Gone Fishing (not coming back)

This'll be my last post on Futon Quixote. Just wanted to post the new blog's address where I'll be attempting to regularly jot down some stuff: Working Differently. I'm really interested in what folks have to say about what it means to work in a way that is fulfilling, sustainable, balanced, and healthy for more than just our wallets.

nurkdenflurn will be restored...

P.S. My abandoned little blog nurkdenflurn will start seeing action again now that Futon Quixote is winding down. If you want to keep reading the things I see fit to noodle on about, follow me back there.

How it all turns out.

Thanks to everyone who has followed our travels and offered encouragement along the way. We discovered that the trip was best spent with beloved friends and family. Thanks so much to everyone who housed, fed and entertained this couple of nomads after we dropped into your lives at random times. We're endlessly grateful for your time and love.

I've gotten a few notes from folks wondering how the story ends, so here it is: The crazy guy gets sane and then dies. Wait a minute, that's Don Quixote. Futon Quixote ends a little differently: The crazy folks stay crazy and try to live the best lives they possibly can. It's another couple of hundred blog posts to describe what that means so I'll just move on for now.

In evaluating our financial status last night, we discovered that somehow, a dirty dog snatched our debit card number and address and bought $1000 of software while we were driving through New Hampshire. All things are being slowly restored miraculously, but we're grateful that we had our savings separate from our checking so that the thief only had access to a finite chunk of our dinero. We still have no idea how he/she got our info. Wicked scary.

Speaking of mysteries, we're sitting smack in the middle of one these days. The only thing that's really (wet) concrete about our life is that we'll be living in GR with Catye until at least December and we're going to spend as much time with our friends here as we can. Catye has provided an amazing safety net for us by offering her home. It's really easy to feel at home with her. Stephanie's made this even more possible by all of her hard work in getting our upstairs living space set up spectacularly. The kitchen is completely filled and ready for action after trips to the farmers' market and the local grocery store, so we're set.

Sometime this week we'll be filling out our Yestermorrow applications and sending them off with a little prayer. Our visits to the school have shown that it may provide a tremendous opportunity for both Stephanie and me to grow and learn while living in a community of like-minded folks. Whether we're accepted into the internship program or not, we're living a really exciting dream because we're already in a great community of people who care about each other and are committed to growing together. I'm content with that.

Oh, and I think I'm going to start another blog to journal my path toward living the artist life full-time. Stay tuned for updates.

I wouldn't call it the end of the road, but...

We entered Michigan last Tuesday, stopping at Tim's parents' house for a night before heading out the next morning. We didn't head west to Grand Rapids - we made our way north to Petoskey and Charlevoix, and camped out on Fisherman's Island State Park. Last year in October we camped at this beautiful spot and huddled up against the cold to watch Lake Michigan chop against the shoreline. It was our first time sleeping in the van, and I'd surprised Tim by dragging the futon mattress into the van while he was at work. From the trip, we had our first inkling that we might be on to something with the whole futon thing.

This time back at the park, we were able to stay for free on a water site that is usually booked all summer long, but the family had called and were going to be 2 days late. I took it as a sign that we were definitely meant to stay for those days. The beloved Great Lakes were perfect for swimming. Late August is always the best because they've had all summer to warm up. While Lake Superior is my favorite, Lake Michigan is no shabby second. Being in a part of the state I love helped to soothe my sad spirit a bit.

Driving back through New York, Pennsylvania, Ohio, and through Michigan from Vermont was really tough. As soon as we crossed the state line, we left slow mountainous roads, braking for passengers, and small vibrant towns behind for flat, boring expressways lined with gaudy billboards and filled with drivers that cut you off, blow past you, and just generally don't give a shit about anybody but themselves when they're in their vehicles. I think Michigan is a beautiful place; in fact, most places are. It's just that we make them so ugly. Vermont is proof that human presence does not have to be a blight.

You might say that this time around, I really fell in love with Vermont. Being around people as wonderful as Amy and Pete certainly helps, but I loved the small towns with local economies. The wild flower gardens. The veggies growing in everyone's little plot. The great coop in Montpelier. The slowness. The hiking. The promise of great cross country skiing. The general view that businesses that contribute something back to the local place are worth frequenting, and that towns need to be protected from ones that don't. I did see the downsides that I saw the last time I visited Vermont: expensive to live, lots of insular people wary of outsiders (maybe that's a side effect of feeling protective of a place), too many bumper stickers.

But enough of all that Vermont stuff. We're now back at Catye's place, and I've stayed put since the couple days we've been here getting our little attic space up to snuff. I will start venturing out this week. In our space, we have our futon set up in lieu of our bed, I have some art up on the walls and have created a little reading corner with only ONE bookshelf. But my favorite spot is a little nook where I've set up a desk just for writing and art. It's my 2' by 4' studio. And I love it. I stayed up until 2 in the morning last night writing. I am so pleased to be here with Catye in her house, cooking and puttering around. It was an unbelievable gift she gave us the last month of our trip to know we had a place to return to. I would have worried myself into a stupor.

I'm just starting to sort the trip out in my head. I'm not sure if I have all my questions answered, and that's probably a good thing. But I do have some ideas. And I have some peace. And I'm feeling really joyful right now.

Stay tuned for a post from Tim at some point.

Yestermorrow Visit

Late this week Stephanie and I began to seriously consider moving to Vermont. We've enjoyed our time here so much and love what we've seen. So I'm asking myself (and Stephanie) how the heck this plays out with the forming plans of us heading to California so that I can go to the College of the Redwoods Fine Furniture (CRFF) program? Right now, your guess is as good as ours.

CRFF offers what I consider the best instructional and communal learning opportunity with regard to furniture craftsmanship and philosophy and it would be a great starting point for my foray into designing/building for a living. Sadly, the town of Fort Bragg and the thought of living in California for a year haven't really excited both of us. We don't think we'd ever settle out there long-term, and we don't know anyone there. Not to mention, it's wicked expensive for non-residents and I would be in a shop for 60 hours a week. ...There's no real show-stoppers there, but definitely items we're considering.

Considering Vermont, we've been seriously looking through Yestermorrow's site and reading their course catalog, and it seems like it might be a place where Stephanie and I could both grow while living in a place we both love with dear friends nearby. After perusing the website, we found that Yestermorrow offers internships that sound right up our alley: a Kitchen/Garden internship for Stephanie and a Design/Build internship for me. With questions in hand and curiosity in full bloom, we visited Yestermorrow on Saturday.

A current intern, Matt, gave us a tour and answered all of the questions that were in his power to answer. Stephanie and I both loved the facilities and the laid back atmosphere of the school, as well as the location only 30 minutes from our friends Pete and Amy. It's also nestled near tons of hiking trails and blue ribbon fly-fishing streams. The outstanding item that Matt could not answer was how it would work if we both applied and what our chances were of both being accepted. There are some sticky issues with these internships from the get-go in that the Kitchen/Garden gig is for 1 year while the Design/Build internship is 4 months. This also begs another difficult question: "What will I do when my 4 months are up and Stephanie is still committed for another 8?" To answer these, we're going to try to get in to see Kate Stephenson on Monday - she's the director of operations for the school. Depending on how this meeting goes, our plans could be shifted into action a bit sooner than we had originally planned (shocker). Deadline for application to Yestermorrow is October 1st.

Weeeeeeeeeeee!

happiness = good breakfasts

What could be better than a quiet breakfast comprised of delicious, natural and local ingredients shared with wonderful people? We found our home-away-from-Marie Catrib's at Kismet in Montpelier.

Tim's view from Mount Hunger

grumpy vs. picturesque: Presidential Range of the White Mountains, New Hampshire

incriminating evidence from the hostel

We took our friends' advice in The Cabin, a hostel in East Andover, Maine and had some frickin' fun already. We played dress up with the really weird clothes that Honey and Bear (the owners) keep around for AT thru-hikers to wear as they do their laundry. Because every thru-hiker needs a curly purple wig...

Acadia National Park

sights from the lobster boat with Steve and Nancy

prepare for picture overload

I finally got around to organizing some pictures. Here are a whole bunch...

Foggy coastal Maine. Then stormy coastal Maine.

Where do I Sign Up to Become a Green Mountain Boy?

Vermont is straight up incredible. Although housing is wicked expensive and jobs are a bit scarce, I really love this place. It's truly green everywhere.

Yesterday I hiked the Waterbury Trail up to Mt. Hunger and saw a 360-degree view of the state from 3500 feet. It was a vicious hike because it had been raining since the night before and the trail was basically a smaller-scale stream. I had to tuck my poles a couple of times so that I could use both hands to pull myself up some of the soaked boulder scrambles. I loved it. It made me a lot more tired than I remember, but I felt exhilarated when I got back to the van. As strange as it might be, this was the first hike of this Summer I did el lobo solo. Stephanie stayed at Amy and Pete's while I was out. I wish she could have seen the summit, but I was glad to move at my own pace for the jaunt. Selfish, aren't I?

We've been toying with the idea of settling in this state because it's so amazing. People in the crosswalks here have the right of way - NO MATTER WHAT. There is a really unique school in Warren, Vermont called Yestermorrow that teaches a bunch of courses on design combined with building. Most places focus on one or the other, but in this school, you learn design elements and then you build whatever it is you've designed. It's mostly for architects, landscape and furniture designers, but I think anyone would benefit from their courses.

Pete gave us the tour of his company, Magic Hat Brewing in Burlington this afternoon. It's pretty cool how this little brewery is growing. We sampled quite a few of their local offerings, so Pete had to drive us home :) Pete works in the lab making sure that each brew that's released for the public is top quality and won't degrade beyond a reasonable level during the life of the beer. He checked while he was in Michigan, and the Magic Hat beer he found was only two or three weeks old! That's pretty amazing if you check some of the other domestic brews that take 3 months to get to a shelf where we can buy them. I highly recommend this beer.

Well, the peeps are getting dinner ready, so I best be heading down to pitch in. Maybe we won't be leaving as soon as we planned...

green mountains outside the window

We made it to Vermont a couple days ago. We're here with Amy and Pete this week and then we're heading back. While they're at work, I think about my mixed feelings of being excited to go back to a place I know, to be productive, to make some money instead of just spending it...and I'm also a little worried because I think it will feel strange. I'm going to want to leap back in but I'll have to wait since we're going to fly to visit Camille on Lummi Island and then fly to Wilmington for the Morrill family get-together. (Isn't it crazy that a multi-city ticket flying from Grand Rapids to Seattle and then to Wilmington was cheaper than a ticket from Grand Rapids to Wilmington? With ridiculosity like that, it's a sure sign that we're supposed to go.) Anyway...it'll only be once we drive back to Michigan with Tim's folks, get my car at their house, and then drive the Civic again for the first time since May back over to Grand Rapids that we'll really stop. Stop, stop, stop. That will be the first week of October -- two months later than originally semi-imagined. But isn't that the way things go?

Today I answered Amy and Pete's phone and it happened to be her dad on the other end. Mark is a cool guy who I liked immediately when I met him at Amy's wedding. We chatted on the phone for about 15 minutes and he asked me the ever-burning question of what I was planning to do after the trip. He mentioned that he'd had the impression from hanging out with me and from hearing about me from Amy that I was a mix of practical and idealistic. It cracked me up a little bit so I had to tell him about the Practical Wonderer title for Fourth Sector. I hear these same things from smart people with insights about who I am, and it makes me feel a little comforted that maybe there is some continuity here...that I'm not just a big blob of contradictions and likes and dislikes, swirling around in an amorphous puddle of blather.

And then again, from other smart people whose opinions I trust, I get the same advice: chill out and don't take every bleeding thing so seriously. And if you can manage that, try having some fun too. Amy told me this over tea and a wonderful molasses crinkle at the Langdon Street Cafe in beautiful Montpelier. It's the same advice Camille gave me about a month ago, and I know plenty of other people have. Maybe the best way for me to take this advice right now is to stop all the worrying about whether or not I'll have it all figured out by the time we get to Grand Rapids, and whether or not I'm letting anyone or myself down by not knowing, or if I'll wreck my entire future by not knowing. Why are these things always easier said than done?

Anyway...I'm going to head down to the kick-ass co-op and get some risotto fixins for dinner tonight. I also need to pick up a small canvas at the local art store so that I can paint a picture to send back to Bear and Honey at the AT hostel we stayed at before leaving Maine and crossing the White Mountains in New Hampshire. (P.S. Now that I've seen them, I definitely want to do the Presidential hike through there on some future vacation.) I did a stupid thing and painted my first picture ever and then couldn't say no when asked to give it away. So now I have to pay for it and do an even stupider thing, which is paint and mail them a different one and ask for my other painting back. It's a long story, but I feel like a real moron about it.

swimming in the ocean!

Today I swam in the ocean for the first time. My legs are still salty slippery. Wee!

Thanks to all the commenters for boosting me up while I was down, by the way.

The sun came out the next day and I felt much better as I learned about jibs and tacks and mainsails and tillers and all kinds of other crazy sailing terminology that I've since forgot. Sailing = fun + confusion. Aside from the sweetness of the lesson, Tim and I were also able to stop while we were having fun. Ususally we blow right by fun and tire ourselves out and then start fighting. Woo hoo!

And, quickly, to elaborate on Tim's last post so Emmy Lou doesn't get all the credit, let me describe these four dogs because they are hil-ar-i-ous. Emmy is a beagle/rat terrier mix with a head slightly too small for her body. She's shy but extremely sweet once she gets over it. Dotty is a beagle mutt of some sort who I thought was too old to move and got suckered into pampering her until I got a leash out and she saw it and went insane. She also cannot avoid any puddle, no matter how big or how small. Shemya is a dog that looks like a pure black lab until she stands up, and then you can see that she's a mix with a basset hound. Looking at her is like looking at an optical illusion. So is listening to her: she snorts like a pig when she's on a walk. And then there's elegant looking Phoebe, a beautiful but unfortunate golden retriever who her own loving rescuer/owner has admitted "is no genetic prize." She's had 2 hip replacements; her first at 9 months. The dogs are a motley pack who sometimes sit on the couch and for no reason humans can understand, tip their noses to the ceiling and are lead by the beagles in howling at either the joy or the ennui of their lives.

And finally, the last thing I have to say on this super quick little post: no matter how calm the ocean looks, it's really not. All it takes for one to understand this is to get out on a dingy and try to drive in 4 foot waves to an old lobster boat that doesn't look trustworthy and sounds like it is going to fall apart outright when started.

I'm on a guest computer so I can't post the pictures from these extravaganzas, but I shall. We're with Alexa/Skywalker, one of the people that Tim/Sheriff walked the AT with. I've been getting to hear another side of the stories Tim has told. She also makes it sound like a chosen misery endured to figure something out about life, the universe, and everything (but I don't think that she came up with 42 after Katahdin).

It's time for a night with London Porter and Mint Newman-Os. After this weekend, it's to Vermont for a stay with Amy and Pete, and then we make the last leg back to our lake-locked, depression-enduring, four-seasoned, friend-and-family-filled, ham-on-bun-eating, auto-driven, deer-wandered homeland. Ah, Michigan.

Inertia

The sci-tech encyclopedia defines inertia as the property of matter which manifests itself as a resistance to any change in the motion of a body. Word.

I think I've hit that point where the forces that propel me down the road have balanced with those pulling us back home leaving me in a sort of state of paralysis. I feel the urge to go, but don't want to move at the same time. But this all varies with whatever environment is current, of course. If we're sleeping on the side of a road and haven't been clean in three days, my urge to move is quite strong. On the other hand, since we've been living with our friends, Steve and Nancy, in their beautifully comfortable home overlooking Penobscot Bay, we're a little more disinclined to budge.

Our trip of a few months is nearing its completion as we head a little further Down East to visit one of my trail buddies, Skywalker, and then on back to Vermont to Amy and Pete's place. After that, it's back to Michigan for us and I think we'll be ready. But for the past few days, we've loved our time in Lincolnville with Steve and Nancy. We've walked four dogs, sailed boats, motored an ex-lobster boat across the bay, eaten amazing gourmet meals and generally lounged like Emmy Lou, above.

She's eye-balling me now like she can tell I typed her name, so I guess that means we'll be off for a walk shortly. I think we're going to try to stop by the Windsor Chair Company which is just around the corner. I hear the shop's for sale if anyone out there is looking to build some furniture...

in Lincolnville, Maine

I got some lip from BozoByker yesterday for not having posted in the last 10 days. I guess I feel a little bad, but I think, Dad, that only you and Mom are reading this thing. Isn't it always the way that when everybody else loses interest, at least your parents are still keeping track?

I've been waiting to get to Maine since we started the trip. It's been this mysterious geography that has captured my imagination and, in all honesty, kept me committed to continuing our travels because I didn't want to end the trip without getting here. Isn't it always the way that when you yearn for something you don't know for so long, it's not what you had pictured? It reminds me of a quote that I read a while ago in Yoga Journal that is true but a bit depressing if you take it too far: "Without hope there is no disappointment." I guess it's not that Maine isn't cool, but it's been grey and cold since we got here a few days ago and we've been in places people love to come for vacation during the busiest tourist time of the year.

Since we crossed back into the east, I've been doing a lot less writing in general. Despite the rockiness of our start and figuring out how we were going to do this trip, it seems like we took our time a lot more in the west and had many more days to ourselves. The eastern part of our trip, thankfully, is a lot more about visiting people. Even with all of the pain that it seems a lot of people are going through in their lives, we've had a spectacular time seeing friends and family. I don't think if we hadn't taken this trip that I would ever have gotten to spend the kind of time with some of Tim's friends that I have. For the people we've seen, the eastern half has been worth it.

But I have to say--because I'm me and I can't not say it--that the east is not hospitable to the wind-born traveler the way the west is. Towns here padlock their water pumps and don't have nearly as many public toilets (or secret little squat spots) as the west does. It's ironic that through Nevada and Utah we never really had an issue with water, yet in ocean front Connecticut we got seriously dehydrated. People notice if you aren't showered that morning. The traffic is unbearable. And the beautiful ocean scenery is now available only for the highest bidder. I despise our country's lack of thought about the Commons and about public land, and I equally despise the general populace's lack of responsibility that has fostered the idea that everything needs to be locked down when not in use. It's been a kick in the teeth to wander back into civilization and be reminded that I live in a country in which people are always concerned most about themselves...and that I'm probably infected with the disease too.

I guess I'm homesick. I had such a great time playing with the nieces and nephew, hanging out in Katie and Jacob's full house in South Carolina. Ahhh...a full house and a family nested together in noisy, joyful domesticity! I didn't want to leave, except I knew that by leaving it meant that I'd be back in some place I would be able to get around in without a prayer and a map sooner than if I didn't. As the rain poured down in a storm blown in by the Atlantic today, I sat in Steve and Nancy's house up on a hill in Maine, sipping tea and looking out at the weather instead of being in it. Ahhh...the peace of a quiet, furnished kitchen!

I can't think of a good way to wrap this up. I'm just a little blue today, like the weather.

And, just for the record: no, I haven't figured out yet what I want to do for a job. I'm guessing it'll be a while yet.

A blast from way back...

We're staying near Bryson City with Jen and Derek, great friends from when I was living in Boyne City building boats for Van Dam Woodcraft, working at the Red Mesa Grill and Dave's Boot Shop (Dave and Lynne's awesome old fashioned low-tech high-end footwear shop in Petoskey - proof that you don't need a website to have a thriving business). Derek, Jen and I've been reminiscing about cardboard sled races, donkey basketball, Jen vacuuming the front yard, Derek and me scaring the pants off of trick-or-treaters, kicking the hack during breaks at the boat shop and walking for ice cream at the DQ. I realized what a bummer it was that we get together once a year and talk about all the old great memories and that we're not together enough anymore to create as many more funny stories as we'd like - especially some new ones that include Stephanie. Life moves wicked fast, friends.

Here are some shots from the olden days: Derek and me sanding. Sometimes we would spend several 10-hour days in a row doing nothing but sanding. Oy. Notice Derek using the Bosch 1293D half-sheet sander. I tried to teach him how to use it properly and he gives me a hard time for it every time we see each other...





Here's me with my pet monkey, Derek while we were rolling his boat:

Denver photos finally in!

Here are a couple of shots from our moonlight ride in Denver. From fore to background, that's Stuart, Charlie and Jim goofing off...


...and you know these other two cycle monkeys.

Hell, Heaven, and the Doctor in North Carolina

We arrived in the Smoky Mountains last Friday, and found a stretch of the Appalachian Trail to hike then next day by Fontana Dam. We were going to do a good day hike on it, but 2 wasps' nests caused a panic attack (for guess who) and ended our hike after a mile. I still did get to see an AT shelter, and got to imagine Tim laying there all sweaty and stinky with his trail buddies. It felt like the ghost of his old self was kind of hanging around, poking at the man standing there with me saying, "You know you want to do this again..." I could see it...he had his secretive smile on and twitching eyebrows that are a dead giveaway.

We ended up finding a decent campground at Deep Creek, where all the locals and some other Southerners go to tube down the creek and spend a week eating S'mores, hot dogs, and Budweiser. We decided we'd stick with our grub but were not going to miss the local tubing adventure. We had an awesome time floating around, hooting and hollering like a couple of idiots, and getting dumped out of our tubes. I suppose we had it so easy that we needed something to make us a little miserable.

So we decided to spend our last day before heading to Derek and Jen's place in the hills around Bryson City doing an overnight backpacking trip. Like dutiful little backpackers, we went to ask a ranger about the trails we'd picked out. The most helpful information he gave us was a raised eyebrow and a caution that copperheads are mean, and then sent us on our way. I suppose maybe we could have read more into the eyebrow but as it happened, we didn't. Our first day was going to be 7.8 miles on the Noland Divide Trail, cutting off onto Pole Creek Road Trail once we were deep in the Smokies for another 3.3 before coming to one of the designated backcountry sites just a few paces down our last trail turn onto Deep Creek Trail. We'd spend the night and then hike out the 7 or so miles back to the car.

It seemed strenuous but reasonable, so we loaded up our ridiculously heavy packs and set off (really, who packs PB in a glass jar, carries four apples and potatoes and onions and a zucchini and all kinds of water-laden crap into the woods?). Being a divide, we knew Noland would require some uphill walking since we'd be on a ridge most of the time. We started going uphill. A mile in I had my first hot-spot on my left heel, which we taped. Another mile in and a hornet scare later, I had my right heel taped, but not before blistering was averted. I was quite pleased then to think that there were 1500 bears in the Smokies, all of whom loved to eat wasp and hornet nests. Bring them out! I'd rather see a black bear than a wasp nest any day. The afternoon was hot and waterless and as we kept trudging, we began to notice that we had not taken one flat step since the beginning. The day ended up being utter hell, and I asked Tim at one point when we were supposed to start having fun or be rewarded for our work with a beautiful vista, and he couldn't answer. We climbed over 2,000 feet for all 7.8 miles until after 5 in the afternoon. We still had 3.3 miles to go to get to the campsite, and we were worried about getting there and getting set up before dark.

As soon as we turned onto Pole Creek Road Trail, the trail went downhill hard - we were descending to the stream, of course. After going up for almost 8 miles, my legs were so jelly-like and wobbly that I had serious trouble planting my feet properly. We weaved in and out of the stream, crossing over slippery mossy rocks. I slipped several times and Tim fell once. Honestly, I felt like crying but knew anything other than walking as fast as possible would deter me from my bed.

We finally made it to the campground where bear lines were already hung (yay!). We got naked immediately and jumped into the stream and then started hanging out our clothes, setting up the tent, and cooking food. As I cooked, spilling fuel all over the ground, and Tim set up the tent, I kept hearing noises off in the distance. I was already exhausted and anxious, and when the thunderclap finally came that had been too far to really pinpoint, I'd had it. I lost my appetite and got nauseous just as a storm rolled in. Tim took off all his clothes and walked around eating in his raincoat as we tried to get our packcovers on our food and smelly items hung up on the bear lines. Because I couldn't eat, we had almost an entire dinner left over that we somehow had to get off the ground. Tim used two binder clips through a mesh bag to hook onto the line, and we said "to hell with it!" and crawled into the tents just as the rain started to pour. From 9 PM until 2 AM it rained hard, with lots of thunder and lightning. Sleep was semi-futile despite fatigue and a bunch of trail horses and their riders thundered by early in the morning to get us up anyway.

When we crawled out of the tent and I went to take the food down, the binder clips were hanging onto literally one thread of mesh, and it fell off into my hands. It's a miracle it didn't come down in the night and attract a big ol' hungry bear. I retaped my heels and two toes that were blistered and we set off for a muggy 7 mile walk. Both of us were in agony. Our feet hurt, our hip belts hurt, and Tim's shoulders hurt from the combination of tubing and packing. It was utter misery. Why, oh why, is this something we do for recreation?

Just as we were getting to the end of the trail, we started walking through packs of butterflies. Tiny blue moths fluttered around our heads, yellow monarchs fluttered in front of us, and these beautiful black butterflies with irridescent blue back wings dazzled us. It was an amazing spectacle. As we got closer to the campground, the trail comes up on where all the tubers put in the creek. We got some pretty funny looks, probably because of our funny smell. It's so nuts to smell the scent of clean, sun-screened human when you've been sweating your ass off for the last day and a half in a muggy forest. Tim reported that the most funny looks were from younger girls and women toward me. I'm not sure what that means, but at that point, all I really cared about was taking my boots off and stripping off whatever of my clothes I could without getting a citation and jumping into the creek.

When we got back the creek was so, so cold on our hot bodies. We sat down in the creek amidst vacationing families and church buses in our underwear and felt a kind of heavenly rapture I've only experienced after hiking - when the pack is off, when the boots are off and you know you don't have to put them on again...when you know an ice cream cone is within reach and a shower and dry clothes and deodorant and a toilet...when your butt is on the bottom of the river and your feet aren't supporting anything, and the water on them is cold, cold, cold. There's nothing like it. It's like emerging out of the pit of hell into a bliss you've been dreaming about for miles and it's just as good if not better than you imagined -- something which I find to rarely be the case.

I'm not sure if that makes it worth it...I'm just really glad not all backpacking trips are that intense.

We're now in Derek and Jen's house, where I've been doting on Dr. Kensington, a sweet kitty cat who I loved the second I laid eyes on him. The new puppy, Inge, doesn't seem to like us all that much. When we got here yesterday, they weren't home yet from errand running, so I laid out my towel and fell instantly asleep while the Dr. purred next to me. When they got home, Derek told us that his neighbor had called him on his cell phone, reporting that there were 2 people in the yard and to see if he needed to come out and shoot some warning shots to scare us off. We're out of the Smokies, but apparently we won't be out of the woods for a while.

At any rate, we're established as bonafide visitors so no one should shoot at us for the rest of our stay here. I think I may wander down to the garden and see if some beans are ready for picking.

Kids?

Before Stephanie and I were married, we cleared up the whole matter of whether we would have children or not. We agreed that we had no idea.

Our stay in Nashville is unique because it's our first stop where our hosts have children. We'll have another in Fort Mill, SC with my sister and her family, so it'll be nearly back-to-back parenting observation opportunities.

Whenever we've been together around children, Stephanie and I have privately engaged in lengthy and detailed conversations about how we'd do things if those kids were ours, doing what we agreed with and avoiding what we did not. Many of the parents out there I'm sure are saying in their heads, "It's all well and good to armchair quarterback this game, but just wait until YOU have kids." But I think this time in our lives is extremely valuable, if not immediately applicable. We've had the chance to discuss strategies and philosophies, scenarios and values without the pressure of a hurt, angry, sad, hyperactive, misbehaving child giving us the eye at the same time.

For me, I think one of the most important values I would like to instill seems to be one of the hardest to do in my own life: granting forgiveness. It seems like I can't shield myself much less another person from the forever touted message that vengeance solves problems. I see it in my own life when I can't keep from being defensive toward Stephanie, when I can't leave old hurts out of current arguments and when I feel the need to "hurt back" when I've taken a blow or two. How would I teach my child that even if it means that she might suffer due to her non-violent response to a violent act (either emotionally or physically) we believe it is still the best way to react?

I haven't seen the latest Batman movie yet, but I'm dying to and I already know how it is going to go: a bad guy will commit some atrocity against innocents and Batman will exact "justice" (i.e. revenge). At the end of the movie, my adrenaline will be pumping and still exhilarated, I'll contemplate signing up for a martial arts class. Blast ahead 10 years and on my left is my little boy smiling up at me. He's wondering when he can get his first Bat-A-Rang to kill bad guys and I'm trying to figure out how to tell him The Joker should have been stopped through nonviolent means and shown compassion.

"And by the way, son, I don't have an explanation for that fit I pitched in front of you when Stephanie ate my last gummy bear."

Does this count as my morning page?

As we reclined last night digesting the delicious veggie enchilada surprise Joan (Jay's mom) made along with the 3,000 pound zucchini cake topped with real heavy whipping cream, the subject turned as it often does to talk of the heart and of God and what we thought about all that and where we were. I met Jay and Shelli a year and a half ago and we talked about the same things and at the time I think we were all in different places than where we are now. Jay remarked that it was interesting that when we get together, it seems like the conversation always turns here, while it seems that in general, when people who are all over the map in terms of their hunches and ideas about God get together, this is one of the most avoided topics.

I realized that with almost everybody we've visited or met so far on the trip, we've talked about spirituality a lot. That doesn't surprise me too much since making some connection with that universal presence is a big part of this trip for both of us, and I think we both feel like we're floundering around in murky water. Sometimes it's been comfortable and fun to share and listen with others and other times it hasn't. But I don't think there's been anybody we've seen that have had the same ideas when you get past the similar labels and down into the deeper core of people. Some have been in a spot of questioning and transitioning long-held beliefs and trying to figure out where to stand on shifting sand; some have quietly assumed that there's something like a God or universal presence without needing to think much about it or have a desire to pursue its meaning at all for their lives; some have been straight up atheists; some have held traditional conservative beliefs about the American Christian God; some have felt uprooted and almost abandoned by a God they thought they were walking with and now don't understand and can't find; some have found God in the poems of Mary Oliver; some have been ethical but non-attending Catholics; some have been anti-religion Jesus followers; some have been religion-friendly Jesus followers...I can't even imagine how many other people we passed by or briefly talked to that had other ideas about what divinity looked like, felt like, how we accessed it and what it meant.

It strikes me over and over as so interesting that we can all have such different ideas and experiences of what "God" means and is, but yet most of us still seem to think that our one way of understanding God still has to be the right way and that everyone must share the same conceptualization and opinions. Isn't the closest we'll ever get a conceptualization that feels like we're on the right track at this particular moment?

But even writing that, I can feel the absurdity creeping in. I have my ideas about what God means...it's the power of creativity and not destruction, of building up and not tearing down, of connecting and not separating, of loving and not hating, of understanding and not judging. And it gets my panties all up in a bunch when I hear people casting aspersions on XYZ group of people and separating them out from the rest of us and then claiming they're doing God's work in love to make XYZ better than they are - whatever God it is that they say they're following.

Maybe this is why people avoid talking about it. There are no unarguable answers, but we each still feel like we do have a few right, unarguable answers. It's also interesting to me how some people can not wonder. They can comfortably sit with atheism or unexamined beliefs -- or just accept that there must be a God and give it the mental thumbs up and go on with life without a care in the world. Through all of my various stages, including my high school atheism, I've woken up almost every day and wondered, curiously poking around to see what I run into. Many times, it's felt like a burdening cloud on my brain because I'm always wondering but don't really seem to come up with much, returning constantly to square one and saying, "But is there anything really beyond this?" I don't particularly want to have a world without layers, without mystery and divinity. As Mary Oliver writes, "each pond with its blazing lilies is a prayer heard and answered lavishly every morning." I'd love to understand like the blazing lilies on the pond.

But anyway. I'm going to follow Camille's advice from the other day and go lighten up and have some fun...for at least 10 minutes. I brood so much you'd think I'd start laying eggs.

a silly post

I just find these pictures amusing.

We're in Nashville playing in the pool with the Elkin kids and hanging out with Jay and Shelli. Lightheartedness abounds.

Moonlighting in Denver

Ah, Denver. We have had an amazing time here hanging out with Sheralee (and kitty Mia) and Maria. Sheralee and Maria are Burt's friends, who became Tim's friends, and who I'd now like to consider my friends. I think I've now joined the "incestuous group of people" or as another Grand Rapids friend would say, it's also known as a circle of friends. (Haha, look at the shout-outs!)

We've basically done nothing here except play Catchphrase and lay around. It's been so wonderful to do nothing. No driving, no sightseeing, just hanging. I feel rejuvenated and completely relaxed except for my ass.

And that's a good story.

Some of Sheralee and Maria's friends are a crew named Jim, Stuart, and Charlie (the unicorn!). At a barbecue last night, Jim mentioned that they were going to ride the Moonlight Classic. It's a Denver bike ride to support charity, and you can ride either 8 or 15 miles through the city with 5,000 other bikers at midnight. We of course really wanted to participate.

Because all of the people around Maria and Sheralee are awesome as well, we ended up with all the gear we needed: bikes, helmets, water bottles. A woman named Jen who I'd met only that night lent me her ultrasweet ulatralight ultrafast Bianchi bike with the original Bianchi colors. Then Jim and Stuart and Charlie happily allowed us to crash their bike party and invited us to ride with them underneath the full moon and through the warm Denver night. Passerby slapped our hands as we rode by and cheered. I felt like such a rockstar, and I didn't even have a costume.

I think more than the laying around, I feel rejuvenated because of the outpouring of generosity, sharing, love, and encouragement that all of these old and new Denverites have showed us. We've been sheltered, showered, fed, and been gone out of many people's way for. We're ready for the long ride to Nashville, where I think we'll probably experience more of the same. It really feels sometimes like we have the best people in the world in our lives.

Much love to you all.

one last thing: on showers

I forgot to mention something that is worthy to note. We haven't been showering much on this trip, as all who've seen us can confirm. It's such a delicacy now to be sitting at Sheralee's table with a bathroom in sight, where a shower with great water pressure can be had at any time of the day.

Aside from the hairiness that not showering often can cause, I have to mention one of our extremely unglamorous situations. One desperate day in Oregon I wanted a shower - the real deal. Not the showers in a bag (8" by 8" cloths that report to give you that refreshed showered feeling without delivering). My dear sweet husband Tim, the real live MacGyver, has a great system where he rigs up our water bag and we take turns holding it for each other. (We nicknamed him Jimmy, which confuses people at water stations when we ask each other if we've filled up Jimmy or not.) Anyway. There were no spots to be had in the day use park we were in except for the handicapped portajohn.

So. We took a shower in a vault toilet.

Let this be a testament to my grit and cheapskatery.

#5: Arches National Park in Utah

The travel book for Utah makes the state look really great. After our drive through it, we can say with some confidence that they really have to pick and choose. Seeing a massive dry lake covered in salt that gleams white like a baking skull is interesting, but I wouldn't call it welcoming. Arches National Park and our drive north on 128 to get back to the freeway made up for it. 128 is basically a canyon drive between the Colorado river and massive red walls. I can't really describe what it feels like to be so tiny against these cliffs, except that it again felt a little like we were in the Lord of the Rings.

I admit that I'm a tree person, but the rocks in Arches are really something serious. When you look at a rock and can see the lines that wind and sand and water have carved in it and take a second to realize that this has been in formation since before the wheel, it kind of sucks the air out of your lungs. Aside from the snarky, rude foreign tourists (nationalities not disclosed so as not to sully relations) we ran into at the park, it really felt like we could have been wandering around about a million years ago...except that this would have all been covered in water and swamps then...but let's not split hairs.

We have so many pictures of everything. It's hard to pick. But here are some goodies.

#4 Highway 50 in Nevada

People get bored on the Loneliest Road in America. That must explain the shoe tree. As far as this is concerned, Brooklyn ain't got nothin' on Nevada!

#3 Desolation was good for us

A few miles before you hit Lake Tahoe in California, there's a really great trailhead in the El Dorado National Forest. We pulled in there after a dinner we ate on the side of mountain road where the noise of engine breaking dulled a tense and unhappy conversation us two lovebirds were having. This particular spot was right on the border of the Desolation Wilderness Area, and we had a feeling it would be special when we were treated to silence and a beautiful moonrise on top of white rocks that had been carved smooth by glaciers.

We woke up early the next morning to get in a hike before it got too hot. We were in good moods but still maybe a bit uptight after our fighting the day before. In between two round white cliffs there was a silver waterfall called Horsetail Falls. We headed for the falls.

A little ways past the line into the Desolation Wilderness, we discovered a deep swimming hole in the cool, cool river. It was only about 9 in the morning, but it was already hot and we were ready to be cleansed physically and mentally. We stripped down and jumped into the water. It was crystal clear - over our heads deep and you could see the rocks in the bottom in detail. The clarity and the cold reminded me of Lake Superior. It was a transcendent experience.

The comedy of this hike: as soon as we were naked a helicopter flew over us 3 times. Just as we got out, we passed a dad and his two daughters. Then we found a pinecone as big as my head.

#2 redwoods

The first redwood we saw came out of the dark as we ended our hell drive through wildfires and cliffs. It appeared through a fog and was so startling that Tim swerved a little bit. They really looked like the legs of giants. They are the world's silent timekeepers, living thousands of years and surviving fires, floods, and insect plagues. They survive everything, that is, except for humans. One story we read described the plan of early loggers to cut down a 3,200 year old tree. Once they were finished, they then left it lying in the woods. Their greed made them too short-sighted to realize that they'd never be able to move it.

I feel a special affection and reverence for ancient trees that I don't feel the same way when I look at other ancient things like rocks and fossils and gems. Trees like this aren't just ancient - they're still alive. THey stay alive so patiently and steadfastly through all kinds of adversity. They're strong and massive and continue to do something (grow) with such a singular purpose for so long. It amazes me. I really think we have a lot to learn from trees. If, that is, we can leave a few of them standing.

the promised pics in order. #1: wildfires

The sun looks to me like a smashed peach. As we drove through tiny mountain forest towns, the only people we saw were fire crews. Signs in the windows made by children said, "We love firefighters" and "Thank you firefighters for saving our homes." Eerie is one of the best words to describe this drive.

And no, we have not tampered with the color of the pictures. That's really what it looked like.

Miles to go before I sleep...

Pictures to come soon...first, a summary of what's been up:

So we went to the Oregon Country Fair and saw a bunch of near-naked hippies eating frozen bananas and vegan coconut ice cream. It was crazy hot that day but there was plenty of shade and sprinklers distributed throughout the festival grounds for refreshment. We had such a great time and would highly recommend the festival to anyone who is in Oregon near Eugene in July. Our friends Ginny and John housed our tired, road-weary butts in Eugene and Stephanie and Ginny made us a homemade pasta dinner. It was amazing.

Heading south from Eugene through wildfire plagued northern California, we began one of the most harrowing parts of our journey thus far. From road closings to driving through hours of yellow-orange smoke haze, we finally made it to Fort Bragg, California, home of the College of the Redwoods Fine Furniture School and sea glass beaches. To make a long story shorter, we met four previous students, three of which are instructors now and think that this school is tops on our list of where we might be in the future. We're a little shaky about Fort Bragg, but it seems like a cool small community that we might become a part of for a while. We'll see...

After California, we zipped through Nevada, skinny-dipped, saw Lake Tahoe, about 1000 casinos. I can't possibly exaggerate how many opportunities one has to blow his money in Nevada. I swear they will start putting slot machines between the urinals in the gas station restrooms soon. You might win the jack-potty.

Western Utah made me feel like there are places on this planet where man is not supposed to ever go unless he is on his way elsewhere. Surprisingly enough, some people have stayed in this forsaken wasteland and have planted lawns. Arches National Park redeemed our "quick" ride through Utah.

We're in Denver until Sunday and staying with Sheralee, a good friend transplanted from Grand Rapids here in the mile-high city. We've already hung out with Maria, Jim and new friend Stuart and had some great beer (see Old Chub). Today, Stephanie and I decided that we're about out of gas for seeing the sights and are ready to take the most direct routes to visit our loved ones as we can. For those of you along this route, that means our schedule has changed again and we'll let you know how much sooner to expect us :)

More to come soon...

oops on Denver general delivery

Expect a cool post soon, but here's a poopy one. Apparently, the post office here in Denver that we said you could send a general delivery to doesn't accept general delivery. Anything you may have sent will go back to you. Giant argh.

But, we called our next stop to make sure that they can take general delivery and they do. Stupid big cities, I tell ya.

Here's the next one:

General Delivery
c/o Stephanie and Tim Pierce
Bryson City, NC 28713

More soon...

Two's the Charm

I saw it first in an email from Ginny (Eugene, not UP) and then while talking to a lady at the first library we were at today: you simply must go to the Oregon Country Fair.

We listened, so here we are. We took a detour from the windy 58 degree Pacific coast and are here in Veneta, OR, where it's 81 and calm and people everywhere are donning kilts, glitter, bikini tops, fake breasts, and lots and lots of tie-dye in preparation for tomorrow's kick-off. What with our deep sandal tan lines, slightly disheveled appearance, and futon lodged in our van, we'll fit right in.

:)

i agree with tim's previous post

We're enjoying the road at the same time as missing the roots. I described it to a friend the other day by saying that when we left on this trip, I imagined us as seeds. We were taking to the wind, waiting to find where we can grow. My little seedling self looks down sometimes and says, "All this air stuff is great, but to really grow I need to put some roots down." I hope when I feel like a tree I won't feel like I want to be the bird landing on me to fly away. Ah, the human condition of discontent.

But after saying that, as I struggled through another set of morning pages the other day (not sure what I'm doing with those, but I'm doing them as I planned...) I was asking myself the question of time yet again and how to fit everything in that we want out of life. A sweet delayed awakening in bed and then yoga, a walks, morning pages, a good breakfast...all before 10? Jobs, family, friends, kids if you want them, pets, "serious" writing, garden, meals, the administrative pieces of life, recreation and daydreaming, la la la la, the list goes on...how is there time for it all? I've asked myself and other people this so much and all the answers have been unsatisfying. You have to make the time/take the time...the things that you value will take up your time...

But what if there's not enough time? And then I thought something a little different. What if there's plenty of time, except the way that we've divided up our lives into boxes in this postmodern age has made time a resource, and a scarce one at that. What if compartmentalizing all these pieces of life instead of having them be interconnected, fulfilling many at once and without the effort of trying for it, has made our lives as hectic as they are? Compounded by our growing desires to have more, see more, do more, experience more, it seems like we're doing less and enjoying it less.

Someone the other day asked me if after this trip we were going to go and do it in Europe or other places. I immediately thought to myself, "Oh, yes!" And then beyond the excitement of seeing a new continent, heard all the voices in my head that have told me over the years that you haven't made it until you've traveled globally, you haven't seen anything, you have a small life, you have no stories, you don't have good experiences, you are not sophisticated, you are a sheltered and hopelessly naive person if you haven't seen Paris, London, Bulgaria, Taiwan, Hong Kong, Turkey, blah blah blah. But how is this travel lust any different from the conspicuous consumption of electronics or purses or shoes or cars? Or what about the conspicuous consumption of experiences? I can't tell you how many other travelers I've seen on this trip jump out of their cars, take a quick picture, and then head out. You may have the photo to prove you've looked at an amazing thing, but I don't believe you can see it that way, experience it, take it in. How many beautiful things can you look at in quick succession before they lose their awe, their poetry?

I'm so glad we cut back on all the places we were going to make sure that we "saw" on this trip. I'm so glad we did it early on.

Now that I have all that vomit out, I have 10 minutes left on this public computer and I haven't even gotten to get on my tirade about the combination of overregulation, irresponsibility, and capitalist conspiracies to get travelers to spend money that have spawned the ubiquitous "no overnight parking," and "fee areas." Another day.

Hope you enjoyed some of the pictures of the poetry we've seen here on the Oregon coast amidst my ranting.