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.

Cheese and Breakers

We've reached the ocean for sure. I can tell because many shops here sell "global clothing". Near the ocean here, this means "brightly colored solids and prints with waving palm branches and an occasional coconut". Specifically, we're in Newport, Oregon, home of a Ripley's Believe It or Not and a Wax Works museum. It's the Gatlinburg/Niagara Falls of the West, I guess. I'm still dying to buy a clam or something from a guy next to the road selling food out of the bed of his Toyota.

This morning we saw otters playing and hunting in the pounding surf. We also saw a 50-something surfer checking out the waves near the Devil's Punchbowl. He had his board tucked into a Nike surf-cozy on the top of his mini-van. It's never too late retirees!

Yesterday we visited the Tillamook Cheese Factory. We watched an assembly line of near-40lb blocks of cheese get sliced and vacuum packed for the store. They also had a display showing why milk is so expensive because there are 15 different things that they need to feed the cows (in addition to grass, that is). I wonder how much our milk would be if the cows ate what they were designed to eat? Hmmm...

I'm pretty excited because I got an email reply from the College of the Redwoods Fine Furniture School and I think we're going to stop through to visit the place. This is James Krenov's school, a man I really admire for his philosophy on workmanship and craft. He believes that the wood determines what it wants to be in the hands of the patient craftsman. I would love to go to this school, but it's really expensive for out-of-staters and ridiculously cheap for residents.

My time on the Newport Library free internet is up for now so I'll end this post. I'm enjoying the road, but definitely missing the roots.

Portland Bound!

We're out the door this morning, heading South from Chehalis, Washington to try to catch the noon service at Imago Dei in Portland, Oregon. We have just spent the past several days with some old and new friends and while we're sad to leave, we're excited about being back on the road. Thank you so much, Don and Rita.

Our next possible mail pick-up will be in Denver, so if you have any little surprises for us, please mail them (by about July 9th) to:

General Delivery
c/o Tim and Stephanie Pierce
Denver, CO 80218

There will be more of these as we get farther East.

our first year anniversary

On our first anniversary, we saw the most incredibly powerful waterfall that I've ever seen, as well as a grove of old growth trees that have been standing for over 1,000 years. In the midst of all that longevity, Tim and I relearned a little something about the constant compromise that marriage is. Somewhere along the way, it seems that we got surprised that we are always compromising and wondered why that was. We shared a good laugh when we realized that perhaps we'd just forgotten for a little bit what exactly it is that we're doing by sharing one life together.

Who wants to turn back? Let's vote.

A little ways south of here is a place called the Dismal Nitch. It's a spot that William Clark (of Lewis and Clark fame) and part of the Corps of Discovery were trapped in during violent rainstorms just after finally seeing the Pacific Ocean with their own eyes. There was not a dry article among them. According to Clark, they sat in soaking wet clothes eating nothing but "pounded fish" for 6 days. The journal entries he made during this time weren't exactly filled with the jubilation one would expect from someone who was on the verge of reaching his goal after 2+ years in the journey. We have it sooooooo good these days.

The journey of the Corps of Discovery was a remarkable one in so many ways. It involved people from a variety of backgrounds: from white American aristocrats to French fur traders, to impetuous and impulsive energetic young soldiers, an amazing native American woman and her baby and a black man who was a slave at the time. Back in the "normal" everyday world, these people would probably have had very little to do with each other beyond what their stations dictated they provide to each other. In the wilderness, these people worked together toward the common goal of helping each other survive crossing thousands of miles through rough lands, through sickness, harsh weather, encounters with potentially hostile native Americans, and suffering the lack of food and shelter on several occasions. The Corps of Discovery accomplished a multitude of amazing things for America and each other by overlooking what society would have considered at the time to be overwhelming differences.

Sadly, much of this unity came to an end when there was no longer a common goal to achieve. When the Corps returned, everyone but Sacagawea, the native American woman and York, the black slave received lands and money as reward for their efforts. And the beginning of the white man's conquest of the West and the displacement of native American peoples of those lands had begun. York eventually became a free man, but it was after Clark dismissed him to another owner for "becoming uppity". Imagine having stood shoulder to shoulder with a man to defend his life and then being told that your own isn't worth as much.

It's a good thing that the world has changed so much since then. Why does it seem like we need to blanket classify each other based on a single characteristic? What would happen if we decided we would engage each other holistically? Share our lives together regardless of these classifications?

Stephanie said it quite eloquently and succinctly the other day and I'll try to paraphrase: We should be spending more time figuring out why we have a problem with another person or group of people and praying how we can get over it to love them wholy and truly, and we should spend less time debating and pontificating why other people's lives and decisions are wrong compared to ours.

I love this woman.