50 mile trips. I chose 25, Freeport to Brunswick and back again. At the start I was confident I could do the full trip. I had called the Coalition Office the week before and been told that the ride followed rural roads with gentle rolling hills… It was only 25 miles. I should have skyped the Coalition and been able to see the person I was talking to. Her definition of gentle rolling hills and mine differ by about 45 degrees (and perhaps 25 years!). Oh well, it was just an opportunity to prove to myself I could do more than I thought I could. Somewhere between the first “What were you thinking when you signed up for this” and the realization that I was over halfway through the ride, the rhythm of my ride kicked in. I found a mental space where I was totally present in the movement of my legs, up and down, rolling, seeing the fields and woods, and feeling the wind thru my helmet. It was an interesting juxtaposition of a solo ride happening in community, pleasant to share the struggle on steep hills with others, huffing and puffing along, pleasant also to set my own pace. Coming down out of the Brunswick High School rest stop to ride along the water’s edge was a real treat. It is interesting that the trip odometer on my bike lost its importance around mile 5 and then didn’t seem relevant again until mile 22. At that point someone put big bumps in the road and my legs didn’t really want to work quite so hard. The countdown of the miles from there to 25 seemed forever… Well as a matter of fact it was. The 25 mile ride turned out to be 27 miles. Somewhere in the last couple of miles my friend, Phyllis Havens (from Women With Wings) and I caught up together and powered the last few miles with a song from our group, adapted to the occasion… ‘The Goddess is in me, I did not falter in my journey….’ And so on.

We finished the ride in 2 ½ hours, punctuated the end with shouts and joy, and added one more check mark to the bucket list of life!

The Ride

I didn’t mean to keep riding. I just got on my bike for a quick training trip around the Patterson Road loop…. The weather was wonderful, the wind cooling, my legs just kept going. Wildflowers by the road seduced my ride. Who would believe that a clump of blue flag in a drainage ditch would explode with such energy? Did I know that the deep purple lupine on the green hillside could send power to the core of my being, or that fields of yellow buttercups bounded by dark blue green ragged spruce trees would entice me onwards? Never. Do you know how many greens intertwine in the early summer mosaic of the fields? Have you seen the sweet lavender clover hidden among the grasses, the wispy heads of grasses, the blue-green wheat blossoms left behind in old fields? Ferns are full now, having stretched out of their fiddlehead stage. They still play in the brilliant green of earlier spring, however. Dark green sword-leaves of cat-n-nine tales stretch above other residents of wet areas, punctuated by their fern neighbors. On quiet roads, birdsongs resonate. So the trip just kept growing: Kennebec Road to Meadow Road to Rt. 69, back in Kennebec Rd, to Back Winterport Rd, to Baker Rd to Rt. 1A, to the four mile square – 23.3 miles. I was seduced and loved it!


When I biked on Acadia last week with my friend John, I would look ahead and moan about a hill we were about to climb… He admonished me to be in the present. What a great mantra… to be where I am, to see with open eyes, to trust the day, to relish the offerings. I lived that mantra in the ride yesterday and found an internal power to keep going. I have made peace with the gear shifts on my bike. They actually help me. So, the goal I set for myself some weeks ago: to be able to participate in, complete, and enjoy the 25 mile woman’s bike ride in Freeport this weekend seems to be within sight. Only Sunday will tell what really happens… but for now, the physical and mental training, the pure joy that I have found on the road, and the lush early summer fields have all been unexpected gifts which will power my ride. WAAHOOO!

WonderfulWooly

6/8/2010
To: Nathan Tryon
From: Grammy Kay
Re: The memo you missed about sleep

I understand that you missed the memo which you were supposed to receive last week about sleeping at night - A pity that you missed it. It was full of helpful hints for the care and nurturing of your mom and dad. This is a special edition of the memo, written especially for you, to bring you up to speed on the job of an infant, with special attention to this matter of sleep.

First, you do need to sleep. Did you know that it is ever so much better to sleep when it is dark outside than when the sun shines. You don’t miss anything. Only owl and cat are out playing at night.

Second, when you sleep at night, WondefulWooly, the Dream Catcher, makes Dream Dust and spreads it about. He lives by your bed at night, catching gentle breezes, fragrant flowers, and rolling waves and mixing them together to sprinkle on your toes. When you wake in the morning and play with your toes, they are full of all manner of interesting things to explore. It is said that WonderfulWooly’s Dream Dust tastes like star sprinkles; it fills you with giggles, and makes your breakfast with mommy full of warm snuggles. WonderfulWooly has a lot of work to do as you sleep. He needs you to help him by staying in dozy land as long as possible.

And did you know that WonderfulWooly goes to sleep when the sun is out. That gives him energy to build his supply of Dream Dust for you. Sometime, if you look behind the box in the cat’s closet, you might see Wooly’s tail twitching as he sleeps… (But don’t pull it, he can be grouchy if he wakes during the daylight hours and doesn’t get enough sleep).

Third, and this is a very little known fact, WonderfulWooly shares Dream Dust with mommies and daddies, but only when they are sleeping too. That’s where you come in. WonderfulWooly moved into your house when you were born. You needed his love and help as you began to grow into your new world. Mommy and Daddy needed his help too. The dreams which swell from his Dream Dust help Mommy and Daddy know all about you. Dream dust helps them know when you have a giggle just waiting to explode across your face; they know when your toes are so wiggly they jump with happiness; they know when your tummy is saying its hungry; and they know, when the sad bears surround you and hold you in tears, just how to lift you up and shake those silly bears off. Mommy and Daddy’s Dream Dust comes, just like yours, when they sleep at night.

So dear Nathan, now you have the memo you missed. WonderfulWooly helps you with your job of giggling, growing, changing, and loving. He helps Mommy and Daddy understand you better. Help him by sleeping long hours at night. Tuck the dreams under your chin and go where they lead. Love is guiding you.

Wondering about the plan

Thinking about driving across the country this summer/fall and wondering at the audacity of the plan. There is a war on; a recession is impacting hundreds of thousands of people around the world; people struggle to survive and we are planning to take three months (more or less) to see the country. I could say, “well we’ve saved for it…”, “it’s the only time we have done this..”, “We deserve it after years of work…”, and on and on. All blather. In reality, it is just an opportunity that opens itself to us and we are going to take it. Where it leads to we don’t know, either during the trip or when we get home. We are collecting all manner of material about the states we will travel through… and not making any plans about when we will be in any particular spot or what we will do. That in itself is unlike us. Giving ourselves the opportunity to wake up each morning and 1) figure out where we are in space, 2) figure if we want to move or stay still, and 3) decide what the next minute will look like. We’ll have toys to play with… drawing and painting supplies, cameras, computers, reading, etc. and time to indulge. I’ve been reading web sites about the ‘frugal RVer’. Sounds like there are a lot of options for very low cost camping and living if we get busy and find them along the way. This is not a Conestoga wagon trip however. We will be fully outfitted with computers for music, communication, blogging, etc. There is internal plumbing – shower and toilet – cooking and sleeping place. So creature comforts will be handled. Our bikes will be somewhere in or on the RV. So on to my hopes and dreams for the trip…
• That we get a sense of this vast country of ours;
• That we meet people along the way who love the land in which they live and point us to places and communities which open us to new thinking and understanding;
• That we are able to listen to the places we visit and learn and grow in ways we can’t now imagine;
• That we eat food which is simple and tied to the places we pass through;
• That we hear the howls in the Badlands at night, are overwhelmed by the beauty of the prairie lands; are humbled by the size and scope of the mountains; and that we are changed/deepened as people passing through.
• That the scope and breadth of our nation, its history, its people, and its soul is a little more clear to us.
It is a privilege to be able to take this time to travel. It may be the only time we can do it slowly and with intentionality. Being present where we are, seeing, listening, learning, rejoicing in the time and opportunity. That is the direction and the hope, and of course, having fun as we go!
I’m getting eager to begin. August 12 seems so far away but also so close in time. Daryle retires at the end of this week, we have lots to do around the house to get it ready for a house sitter and our absence, and of course, I am looking forward to a couple of drawing classes this summer, to biking with my sister after she comes to Maine, and to a canoe trip in early August. Life is truly full of opportunity for joy!
On another note, last night we went to see a film about the life of Howard Zinn, the historian and activist. The movie, “You can’t be neutral on a moving train” was beautifully done, documenting one of the outstanding thinkers in our times. One lasting impression from the film was his joy and optimism in life, his courage to speak, and his deep sense of caring. This while he was so involved in raising the hard questions of his times. Courage was big in his life… just one example: after not being tenured at Spellman College because of his activism, he went on to teach at BU. On the day when the Trustees of BU were set to vote on his tenure there, he was asked by the students to be the only speaker at a rally, outside the Trustees Meeting, to challenge the status quo of the University… and he said ‘yes’. He thrived on teaching, on leading, on inspiring, and on sharing. One book which we will take on our journey will be his book, A People’s History of the United States.