Beach Glass

Anacortes, WA

What an honor to be a part of our friends' birthday bash up at their home in Anacortes. Quaint town (with delicious pizza. Perfect after a long drive from Vancouver. Who ever said there is no traffic in the NW???) Beautiful homes--each unique. Deer roaming from door to door. Their amazing tudor home sits on a point on Fidalgo Bay. Otters. Seals. Herons, ducks, and eagles. Tug boats and refineries. Jacuzzi with the ultimate view. It's a paradise and we're so honored to be a part of this special occasion. We find the sea mesmerizing, gleaming wishes upon bubbles. Floating, soaring across the water. Treasure hunting on the rocky shore below. Oyster, clam, and mussel shells. Rough and unique. Friends are beach glass. Relationships rounded and smoothed over time into something completely beautiful. It is a time and place we will never forget.

Black and White Majesty

San Juan Islands, Washington

Okay, so I have to admit I've got motion issues. The seasick gene. The carsick gene. The sitting-on-a-rocking-chair- makes-me-nauseous

gene. I usually cannot go out onto the open ocean without feeling like I want to kill myself more and more with each wave. But...

I really, really wanted to see Orcinus orca, in the wild, largest member of the dolphin family. So...I take Dramamine (label says "slight drowsiness") and decided to take the risk. Orca are worth it. Definitely worth it.

On board the Island Explorer (thanks so much to our good friends Sheila and Ron for setting it all up.) Sunscreen. Snacks. Camera. Eyes ready to meet one of the most spectacular creatures of the ocean. We travel through the islands, the sea is calm and my equilibrium, so far, is happy. San Juan Island takes my breath away. Isolated. Wild. Spectacular. We salivate over the homes that sit at the ocean's edge. I dream of being a writer living on a remote Pacific North western island. We see harbor porpoises, shy and skittish, jumping through waves. We learn how there are three resident orca pods here--J, K, & L-- totaling 88 orca.

Our captain keeps us informed. No orca sightings yet, but in constant communication with other whale watching boats. They are almost sure we'll sight some today. Butterflies flip & flap in my stomach. We cruise San Juan in to the open waves. I keep my eye on the horizon. Sit on the top level. The strong wind chills me, but the air on my face keeps my stomach feeling just fine, and I'm not even tired. This just might work out!

We get word from the crew. Orca nearby. The ocean is immense. The sun's rays reflect a shine back into our eyes. We scan the water. Nine o'clock. Twelve o'clock. Three o'clock. Nothing. Like cattle, we all move from the bow to stern, starboard to port, surprised that the boat doesn't tip! Stretch your eyes. Search the waves. Anticipation connects us all together. We're looking for a dorsal fin. A BIG dorsal fin. Up to 6 feet tall on a male.

We find out that there are two pods of orca here in the San Juans. One resident population that eats only salmon (has a smaller jaw) and stays local all year. The orcas in the other pod are transient, larger in size, and eat small mammals. Today, we'll see the resident orca.

Orca! Three o'clock starboard. An adult male. His dorsal fin cuts through the deep blue water. We let out a communal sigh--cameras snapping, hearts fluttering. The orca is magnificent and I can't stop smiling. He breaches. The splashes all around him glitter like diamonds. Soon another male enters the scene, and then a female.

The staff uses digital pictures to ID the orca. Looking at dorsal fins and a white pigmented patch called a "saddle patch" (used like a fingerprint) right behind the dorsal fin, they figure out that that the two males are brothers, and they are fishing with their mothers. Resident orca travel in matriarchal pods--offspring stay with their mother their whole lives. I'm touched (yes, I'm humanizing, shame on me) by their bond. Orca can live up to 95 years! The mother is about 40, big brother is 25, and little bro is 15.

We watch three more breaches from the big male showoff! (They must travel up to 23 MPH to propel that huge body--up to 11 tons--out of the water!) My favorite moment is watching his fin jet through the waves as he rushes through the water after a salmon. It's exhilarating. Mystifying. These creatures are pure majesty and grace.

We watch all day. Pop in the cabin for hot chocolate and nachos (we're on vacation, okay?) The staff comes around with photos and ID explanations and answers to any of our questions. I appreciate how they share this knowledge. How it seems they truly care about the protection and conservation of these great ocean beasts.

Heading home, we snake through the islands. We watch a young bald eagle soar over a smaller island and land in a tall pine. The sun sets, leaving a golden glow all around us.

I'm happy. Not sea sick. I close my eyes and dream of the black and white majesty.

Grace. Power. Intelligence. Family.

Pretty good role model, huh?

Everything in Between

Ape Cave, Mount St. Helen's

Walking almost a mile underground. 42 degrees. Chilled, earthy air. No flashlights. We rent lanterns and descend into NA's longest lava tube (almost 2 miles!) The high arch on this 2,000 year old tube made as lava cooled about the rushing, soaring stream of lava that ran below. The walls are rough, rocky and sharp at points.

We walk on and on. It's the ultimate quiet--except for the chatter of another subterranean group of hikers. We turn our lanterns off. And it's that pitch, pitch black I experienced in Kenya. The darkness surrounds you. Envelops you, until you no longer exist. We became one with the dark.

We continue and the tube narrows. The brave in our group make it (slipping through crevices on their bellies) to the very end. It's as odd feeling being so far down. So far removed from light or anything living. Gives me a good sense of the mood I must reinforce in my current novel.

Dark vs. light, and everything in between.

Volcanic water. Rushing, liquid turquoise. The raw energy. The re-grown vitality of St. Helens. Astonishing. Beautiful. Solid. Just like a man we all love. Bud Hubbard. What a gift to have taken this trip with him. Wisdom. Compassion. Goodness. All rolled into one. . We will always honor what he has passed onto us. Regrowing with every breath, just like this great mountain. Just like this great man.

We miss you, Bud. Forever.

One heartbeat

Multnomah Falls, Columbia River Gorge

Up. Up. Up. A steep incline. A trail covered in ferns and mosses. Maple & oak shadows on rocks. Light filters through the pines. Warming me. Soft, gentle sun highlights the almost florescent green foilage. Switchbacks. Round corner after corner. The top of the falls nears. My son and I talk about shaping our lives. Perseverance. How it all starts now. This day. This moment. Who we are with every step. Every hill.

Pounding forward. Stepping. Building.

At the top, we breathe. Cool mist on our cheeks. A beautiful view of the Columbia spread out along the horizon. A lone pine tree stands right at the eruption point of the falls. Tall & proud. Roots exposed, its soil long eroded. How long will it last before gravity yanks it down? Have faith. Faith in strong foundations and solid ground. Hearts of gold.

Easy hike down. The joy of observation. Sunlight ignites the waterfall in late afternoon. My daughter smells wildflowers. Spots tiny, wild strawberries. A caterpillar. Baby snake. Most interesting find: a tough, predator bug pulling a spider up and under his rock. He tries. Pulls with all his might. The spider falls. He tries again. Again. And again. Like the pine standing tall. Like my son on the trail. Like all of us in life.

One step forward. One breath. One heartbeat.

Mazes & Ruby Slippers

What is it about Portland that throws my semi-working sense of direction into total and complete chaos? It started about 10 years ago, staying at a friend's house with my husband and son (then about 18 months.) It was 7pm and I really, really wanted to go to what I'd heard was an amazing new/used bookstore (Powell's) before it closed. Nobody else wanted to go. So I dragged my son out in his PJs and set off in our borrowed (father-in-law's) motorhome on an adventure into downtown.

Crossing the river, I was instantly assaulted by one-way streets (my first problem.) Eventually, I passed Powell's (Burnside and 11th.) Nowhere to park. It was dark. So I traveled down alternate streets, looking to turn around, to find 11th again. I needed to stop for directions, but my son had crashed out in his car seat. Couldn't wake him (he was NOT a good sleeper.) My persistence paid off, and I passed Powell's again. Again. And again. I was clammy. Stressed. Lost. Just wanted to click my ruby slippers together three times. Finally, after hours of "Powell-drive-bys," I made it back across the river and found my way home, swearing never to drive into Portland again.

So it's 1o years later, and I've got a few hours to kill. I'm dying to experience an infamous Portland farmer's market. I get directions. No problem. I can do this. I can go back into the maze (call 911 if I'm not back in 3 hours.)

From Vancouver, I cross the bridge into Oregon. Go toward City Center onto Broadway. A fork in the road. Humm...the Robert Frost poem comes to mind (you know the one.) Which way is N. Broadway? I take the path definitely more traveled. Go left. Straight into downtown. Restaurants. Traffic. Pedestrians. Pedestrians. Pedestrians. I wait at red light after red light. My remaining 30 minutes (before I pick up my husband at the airport) dwindles. Ah! What's this? I'm on SW Broadway? Ah! I get back to the bridge, cross over. Back to the freeway? No I can do this! I can fight the maze.

I'm not stressed, just challenged. Back to Broadway. Turn around. Cross the bridge. Go right. Turns into Lovejoy Rd. Not Broadway. Back across the bridge (see a theme here?) I'm passing intersections. Ask a woman at a red light. 240 N. Broadway? "I don't know." Then I think I see the street. Three U-turns. 305 N. Broadway. 210 N. Broadway. Reverse. An anonymous brick building: address 2_0 N. Broadway. Middle number missing. I'm laughing now. Time almost up. I'm in a maze again. Downtown Portland maze.

I don't find berries. Tomatoes. Or spinach. But I do find a tiny Starbucks on the corner of one of my repeated intersections. Ah, chai latte. That's what I need. Pull in and order. The barista doesn't know where the market is either. She's an ex-Californian, totally nice, and takes public transit everywhere. OK, I don't feel so bad.

My chai is perfect. Cinnamon tickles my nose. Soothing warmth on my throat. Ahh, now that's peace! A beautiful mural is painted on the wall of the building next door. "Hope is Vital: It takes a planet to save a village." A Portland-Zimbabwe connection. And I suddenly realize that it's all about hope and possibility. Whether lost in another continent or in the maze of a cool, big city, full of one-way, non-existent streets. I long for adventure, and there's something so right about being lost. Out of our comfort zone. It brings a sense of calmness and excitement to me all at once. I am not defeated, but invigorated.

I get lost going to the airport (surprise, surprise.) But I do find a "Pita Pit" for lunch and I'm reminded of the little place that I found at midnight after walking for hours in Madrid last year. I order up my favorite falafel, and I'm happy.

The hope. The challenge. The open doors. It's in each of us.

Finally heading the right way, I notice once again the tiny, fuzzy white seed pods that have been raining down on us since we arrived in Oregon. I think of each one as a dandelion wish--blowing across the sky. Over trees. Across rivers. And down into the city. Just like us.

A sky full of wishes. A maze full of wishes. Round each turn, and take a peek.

I cross the bridge for the last time. I don't need to click my ruby slippers.

I am already here.

PS: Later, after re-checking Google maps, I realized the building with the number missing was the address I looking for! LOL

Powell's website:

(http://www.powells.com/info/places/burnsideinfo.html?header=Sub:%20City%20of%20Books%20on%20Burnside.) So

Transformation

Peter's Canyon: spring through summer

With my love of high-elevations, I'm judgmental about Orange County hikes. I love it when I'm proven wrong.

We started hiking again in Peter's Canyon Regional Park, just off Jamboree and Chapman here in Orange.  The 2.5 mile loop is perfect for the kids and dogs. The entire park itself is 354 acres of coastal scrub, freshwater marsh, and grassland. You'll find lots of migrating waterfowl amongst the willow, sycamore, and black cottonwoods (and eucalyptus along the Lower Trail) the grow along the creek and reservoir. 

Wildlife includes: mule deer, bobcats, coyotes, opossums, raccoons, and maybe a mountain lion (if you're lucky! Gulp.) Amphibians and reptiles (saw our first rattler stalking a cottontail a few years back,) and birds galore: cactus wrens, gnatcatchers, sparrows, Cooper's, redtail, and red-shouldered hawks. 

The kids enjoy counting the small mammals, reptiles and birds. Lots of lizards, chipmunks, and cottontails. Swallows, hawks, and the gift of a roadrunner at the end of the trail! Reminds me of my favorite childhood poem, the one I've remembered by heart (after I read a book called SECRET OF THE SEVEN CROWS by Wylly Folk St. John in 4th grade!)   

A Gathering of Crows

One crow for sorrow,
Two crows for joy,
Three crows for a girl,
Four for a boy,
Five crows for silver,
Six crows for gold,

Seven crows for a secret never to be told.

Except there's no sorrow out in Peter's Canyon. Every animal we see equals joy, silver & gold. Counting animals out here connects us to this place. Makes us see how wild things truly do share our urban space. Makes us want to protect it all. 

In spring, the reservoir is full, glossy gray and blue. The hills are velvety green, and the kids run through clover fields. The striking contrast of the sunny, yellow flowers with the lime-colored clover leaves is heavenly. It seems as if we can pick 1000 flowers and make no dent. It is a field of dreams. Of happiness. 

Summer approaches, and the clovers disappear. Transformation of color.  Texture. Feeling. Green to beige, rusty brown. The water in reservoir decreases, and it greens up to a shiny emerald. Along the trail, cactus flowers burst open, taking the sunshiny place of the clover flower. Purple, prickly thistles. Welcoming sunflowers. Paper-thin, delicate poppies.

We share the trail with horses, and a mountain biker or two. But people are pleasant. Orange County can be a happy place. And along the trail, I am happy to transform as well.

Adventure in your own backyard. 

http://www.ocparks.com/peterscanyon/