Aventuras Mexicanas con El Esposo y Hijo Dos: Días 9-11, Jalpan y la Sierra Gorda

Posted on April 7, 2025 by gretchenwing

Leaving the blue waters of La Huasteca Potosina would have been hard, except that we were looking forward to new wonders. Starting with the town of Xilitla, which is famous for the Surrealist Gardens built by an eccentric Englishman almost a century ago.

Since we don’t enjoy standing in line, we decided to view the Gardens from the outside, which was still pretty cool.

Very M.C. Escher. But you aren’t allowed to walk in it, so…I’m not sure we missed much.

Instead, we spent a happy hour meandering through the main town of Xilitla (pronounced Hee-leet-la), which was as colorful as Aquismon, with an even prettier hilltop aspect.

It was a market day–even more colorful!

I found myself wishing I’d brought a bigger suitcase.

That sandy-looking pile on the left is brown sugar, ground from that dark cone in the middle. Mmmm!

Since there were no hikes in Xilitla, we hadn’t made reservations there. So we pushed on, crossing over into the state of Queretaro. To my dismay, while the mountains grew taller, they also grew drier.

The main town, Jalpan, looked pretty enough, but…where’s all the green I expected?

This new landscape worried me, given the weather forecast. It was supposed to be in the 90s our first day, followed by 102. That’s too hot for hiking! And too hot for anything else. I began to wonder if I’d made a mistake, bringing us here.

But our rooms, run by the nonprofit Sierra Gorda Ecological Group, cheered me up considerably.

Our only neighbors: hummingbirds, doves, and a group of camping high schoolers.

And walking into town that night, we were equally cheered by Jalpan itself: another well-named Pueblo Mágico.

Jalpan went all-out for their “Magic Town” designation, seemed like. Not only was the plaza decorated…

…but each side alley had its own colorful theme.

Oh, and the church wasn’t bad either:

The front is intricately carved. I really should’ve taken close-ups. But you get the idea.

So Jalpan itself stole our hearts. Still, I worried: are we really going hiking in 98 degrees? Turns out, I wasted a good worry. La Sierra Gorda is all about hidden mountain oases.

Our first hike, along this creek, featured all the blue water we’d been missing. And big ol’ sycamore trees…

And yes! a waterfall.

Let me zoom in a sec on that fan of rock…which, understand, is CREATED by the water itself–a fan-shaped stalactite.

One wasn’t allowed to swim in this pool, as it’s a habitat for highly endangered axolotls. (Which we didn’t find.) But at the end of the hike…

Oh–and another reward: highly cute piggies at the trail entrance.

Buoyed by our first oasis experience, we ventured out on Day 2…the 102-degree day…with high hopes for lower temps in another cool oasis: El Puente de Diós (Sierra Gorda version, not to be confused with the one in Tamasopo). This hike is famous and sensitive enough that we were required to hire a local guide. And this time, we were also rewarded beyond our wildest expectations.

The hike started similarly to the day before: clear stream, big trees.

But soon enough the canyon narrowed.

Keep an eye on that fluted-looking rock, above.

And narrowed further.

Notice that some of those stalactite fans have broken off.

We didn’t realize it at the time, but those rocky fans on either side of the canyon are growing closer to each other with each drop of water than pours down.

Soon we would see just how close those rocky sides could grow. But first…fun with rock faces!

Soon after this stretch, the canyon opened back up…

…and we started hearing a waterfall roar.

But not just any waterfall. This Bridge of God was…

Can you see what happened here? The two sides of the canyon “grew” together, millennium by millennium, drop by mineral-laden drop, to connect into this bridge.

But the most incredible view was from underneath. Here’s looking THROUGH the bridge…

…but here is looking UP…into the bridge’s belly.

Or whatever body parts you want to call these.

Imagine a roar too loud for conversation.

Hijo Dos noticing that some of God’s pipes seem to be blocked. (You okay, Madre?)

Our guide assured us the water was safe to drink; we took him at his word.

No need to swim at God’s Bridge; we were fully cooled by our own awe, all the way back down the trail. Oh, and our guide pointed out this tree, which he said was 800 years old.

Again: we saw no reason not to believe him. Gracias, Ricardo.

On the drive back to Jalpan, as coda to a perfect day, we stopped at the tiniest little lunch spot off the road, run by the tiniest little woman, Doña Mary.

Her kitchen was about the size of this table.

No menus; our host simply narrated what she’d cooked that day. Something she mentioned sounded to me like “little mushrooms” (honguitos), so I asked Hijo Dos to inquire. Turns out she served something called Huitlacoche, which Google told us later is “a fungus that grows on corn kernels, forming a blue-gray, tumor-like growth,” which is considered a delicacy.

It looked as disgusting as it tasted delicious.

You had me at blue-gray. Gracias, Doña Mary.

Approaching Jalpan, we watched the temp guage in our rental car climb and climb. I’d never seen 40 degrees Centigrade before! Let’s hear it for oases.

Next day, we decided to say goodbye to La Sierra Gorda. Most of it, we found, is inaccessible–a wonderful, thriving natural habitat, but not offering many more hikes than those we’d enjoyed. Not wishing to drive long distances on some INCREDIBLY twisty roads, we opted to spend our next night back in Tamasopo.

We ate brunch before leaving Jalpan next morning, where I tried one more ingredient new to me: prickly-pear fruit (in a burrito), which they call tuna or tunita.

Fresh, pretty…tastes a bit like okra, without the sliminess!

I just gotta say, Jalpan–you grew on us, big time.

Next up: last days in the blue waters, and giant Meatpile! Thanks for keeping me company.

Aventuras Mexicanas con El Esposo y Hijo Dos: Días 5-8, “Pueblo Mágico” Aquismón

Posted on March 31, 2025 by gretchenwing

I’ll be honest: I’d never heard of a Pueblo Mágico. Apparently it’s a special designation conferred in Mexico by the government–though state or federal, we never learned.

All I can say is: Aquismón fits the bill of Magical Town.

You could quibble with the colorlessness of their sign…but the rest of the place made up for that.

Word of warning. You know those really talky blog posts I sometimes do? This one isn’t that. I have pics to share!

Like this one, showing how picturesquely steep the village streets are.

Our first day there, all I really did was walk around and revel in the beauties of the place.

If my neighbor HERE painted their house like this, I’d hate it. But here? Fits right in.

Ditto. And you gotta love that hillside behind.

Not only the houses, but the yards themselves spoke of people who loved color and design.

Yes, that is a “bush” made of deep blue glass bottles! (Ukrainians would love this backyard.)

Oh, and the gardens???

Nothin’ much…just your average 4-colored bouganvillea vines…

Carved out of the base of the jungly cliffs of the region, the village still hosted what looked like some magnificent old growth.

We stayed one night in one teensy little hotel, directly above an alley bustling with vendors…

…and two more in another small place, even more modest, with a very sweet courtyard. Pretty sure we were the only guests in both.

The tree shading El Esposo in this picture was bursting with blossoms. Hijo Dos assured me that, yes–that’s a mango tree, meaning that these…

…are actually the TEENSIEST baby mangoes ever!

You could tell that the citizens of Aquismon had a lot of pride in their village. I saw zero trash, and this sign on a public wall explained why:

“If you have culture and pride, don’t litter”

We made two excursions from Aquismon. The first involved getting up before daybreak, and driving up, up, up a twisty road into the mountains behind town…in order to walk down, down, down 600 steps to a giant hole in the ground.

Not just any hole, though. This is El Sotano de Los Golondrinas, literally, Cellar of the Swallows.

Photo courtesy of Hijo Dos, who got himself roped up to peer into the depths from the edge. Eek.

Gazillion birds spend the night there, and at daybreak, come swirling out again. If you’re lucky. Sometimes, if it’s cloudy, they decide to sleep in, and you’re left just staring at their giant hole. Which is, admittedly, pretty cool: 1600 feet deep (512 m); the deepest cave shaft in the world, and the second-largest cave in Mexico.

Fellow tourists waiting to photograph the birds. Not a very comfy seat, that limestone.

We were semi-lucky: enough birds swirled out for us to be able to ooh and ahh and call it a swirl (though not exactly sky-blackening).

Next day’s excursion was a little further afield: Cascada Tamul, the highest waterfall in the region. We learned we could either hike to it–with instructions that sounded a bit iffy for folks like us with rental cars and bad knees–or rent a spot in a lancha and paddle up toward it.

We chose the lancha, with a half-dozen fellow tourists, from Mexico City.

The trip wasn’t far, maybe 30 minutes of paddling, but it started spectacular and stayed that way.

We all got out and walked around as our boat captain hauled the boat over the only rapids on this stretch.

When we got to the actual falls themselves, so many other boats were there, full of people taking photos, it was actually an anticlimax.

A very pretty one–don’t get me wrong. And imagine what it looks like at high water season!

Truly, though, I was more captivated by the journey than the destination. Especially the fluted limestone…

…which I couldn’t stop taking photos of. Even though I was supposed to be paddling.

Such shapes! Such colors! OK, you get the idea.

But probably THE COOLEST part of the excursion was the Cueva de Agua (Water Cave) we stopped at on the way back downstream. Our captain pulled the boat over to let us all troop up some rough steps, then even more steps, up the bank…

This isn’t the river. Where’s all this water coming from??

…to this. Exactly as advertised: it’s a cave full of water sprung straight up from the earth. And warm.

Just don’t think about any of those giant stalactites dropping on your head.

I wish, oh how I wish, we could’ve seen it without anyone else there, as we did the Puente de Dios at Tamasopo. But being part of a group, we didn’t have a choice. Luckily folks were nice, and gave each other plenty of space in there.

Afterwards, waiting for everyone to have their swim, we enjoyed sitting in the cascading creek from that magical cave.

I am LITERALLY sitting in this waterfall pool to take this photo of Hijo 2.

This photo of that creek pouring into the river captures the whole experience better than I can describe.

But, lest you can’t quite believe what that photo is showing, here’s the same waterfall, looking up from the river.

(with El Esposo’s hat in the lower corner)

And one more:

Back in Aquismon, I walked around some more, soaking up that cute little town. I even found a few ugly things, like these drying intestines at a carniceria (butcher’s):

…but for intestines, they’re still pretty cool-looking.

But the sunset from our hotel balcony was right on brand.

Next up: Jalpan (another Magic Town) and La Sierra Gorda. Thanks for traveling with me!

Aventuras Mexicanas con El Esposo y Hijo Dos: Días 1-3, San Luis Potosí y Tamasopo

Posted on March 18, 2025 by gretchenwing

Sometime this winter The Mate allowed that he wouldn’t mind a little break from splitting firewood and running our wood stove. So, with our family obligations cleared, our thoughts turned to Mexico, where lately it seems a good half of our (retired) acquaintance has been sojourning in the cold months.

When it came to Mexico, we quickly found out our knowledge fell into two categories .
1. Things we don’t know about Mexico: almost everything
2. Things we do know about Mexico: any place where we are likely to meet lots of fellow Americans is a place we don’t want to visit right now.

With that in mind, I bought a Lonely Planet book and started checking out regions. That’s when La Huasteca Potosina and the Sierra Gorda caught my eye and held it. I started doing some reading, and stumbled onto the most helpful travel blog I’ve encountered, written by an intrepid pair of Australians. Sallysees.com helped me create my own itinerary, and I strongly recommend their blog for many areas of Mexico and some other places they’ve traveled.

Following Sally’s advice, I planned to rent a car in the city of San Luis Potosi and drive a big circle. My Spanish has been improving, and I was looking forward to testing it.

Or I thought I was. But when Hijo Dos (Son Two), who’s fully fluent, offered to accompany us, I think I was relieved as my Mate in saying ¡Sí, por favor! So we all flew together from Seattle.

Our plane got in late so we spent the night in a hotel near the airport, but next day we drove about three hours through increasingly impressive desert…

…to La Huasteca, a region named for the Huastec people, a place of lush, jungly green oases with magical blue rivers and waterfalls. Our first stay was the small town of Tamasopo.

Apparently these cute town name signs are a big thing now, and not just in Mexico. Instagram Effect?

The Rio Tamasopo ran right past our first accomodations–such a relief after hours of desert driving!

The cypress trees there are as impressive as the water; in fact, they shape the water’s flow with their roots.

Another huge plus of our cabaña was its proximity to what could well be the top attraction of the whole area (except that it has so many competitors): el Puente de Diós (Bridge of God).

It’s less a bridge than it is a roaring waterfall which comes to rest in a magical, dark blue cenote—ringed by drapery of ferns and more tiny waterfalls—from which the river somehow disappears through the cliff and comes out the other side.

Those fan-shaped “rocks” are actually stalactites formed by the mineral-laden water over millennia.

Tourists can float through this underwater cavern with lifejackets on…

…watched over by a lifeguard in the world’s coolest natural lifeguard tower! (Note rope to help floaters exit)

My family never opted for the boisterous-seeming life-jacket-cave-float option, preferring to hang out in the sunny water just downstream…

…and (Hijo Dos y yo) to sneak back in next morning before the guides and tourists arrived.

Being there alone with only the roar of the falls, steaming in the chill air, was magical.

He swam; I took pictures. (In my defense, it was a pretty chilly morning!

Another nearby attraction, just a couple of miles by car, were the Cascadas de Tamasopo. Having been warned by Sally’s blog that these falls had been curated into a kind of waterpark, we saved them for the day we left Tamasopo.

Note the jumping platform on the left. Salvavidas (life jackets) required for that.

Because we got there early we were still able to fully enjoy the natural beauty of the water without being too distracted by The surrounding eateries and lounge chairs.

Not exactly wilderness, but very well protected

Three days into our trip, we had yet to meet a single non-Mexican tourist. ¡¡¡Sí!!!

Next stop: the Selva Teenek Wildlife Rehabilitation Ecopark. Let’s see some critters!

Purring vs. Mousing: On Comfort & Duty

Posted on January 12, 2025 by gretchenwing

My Quaker Meeting meets in the best space ever: a goat dairy.

…where, in the spring, after Meeting, you sometimes get to do this

A dairy is a farm, so of course Sunnyfield has barn cats. One of them, Basil, decided to join us this morning in our nice, warm yurt, for an hour of silence. (Or, for Basil: cuddles.)

Let me repeat: Basil is a barn cat. He’s supposed to be out in the barn catching mice, not sitting on nice, warm, indoor Quaker laps.

And Basil knows this. Oh, he knows! Just look how firmly he’s anchored to this lap–even with his tail!

Since when do cats have prehensile tails? (photo by Kirm Taylor)

For the first 10 minutes, as Basil’s contended purring dominated our silence, I found myself meditating on the power of comfort, the lure of bliss.

What, I asked myself, are my own versions of purring? Me slipping into a hot tub. Me lying down on the couch with a fat novel in an empty house. Me fitting an entire chunk of sushi into my mouth. Me on a mountain, contemplating more mountains.

But 10 minutes in, one of our group, who happens to also co-own that goat dairy, came in and spotted Basil. Quick as a wink, she deported him back to mousing duty, outdoors.

So I spent a good portion of the rest of that quiet hour thinking about it means to choose comfort over cold, hard service. I know myself well enough to know that I need BOTH. Around this time, I probably lean a bit more toward the purring-on-laps parts of my life.

But I also welcome the fresh air of personal, artistic, and political challenge when it comes. I’m not ASKING to be sent out to the barn, understand. But when someone sends me, I’ll get back out there with my tail high.

(Cape) Flattery Will Get You: A Loop Around Our Olympic-(Peninsula)-Sized Backyard

Posted on December 17, 2024 by gretchenwing

As Staycations go, this one would’ve had a hard time failing.

A few months ago we paid for two nights at a rental house at Lake Quinault, only to have our travel companions cancel due to illness.

The renter allowed us to change our dates, so we invited intrepid friends: Ben & Lynn from Asheville, whom we’ve known for decades. They said YES!

Walking in W. Seattle’s Lincoln Park while we waited for their flight, we discovered this altar to LOVE. Seemed a good omen–Brussels sprouts & all.

Since our friends were coming clear across the country, the least we could do was take them all the way around the Olympic Peninsula—a.k.a. part of our Big Backyard, across the Strait from our island.

Ben & Lynn–helping give some scale to the Lincoln Park madrona trees

Starting with the rainforests, at Quinault and the Hoh River, we all re-introduced ourselves to some big friends.

Ben & Gretchen agree, things are looking up.

In those wondrous, drippy forests, the enormous conifers–fir, spruce, cedar & hemlock–get most of the attention…

…whether alive or helping younger trees to be alive…

…but shoutout to the hardwoods, okay? The mosses seem to love the maples best.

One of the nice thing about traveling with another couple is…

…couple photos! We tried not to take TOO much advantage.

Moving up the Olympic coastline from Quinault, one has an embarrassing pick of beaches. Beach Three’s our favorite, for its tidepools, but the tide was too high this time of year. So we got to focus on other wonders–like this natural water feature.

Isn’t that the coolest little pool? We needed a 4 year-old to play in it.

Rialto Beach might be the most in-your-face breathtaking, if ya like that kinda thing

I have another photo of Lynn doing pretty much the same thing!

It was hard to leave the serenity of Lake Quinault. The northern shore of the lake was 95% deserted–all those empty vacation homes, what’s up, people?

But after our two nights, it was on to the furthest northwestern point on the Lower 48: the Makah Reservation at Neah Bay.

Along the way we stopped in Forks for groceries [not pictured: amazing apple fritters] and a hike to Third Beach (not to be confused with Beach 3).

Third Beach is the jumping-off point for a magnificent hike, out toward a garden of seastacks, up & down some rope ladders.

We just stayed put and admired ’em from afar.

Somehow, we did just fine.

Never any shortage of seats on these driftlog-piled beaches!

Up at Neah Bay, more choices: Cape Flattery, the very tippy-tip of the Rez, involving a 1.5 mile round trip walk, or Shi Shi Beach…which would’ve required a 2-mile slog through mud just to get to the start of the pretty stuff.

Cape Flattery is difficult to describe without gothic-novel purple prose: surf crashing upon crags, mist and spray and boiling, roiling, heaving, breathing seas…

…or you could just look at the pictures.

After we’d been there an hour, taking every conceivable photo, the sun came out. So what else could we do but start over?

The best photos from Cape Flattery are videos, which capture all that roiling/boiling/heaving stuff I mentioned. But those are harder to embed into this blog, so I’ll just leave you with this one Lynn took:

Is it just me, or do you also see a whale in that rock? Right?

After our dalliance with the Cape and a lengthy visit to the Makah Museum (which was hosting a holiday craft fair), our crew was ready for a rest. But with the sun making such an unexpected appearance, I simply couldn’t resist one more beach visit, this one a simple drive & stroll on my own, to Tsoo-Yess Beach.

See what I mean about that sun? Tsoo-YESSSSS!

I couldn’t stop taking photos of the least little beachy items, which the sun rendered…let’s go ahead & use the term “glorious.”

gargantuan log, turned into yet another water feature/sandbox (oh, where is that 4 year-old?)

Sand arrows? Maybe kind of appropriate, on the Rez

Once more, it was hard leaving Neah Bay, especially with the sun out, and the thought of un-visited Shi Shi Beach. So we’ll have to come back one day…with better mudboots.

Meanwhile, it was on to a midday walk at Dungeness Spit, in Sequim (pronounced “Squim”):

It’s FIVE MILES long! No mud to slog through, but also not the most changeable scenery, eh? So we mostly stayed put.

Our final overnight stop was the ridiculously pretty town of Pt. Townsend.

The upper half of town, where the “proper” folks lived (as opposed to the rough & tumble crowd on the waterfront) is famous for its Victorians.

This was NOT our inn…at least not on this trip. I did stay here once with my HS Besties, years ago.

Oh, and did I mention the deer? I counted fifteen on a ten-minute walk through the leafy part of town.

Our weather stayed amazingly clear, gifting us both a Mt. Rainier-silhoutted sunrise…

…and a Mt. Baker mid-morning, looking north from Ft. Worden State Park.

And if you moved the camera a little to the left, you’d be looking at Lopez Island!

Back in Seattle, we had one last hurrah of a meal w/ our adventure buddies, then left them at their airport hotel while we spent the night with Son Two. Our great fortune: he was dogsitting!

Back home next day, after a week away, The Mate & I marveled at the deeply exotic beauty so close to our home. Then we looked around our little village and saw these community-crafted, recycled-bottle luminaries everywhere…and thought,

I’ll say it again: (Cape) Flattery will get you. So will Tsoo-Yess, and Beach 3, and Third Beach. That whole peninsula is magical –and we didn’t even visit Lake Crescent, or the Elwha River, or the Sol Duc hot springs. We didn’t even drive up to see snowy Hurricane Ridge (road closed).

There’s just SO MUCH.

So if you go? Bring your camera. But try & bring a 4 year-old too.

BC, Canada = Back to Campering? Best Campsite? Or just Be Cool?

Posted on September 15, 2024 by gretchenwing

Maybe I should drop the whole finding-a-better-meaning-for-the-initials-BC thing. It’s called British Columbia, Gretchen. Get over it–and get on with your blog post.

We took Vanna back to BC. ~~Because we Could.~~

This was what our departure looked like, ferrying east from Lopez Island:

If that red sunrise was a bad omen, it was a day late. We’d actually tried to leave the day before, but a) missed the 6:15 ferry b/c we didn’t realize how many trucks depart the island on Thursdays, leaving few overheight spaces for our tall Vanna Grey, and b) they cancelled the 9:30.

So we awarded ourselves a “free day” at home and had one fewer day in BC. ~~Best Choice.~~

We went straight to a park we’ve usually passed by on our way to the better-known Jasper National Park: Mt. Robson Provincial Park. Named for the tallest of the Canadian Rockies.

Fun fact: Mt. Robson’s glaciers are rare “live” glaciers, meaning they are growing rather than retreating. Go Mt. Rob! Go ice!

Despite our campsite’s thick shelter of trees, we still had a view of the mountain’s peak:

There’s really only one MAIN hike in the park, so, saving it for our longer day, we spent our first afternoon checking out the falls of the Fraser River. Hard to believe something this bright becomes the familiar brown body of water passing by Vancouver.

Oh, this old thing? It’s just something I threw on.

The weather was dry and hot (for Canada, and for The Mate & me), but that didn’t stop the mushrooms.

Too late in the season for most wildflowers–but I did manage to find a few ripe thimbleberries to add to my yogurt.

Mt. Robson appeared to soaked up all the sun he could; can you blame him?

“I mean, it’s probably gonna rain tomorrow…”

Next day we headed up the trail, following the Robson River to its source, Kinney Lake.

That incredible mountain seemed to follow us every step of the trail, even in what seemed like a pretty dense forest. I guess it’s just THAT tall (just shy of 13,000 ft…close to Mt. Rainier height!).

Up top, the trail skirts the lake in ridiculously postcardy vistas.

It was hard to make ourselves turn around and go back down. But even more impressive to follow that wild river, imagining the calm from which it came.

After two full days at Mt. Rob, we headed back south on the Yellowhead Highway (5), stopping to check out the small part of enormous Wells Gray Prov. Park that’s accessible to a big van.

Can I just say, it’s worth seeing? These falls are barely 10 miles from the highway.

Wells Gray’s campground was on a rougher road that we wanted to drive Vanna on, so we opted for a private site down below, in the town of Clearwater.

Next, we left the boreal forest behind, heading back into BC’s dry region, in the rain shadow of the coastal mountains, west of Kamloops. Some of it bore signs of last year’s terrible wildfires.

I believe the word I’m looking for is “stark.”

Not only did we score a campsite at a rafting company that was preparing to close for the season, but the owner let us camp for free.

We had the place to ourselves…including our own personal canyon.

Yes, that’s the same Fraser River as in the waterfall shot, above. Getting a little darker…still blue enough.

Oh, and those trains? There are tracks on both sides, demonstrating the stubbornness of capitalists, as we learned from this sign:

Well, hey. It only took 100 years for us to learn to share.

Here’s where I should note that those trains did a mighty good job of keeping us company. All night. Both directions. ~~Bad Choice~~.

But how can you not choose your own personal canyon, at sunset?

Our last day, it was back to the wet: both in terms of ecosystem, and weather. We went to Hope, close to the US border, just an hour or so east of Vancouver. There we discovered an old friend: the Kettle Valley River rail-trail.

Unfortunately for us, construction work prevented us from riding all the way over to the Othello Tunnels, which we’d visited on a past trip. But Vanna took us there.

This kind of engineering brings to mind words like “chutzpah”…or “hubris.” Or: “really?”

In under a week, we were back home. Too short a trip? Not at all. Vanna’s whole raison d’etre in our lives these days is to keep us reminded what’s in our big backyard.

Better Closer. Back to Canada! By Choice.

What Do Thistles, Advanced Degrees and Kale Have in Common?

Posted on September 1, 2024 by gretchenwing

This is going to be one of those participatory posts. Ready? Show of hands: who’s familiar with the term Opportunity Cost?

That’s a term I had to learn about 35 years ago, when I took my first public school teaching job, in North Carolina. I was ~~sentenced to~~ given five sections of the same class: 9th Grade ELP, or Economic, Legal and Political Systems. Thanks to my undergrad classwork, I was pretty up on the Legal & Political part, but Economics? I studied hard to keep a step ahead of those kids.

And I learned about opportunity cost, a.k.a. “the loss of potential gain from other alternatives when one alternative is chosen.” (Thanks, Oxford Dictionary Online.)

In other words: you do one thing; what you don’t do = opportunity cost.

Get up to see the sunrise? Your o.c. is sleep. Sleep in? Your o.c. is…wait for it…sunrise! But also a TON of other early-morning things.

Obviously, for every action, there are a LOT MORE o.c.’s. So you don’t want to let them get the upper hand, right?

The trick is to recognize the opportunity costs, give ’em a friendly nod…and keep doing what you’re doing. That way they can’t blindside you with their secret weapon, regret.

The other day while walking in my Big Backyard, part of the San Juan National Monument, I came upon this ~~particularly beastly~~ lovely flower arrangement:

Bull thistle, seed pods popping. Invasive as hell. I vaguely recalled writing a blog post about my personal war with these devils about a decade ago. Back then, I was actually optimistic about ridding this stretch of public lands from thistles by my own sheer persistence.

So what happened? Opportunity cost.

Choose to save your back & knees by withdrawing from the Thistle Wars? The opportunity cost is living with thistles.

The more I think about it, the more I see opportunity cost at work in my life. Move across the country for the beauty of the Pacific Northwest?

Fine–but your o.c. is a full (expensive) day’s travel away from your folks.

And Dad may still rack up the miles on his e-trike, but he’s not riding to Washington State.

For that matter: move onto an ISLAND? OK…but you better be ready to give up HOURS, waiting in ferry lines.

Because this really isn’t a commuting option.

I chose to devote time (and money) to pursuing an MFA in fiction, so I can write a better novel…

…but my songwriting Muse has taken these past two years to decide to visit some other songwriter. THAT was one o.c. I hadn’t considered.

[not pictured: my songwriting Muse. “Hmph. I can tell when I’m not wanted.”]

On that music theme: I only get to play with friends who are willing to be informal & flexible, rather than join an ongoing band…

…because I leave the island WAY too often, for places like this:

(to choose a recent, random example–the Chiricahua National Monument in AZ)

I’ve had to give up Spanish lessons because of (pick one): bakery work/neighborly commitments/ political phone-banking/spending down time with The Mate

OK, that last one: always worth it! No cost!

Choosing not to plant an organized garden gives me extra time, and saves my back…and my o.c. is a Kale Forest (vale of kale) masquerading as a garden.

Getting exercise means I’m always moving around this beautiful corner of the world at TOP SPEED…which means I’m not LINGERING.

That last one really caught my attention. So the other day, I took my journal, my lumbar support pillow, and a peach with me out to the Point, and we LINGERED.

What did I journal about? Opportunity cost. I duly noted a long list of things I haven’t been doing, making, accomplishing or experiencing lately, because of all the other things I’ve been doing, etc. I read the list. I thanked it. I whispered promises to a couple of the o.c.’s on there that I might be back at a later time, so don’t give up on me.

And on we go. No regrets. (Or at least none that I feel like sharing in a blog. 🙂 )

Just keep looking at the view…don’t give that o.c. any power!

So here comes the participatory part again. What are some of the opportunity costs you’re currently noticing in your life? How about acknowledging them here? Then wave ’em adieu.

Campering vs. Backpacking, Or, One of the World’s Most Strained Metaphors

Posted on August 26, 2024 by gretchenwing

Here’s the thing: I ended my last post with a promise to get back to work on my novel.

Here’s the other thing: I did just that. Which is why that last post was almost a month ago.

Which is why I find myself with a teensy dilemma: use my limited non-novel writing time to blog the easy way–basically just “Look at my travel pics, now with witty commentary!”–or do I use this medium to deal more thoughtfully with current events or Big Ideas?

Then this thought occurred to me: the back-to-back camping trips I most recently took might function as a metaphor for this dilemma of the comfortable, “look, pretty!” vs. the more weight-bearing “let’s think about something” blog post.

Trip One, with The Mate, involved Campering in Vanna Grey.

Vanna, meet Silver Springs Campground, at the base of Mt. Rainier!

Silver Springs Campground proved to be more than hyperbole, as we found this large and yes, silvery spring springing straight out of the mountainside above our campsite.

We also got an up-close view of where the White River got its name, as some overflow met the clear water of the springs.

On your right, ladies & gentlemen: the White River.

But…you see what I’m doing here? I’m narrating pretty travel pictures. How easy, how convenient! Just like Vanna Grey. Drive, park–congratulations, you’ve arrived. Nothing much to think about.

And this view? We just drove up here. Twice. Because we could.

Don’t get me wrong: I’m not saying campering is shallow. Beauty abounds, even from a camper, and beauty is moving.

What I am saying…I think…is that campering, by dint of being so easy, does not tap into the kind of thoughts that spring from having one’s body fully committed. Yes, we went on some fabulous day hikes, which made me think about stuff like…

…why do I insist on making The Mate take my picture with flowers all the time?

…or even ponder the impact of global warming on the nose of a glacier…

Oh dear…pretty sure last time we were here, the ice reached all the way to that gravelly wall 😦

But putting your entire camp + food on your back and humping it up a pass, as I did with my Ironwoman Goddaughter Allison…

…who, lucky for me, takes even more pictures that I do!

…that kind of effort delves into a whole different level of thought. (Which does indeed feature a good deal of “what’s for dinner?”)

Why is this? I wonder. Is it that being away from vehicles leads to deeper, more stripped-down conversation?

Hayes Lake, near Kulshan (Mt. Baker). Allison pumping water in the background

Is it the braggadocious joy of thinking “I got myself to this beautiful place!”?

…where your Ironman T-shirt matches the wildflowers?

Is it the relative quiet of roadlessness that allows one to sink more deeply into the stark reality of melting glaciers?

…which still look so stinkin’ pretty as they melt

It’s not like you can’t see cute animals while campering.

Of course, it IS true that some wild animals are generally further out of reach than others. We were actually pretty shocked to meet this many mountain goats only a few miles away from the Mt. Baker ski area parking lot.

But generally speaking, while I spent nearly equal time campering as backpacking a couple weeks ago, the backpacking trip felt more CONSEQUENTIAL.

Meaningful. Harder but more rewarding.

Yes, this patch of paintbrush was easily accessible from the parking lot…

Now, August is coming to a close, and so, for me, is backpacking season. Because we now own Vanna Grey, The Mate and I will continue to “camper” as the weather turns harsher.

Hopefully with occasional vistas like this of Mt. Shuksan. Look carefully: you can actually see the road & parking lot in the background!

But as the political season enters its autumnal stretch, I feel the need to use this blog for more than showing off trip pictures. (Even though I LOVE showing off trip pictures.)

So much is happening in this country. So much to think about, talk about, work for. What joy to throw some of that in my blog-pack and see where we end up. See you down the trail!

“Sit In This”: Best MFA-dvice Ever

Posted on July 1, 2024 by gretchenwing

“Sit in this.” That’s what Lisa Locascio Nighthawk, Dean of Antioch LA’s Masters in Fine Arts in Creative Writing program, told us graduates the day before our ceremony.

Here on Lopez Island, some of my own writing group, the Women Writers of the Salish Sea, had the same advice: “Celebrate your achievement. Write it all down–everything you did!”

I decided to heed all of them. I sat in my achievement for a whole week. I wrote it all down, on a big piece of butcher paper. And I celebrated–with my writer friends, and with cake.

The cake, I made. But the Orange Twists were a special request from me to Iris Graville–as noted in her memoir Hiking Naked: A Quaker Woman’s Search for Balance.

Here’s what’s written on that butcher paper:

17 chapters—232 pages, 67,000 words—of my novel-in-progress Who’s a Good Girl (revised multiple times)

50 books read (mostly novels; some short stories, nonfiction, and craft books)
30 x 3-page literary analyses of fiction
One 5-page research paper
One 20-page research paper
One dozen (approximately) poems translated into English, plus commentary on peers’ translations
20 (approximately) critiques of peers’ 20-page fiction submissions in workshop
20 book group discussions (of which I led 4)
80 weekly email check-in discussions
Five 3-page self-analyses of learning
Five 7-page summaries of learning from residency classes
One 30-minute PowerPoint presentation/seminar

One 12-minute public reading
Four 3-page annotated bibliographies

One 12-page annotated bibliography

While we were noshing & drinking, my friends asked me to reflect on my main takeaways from the past two valuable, packed, and expensive years. Here’s what I came up with:

My instinct to immerse myself among a community of diverse writers–diverse in EVERY SENSE of the word, from age to class to life experience to race to gender identity, and more–was 100% correct. As a writer, I need to be around people different from myself. (As a human being, it doesn’t hurt either.)

[not pictured: all the diversity at AULA. I don’t like violating people’s privacy in showing photos]

2. Confidence is good, in art. Pride is not. I had to have the latter stripped painfully away before I could soothe the raw spots by applying the former. That’ll be a lifelong engagement.

3. Novelists need the help of other novelists. Poets and nonfiction writers can offer EXTREMELY valuable critique. But in the end…see sentence one.

OK, we got it. You worked hard. Now, about that novel-in-progress…

After a week of “sitting,” though, I’m ready to get back to work. Of course, it’s high summer now–a season that always has other plans for me than writing. But the last thing I learned will get me where I need to go, and that is:

4. Writing is writing. JUST DON’T STOP.

(You other writers: right? Feel free to chime in here with your own Writerly Takeaways.)

MFA in LA: Final Chapter

Posted on June 26, 2024 by gretchenwing

Two years and a couple of weeks ago, I deliberately stepped away from blogging. That’s when I began my low-residency Master’s in Fine Arts in Creative Writing at Antioch University in Los Angeles.

Two weeks ago, I headed back to LA one last time, loaded down with thank-you cookies:

NYT’s Technicolor orange-spice shortbread, anyone?

Back in 2022, in what became the last post for quite a while, I described the program as a switch from hiking to rock climbing. Now, having reached a comfortable ledge called “graduation,” I’d love to linger for a minute and talk about it before climbing on.

…So?

These past two weeks, I’ve been noticing the balance of my upward climb. Finding a rhythm between “But I’m not DONE yet–my book is only about 2/3 finished!” and “Look at all I’ve accomplished!” Real rock climbers could probably help me refine that metaphor, something about tension vs. slackness of belay ropes perhaps?

But that’s between me and me. What I’d really like to do here is celebrate LA a little–more accurately, Culver City–and the urban experience I benefitted from, which was 100% more lovely and positive than what I’d feared coming in (country girl and small-island woman that I am).

Example #1: this car.

Zoom in on that window decal to see why this was my LA poster vehicle

Two years ago I took its picture–“LA as car!” But this summer, I realized two things: A, I walked past this zippy jalopy every single day for all five residencies. Clearly it lived on that street, so it became a friendly neighbor rather than a symbol of glitz.

And B, this particular car wasn’t the silver of the one I’d photographed in ’22. This one now matched the beautiful jacaranda blossoms of its street.

Speaking of matching trees: how about one more shout-out to Culver City’s amazing tree-themed streets?

Culver’s a lot closer to nature than you might guess from its situation at the edge of a megalopolis.

And the vehicle Mama Duck is leading her brood past also surprised me. “Ugh, it’s one of those lawn-spraying trucks,” I thought, but then:

Organic fertilizer!! Good job, Angelenos.

Then there were the Little Free Libraries. Often those are stocked with throwaway books, but I was so impressed with the quality in this one:

Finally, the Antioch LA campus itself: two years ago, I noted its corporate ugliness (housed near such artistic fellows as Norton Security and TikTok).

I even took a photo of a madrona tree chained to its concrete planter:

But this time around, feeling mellow and grateful, I focused on the beautiful touches added to that soulless architecture, giving it…

Because it was my final “Rez,” I took advantage to visit my writing mentor in Pasadena for a hike. Finding a writing mentor was probably my #2 goal in my program, and…

Goal #1 = finding a more diverse critique group: check! I’m not going to violate their privacy by picturing them here, but this photo captures how I feel about them:

But maybe you’re still wondering about those cookies?

and these: chocolate-chunk spice w/ cranberries (not pictured: lemon-rosemary-corn cookies)

I hauled three containers in my carry-on: for my mentor; for an incredibly helpful Writing Center tutor who walked me through all the ghastly formatting issues of final requirements, plus an entire PowerPoint presentation; and for our WONDERFUL FRIENDS who shared their home with me, FIVE TIMES over the course of two years. And their car, their bike, and their cats.

Love you too, Joey. Now get off me, I have to finish this edit!

THANKS, Y’ALL.

And while I’m saying my gratitudes: BIGGEST thanks to my Lopez Island writing group, which got me to this point, especially Iris Graville, whose own MFA foray lit the spark for mine.

Lopez Island: home of the Women Writers of the Salish Sea

And to my wonderful Mate and Son Two, who had this waiting for me when I got home:

The mug depicts my AULA graduating cohort–we’re the Goldenrods!

Gratitude for this wacky beautiful community I get to call home:

And biggest gratitude of all for the inspiration and guidance AULA will provide me as I take a deep breath, look up that literary cliff, and continue the climb.