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.
prrrrrrrr….. (photo by Allison Snow)
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.
As Staycations go, this one would’ve had a hard time failing.
Not CGI
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 view from that house
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.
Well hello up there!
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.
Is that a hobbit hiding in there?
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?
And the sunrise didn’t hurt either.
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.
Guess what we chose?
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?
Fine, if we must…
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.”
“just” a piece of kelp, with foam on it
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.
also nice & quirky
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.
These never budged as I walked past.
Our weather stayed amazingly clear, gifting us both a Mt. Rainier-silhoutted sunrise…
…over the ferry dock…
…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!
Even better than a 4 year-old!
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,
Y’know that “no place like home” thing?
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.
Confession #1: I think I’ve been harboring a witch in my house, for the past month.
Confession #2: I’ve loved every minute.
Confession #3: that “witch” is…a bouquet of flowers.
Who me, my pretty?
Specifically, this bouquet. Gifted to me by Son Two when he picked me up from the airport a day after my birthday. I took this photo a day after that: October 27.
Pretty, right? There’s even a rose, which I manage not to show in this snapshot. But nothing out of the ordinary. Just lovely flowers from a lovely young man who happens to be my son.
A week later, the bouquet was still going strong, except for that one rose, which I removed. I send Son Two this photo to share my pleasant surprise at his gift’s longevity.
Nov. 3. Who misses a rose? Still vibrant!
Two weeks later, when the bouquet continued to stay glossy and bright, I started having my suspicions.
Nov. 9. Ok, that one yellow flower’s getting a little mussed, but it’s been TWO WEEKS!
Week three began. We’re talking the first weekend after the election; hell, half the country needed flowers! But I had these, still giving their weirdly ageless joy.
Except for adding a little sugar to their water when I first got them, and changing the water once a week, I did NOTHING to these flowers. It’s all them.
We didn’t even need those extra dahlias. Doing just fine.
Granted, I freshened them up with a couple of dahlias rescued from a different bouquet, gifted by my Ironwoman Goddaughter Allison, but really…they were just bonus. Son Two’s bouquet was holding its own after THREE WEEKS.
That’s when I decided it must be a witch. But SUCH a good witch.
Finally, FINALLY, I made the decision today to liberate my lovely witchy companion to the compost heap. But not before taking its picture one last time.
***not…dead…yet!***
I seriously think I might have repurposed that bouquet one last time, in a smaller vase. But we’re coming up on Thanksgiving; counter space will soon be at a premium…and let’s face it: ONE MONTH is more than twice the joy I’d expect to receive from any bunch of flowers not planted in dirt. Why be greedy?
Unless somebody wants to bring me a new bunch. As witchy as possible, please.
It’s a chapbook, sometimes called “a slim volume.” (Which, now that I think about it, isn’t a bad description of my friend Kathleen herself, the author of A Cage in Search of a Bird.)
And if you’re like me–needing more than EVER to buffer the beginnings of each day with not-TV-news imagery, universal truths, or just plain fun wordplay–this little chapbook is just the thing.
Since Kathleen is a Lopez Islander like me (and a member of my writing group) it seems most fitting to describe her latest collection in the words of another fellow Lopezian (and onetime member of said writing group), H.M. Sanders:
Sometimes tongue-in-cheek but always insightful and brimming with poetic vignettes provided by nature’s gifts, Kathleen Holliday‘s new collection is thought provoking, wise, and rich with island imagery. Like a beachcomber of her own life, she picks up the most unassuming objects and uses the lighthouse beam of her poet’s eye to show us the beauty and sadness embedded there. These poems are quieter than her previous works; a little richer with imagery and a little darker, with beautifully wrought images derived from everyday occurrences that she elevates to higher observations of our world and our understanding of it. In this age of social media, AI, and the frantic noise of news and the horrors of our world, the profound gift of Holliday’s poems ring quiet and true – this collection of poems is a calm anchor that links us back to our spiritual roots.
–H.M. Sanders, author of The Widowed Warlock, and Ringmaker fantasy series.
“…rich with island imagery” indeed
Please visit Kathleen’s website to learn more about her poetry and to order a copy (or two–Christmas presents?) of her latest chapbook, OR her previous two: Boatman, Pass By, and Putting My Ash on the Line.
Remember what I said about the fun wordplay?
To summarize: Feeling disheartened?Start each day with a poem. Pass it on.
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:
*shudder*
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…
Me with “flexible” Justin & Lance!
…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.
Hey, at least this o.c. is edible.
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.
Do I dare?
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.
It was hot. That SO goes without saying…except for people like me & The Mate, who live on an island surrounded by a nice, chilly Salish Sea. On Lopez, our summer temps rarely make it into the 90s. So this drive was a bit of a shock to our systems.
First stop, seeing old friends in Eugene…where it was a mere 94.
I resisted the urge to plunge into the Willamette, but later I regretted that choice.
As we drove, The Mate & I made use of our Toyota’s A/C. Again: DUH. But again: We are NOT summer road-trippers. We haven’t used A/C regularly in DECADES. I can see how that stuff might catch on.
Next up: Redding, CA.
Our favorite bike path along the Sacramento River, which we rode @ 7:30 am, due to the 104-degrees we’d driven into town on.
Down in San Jose (more old friends), the mercury fell to a blessed 80 or so. Thanks, San Francisco Bay! We rode along Los Gatos Creek, where I was heartened by this sign at a homeless encampment:
Of course I wouldn’t violate the privacy of the inhabitant, but she didn’t mind me sharing her sign.
California never ceases to offer up visual encapsulations of itself. Like these citrus fruits left to be picked up by the San Jose Sanitation Department:
When life gives you lemons…have them driven to the landfill???!!
From San Jose, we made our way up to Marin County, where our Oakland cousins scored a dog-sitting gig for the summer. Well…we THOUGHT it was a score, till we learned that Marin is actually a good 10 degrees hotter than the northeast side of the Bay. Guess all that water really does the trick.
Pretty, yes…but pretty HOT, being so far from that nice big body of water!
Walking was better in the evening, we found.
…especially with a full moon rising next to Mt. Tam
Next up, of course: Sacramento, and Mom’s meet, which you’ve probably already read about. Thank GOODNESS her final event ran @ 7:30 in the morning…after which we hugged, took pictures, made sure her plans were secure, and hit the road before the sun could get too high.
Quick, back to Redding!
the famous Sundial Bridge, where the bike path takes off from
Get the bikes out, there might still be some shade!
Amazing how much difference shade makes when it’s 100 out.
This time I played it smarter, hopping off my bike to stand in the nice cold Sacramento before riding on.
Ahhhh….
In the week between our southbound & northbound rides on this path, though, wildfires had ballooned. Compare the sky in this picture with the one near the start of this blog post:
Oh jeez. Get me back to my island!
Worn out from a hot day of driving (but energized by a certain lightning bolt of political news, July 21), we spent the night in Roseburg.
*not pictured: Roseburg & their darn good pizza
Our final day took us back into Washington, where the sky clouded up, the temperature sank back to a nice, “normal” high 60s…and we celebrated by going for a long walk down the incredible boardwalk of the Nisqually Delta.
Well yes, that’s the Delta (reclaimed for Nature, from previous dikes)…but what’s that about a boardwalk?
Oh, you mean THIS boardwalk.
We spent that night catching up with Son Two, enjoying wearing shirts with sleeves again, and snacking on quintessential Pacific Northwest snackage in his Seattle-area neighborhood:
Waiting for the ferry to take us back to Lopez, I took a walk along the shore, where I was greeted by these stunning goldenrods. Since “Goldenrods” is the name given to my graduating cohort at Antioch (they’re doing flower names now–Hydrangea, Iris, Lilac, etc.), I took these flowers as a sign.
Get back to work, Gretchen!
This blog post is a down payment. Back to the novel tomorrow! But good luck out there, all y’all non-islanders out there dealing with “normal” summer heat. Stay safe, stay cool. (Go wading!) And thanks for riding with me.
When it comes to July 4th celebrations, our little island goes all out.
Ooh…
Since over the years I have a) successfully conquered my fireworks phonophobia (i.e. fear of loud bang-bangs) and b) made friends with someone who lives directly across from where our incredible, community-supported show is lit, I am now all-in on this once-a-year explosion of beauty.
Ahh…
But even as I’m making up for decades of fireworks avoidance, oohing and ahhing, I can’t help thinking about…you know. The flip side of this tradition.
What about the pollution? Doesn’t a bunch of crud rain down into our beloved Salish Sea?
Is blowing stuff up really the best way to show our joy? Could all that money be raised for something more peaceful?
What about people who suffer from PTSD? What about the poor animals?
The hour before the show…see how peaceful! Isn’t this a show in itself?
Hey, I GET it. I’m not a killjoy. It’s taken me six decades to experience the joy of fireworks–I’m not about to smother it with a wet blanket. I just can’t help thinking…
In the summer of 2024, what exactly are we celebrating?
I HOPE it’s our common love for our land and our social contract. But right now that love feels more like a tender flame to be guarded than a big, happy explosion.
Boom.
Riding my bike home after a bakery shift on July 5, I looked up to see this Great Horned Owl staring down at me from a fir tree.
Whoooo goes there?
It was 2 pm. Not owl time. And yet there it was, huge golden eyes fastened on me like an interrogation. Like, Were you the one asking what should be celebrated?
Soon I’ll be leaving Lopez again for another foray into the land of interstates–a.k.a., California Roadtrip. But as this small island community slips behind me, I’ll be looking for the equivalent of daytime owls all along our way.
No explosions–just a quiet celebration of what is available to us if we have enough sense not to mess it up.
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.
As the kids say: this happened
…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.
Is that sweet or what?
Speaking of matching trees: how about one more shout-out to Culver City’s amazing tree-themed streets?
This one’s magnolias
Culver’s a lot closer to nature than you might guess from its situation at the edge of a megalopolis.
Make way for ducklings!
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:
all very readable
Finally, the Antioch LA campus itself: two years ago, I noted its corporate ugliness (housed near such artistic fellows as Norton Security and TikTok).
No ivied halls here
I even took a photo of a madrona tree chained to its concrete planter:
SYMBOLISM!
But this time around, feeling mellow and grateful, I focused on the beautiful touches added to that soulless architecture, giving it…
…soul. Thanks, Corporate America.
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…
Found her!
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:
Just your average mailbox-guarding owl
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.
The creeks in the Hoh rainforest, on Washington’s Olympic Peninsula, are so clear you can barely see them.
Looks like you could stroll right across it, right?
On a recent, brief “campering” trip–getting Vanna Grey used to the idea of short, regional outings instead of 8,000-mile, cross-country odysses–this thought occurred to me: I miss sharing the images of travel, and the thoughts they inspire. I miss the similes, I miss saying “those rainforest creeks are as invisible but as profound as my love of sharing.” I miss blogging!
“It misses you too,” I imagine the Hoh River murmuring.
Two years ago, I embarked on a Master’s program in LA, earning a degree in Creative Writing. As I wrote then, the degree itself wasn’t important; the WORK was. And in order to give myself time and space for that work, I backed off blogging. Backed WAY off. I haven’t counted, but I think I’ve only posted a handful of times in the past two years, mostly just when traveling.
Humptulips River says, “Yep, that seems accurate. Low flow.”
But I’m almost done. Not with my novel; that’ll be easily another year. But done with the program, the requirements, the deadlines. The work is all self-paced now (and a lot cheaper.)
Yep, those requirements are going to disappear…like this magical beach creek!
Which means I’m back, as a blogger. And I’m psyched about that. I get to share all the brilliant diversity of the Pacific Northwest, from tidepools…
…long-view…
to more tidepools:
…and up close!
From the smaller forest inhabitants…
Like these trillium, which start out white but turn purple as they age. Who doesn’t want to do that?!
…to its bigger ones…
Like this guy, who confirmed my family’s unofficial motto, “If you get up early, you might see a moose!” (Or elk, in this case. No one but him & us on the trail that morning.)
…to the biggest of all:
Marymere Falls
I can’t wait–though, actually, I WILL wait, because our next trip is coming up soon. And then my graduation, which–yes, I will write about.
And then, you know what else I might share? Good old home life, which recently issued a giant “Ahem!” That same weekend we were campering, deep in the sky-obscuring forest? The skies of Lopez were doing THIS:
Lopez Island aurora borealis. Image courtesy of Shari Lane
Sometimes, there really is no place like home. But here, there, or anywhere, I’m looking forward to sharing it with y’all again. See you soon.
Before spending the penultimate night of my 6-week circuit of this immense nation of ours in Seattle, I encountered this show-stopping rainbow over Lake Washington.
Who knew the I-90 bridge could look so magical?
I also encountered a woman taking the same photo. We smiled at each other, and she said, “You know, you really remind me of my sister in Michigan.”
My response: “This is going to sound funny, but I just arrived here…with MY sister…from Michigan.” We both smiled and shook our heads. Whoa.
That’s how this final week of Road Trip XII has gone–the Seester Week. (See previous post for explanation.) Full of kismet, full of symmetry. For example, our 7 nights together went like this: Stay with friend; camp; camp; motel; camp; camp; stay with friend.
But let me break it down a little. We left “Michigan in the rear view” a week ago, with one final walk in a park with these amazing black squirrels who refused to hold still for their photo.
I really need to get a zoom lens for my phone.
Night #1 we spent with a friend of mine from college, in Evanston, IL (pretty much Chicago). He & his family showed us wonderful hospitality, complete with chicken pie from a local bakery.
Yes, I know Hoosiers are from Indiana, not Illinois. Still a great pun.
It snowed a little that night, but Vanna shrugged it off.
Note the open compartment near the rear: one bad curb and the locker door was hanging by a hinge. But that happened before Illinois.
We headed out into the Iowa landscape. Iowa does NOT deserve its reputation for flatness. I found its curves especially beautiful in snow.
taken from Vanna in passing
We hoped to camp at this park outside of Des Moines, but the campground wasn’t yet open. We settled for a walk…of which the most memorable part was the MUD.
like cement + glue, but slick as ice
Night #2: the campground we settled into didn’t merit a photo. At least the snow melted!
Next day, we hit the jackpot with a lovely park outside of Lincoln, Nebraska.
Never did catch the name of this creek.
During our walk, snow fell, turning everything miraculous.
“Oh, man…snowflakes for dinner, AGAIN?”
But the biggest miracle of the day came later, approaching the center of the state (along I-80): we met the migrating Sandhill Cranes.
This is only a TEENY FRACTION of all we saw–so hard to capture as we whizzed by! But imagine each bird standing 4 feet tall. That’s what you’re looking at here. I tried capturing them in flight…
Again, may I remind you: each of those specks is a 4-foot-tall bird!
Night #3, we bedded Vanna down at a nearly-deserted campground by the North Platte River…
“What does she mean, she bedded ME down? I’m the one with the bed!”
Before darkness fell, though, I spent most of my time nervously pacing by the river as I listened to the Tarheels successfully grit their way back into the Sweet 16.
Does this mean I have to come back to the North Platte for every game now?
On into Wyoming! We made a walk-stop at Laramie…
Cactus? Yep–we’re in the WEST now, baby!
…but the weather was becoming worrisome.
Hmmm…
Knowing we might well have to delay our start next morning for snow & ice, we opted to spend Night #4 in a motel in Rock Springs.
“Sure, and just leave us out here to freeze our seats off!”
But Wyoming was good to us. Snow & ice, yes–but nothing that didn’t melt away by the time we got to the steep parts of the highway. So we were relaxed enough to enjoy gorgeous Bear River State Park, just before crossing into Utah.
Bear River
The park has its own wee herd of bison, including some albinos.
They look so cuddly! Except for the horns. And, y’know, the thousand-pound bodies.
We hated to leave that park. But most of the trail was snowed over, and Seester didn’t bring boots.
So we just watched the magpies a bit, and went on our way.
‘Bye, Wyoming–ya done right by us.
Not saying I want to LIVE there…but it is beautiful.
Along our route, Utah plays the tiniest part:
Taken from the car. Next time for you, Wasatch Range! We’re kind of done with snow for now, thanks.
Night #5: Twin Falls, Idaho. Not pictured: the actual falls. It was terribly windy & late when we arrived, so we just glimpsed the Snake River Canyon in passing and called it good.
But the moon was pretty wowza that night, rising over the campground.
Next day we stopped for our walk in Boise, along the Boise River. I’m used to riding a bike there, so it was nice to go slow and appreciate the greenbelt.
Good job, Boise.
Crossing into Oregon, I celebrated: finally, back on Pacific Time!
hills of eastern OR
Night #6, our campground view, in Pendleton, OR, looked much the same…
…with the additional reminder that SOMEbody’s still getting snowed on!
The last full day of driving, through Oregon and back into my dear Washington, I took zero pictures, mostly because it was RAINING the whole time. These song lyrics kept running through my head:
“I’m going back to the land of wet/ No winter wonderland regret/ They don’t sell postcards of the rain/ But what you see is what you get.”
(Not pictured: rain. But check out that rainbow at the top of the page!)
That symmetry I mentioned? Night #7 we spent with an old friend of my Seester’s, just as #1 was with an old friend of mine. A lovely palindrome of evenings: friend-van-van-motel-van-van-friend. And to top it all off, while I was gone, lo these many weeks…spring arrived!
I am feeling so FULL of gratitude for this almost-safely-concluded trip. It was so good to travel with my Sees! And now? I get a couple more days before she flies back to Michigan. I get to reunite with The Mate on Lopez Island, and we get to cheer the Tarheels as they try to move on in the tournament.
And Vanna gets some well-earned rest. Because, you know what? I think we’re going to stay home for a bit now. I may check in later about What I Learned On My First Van-cation. But for now…thanks for riding along with us!
Wing's World 