A post without a title

I don’t want to talk about my Sunday. Or my Monday. I don’t want to talk about loving and longing. I don’t want to remove from the theme of celebration. 

But all of those things exist because of deep devotion and care to the subjects that elicit those feelings. 

And so I will. 

Sunday was a day of connections that are too big for a 24-hour period. 

I had coffee with my dear friend Thomas but was rushed to prepare for my evening obligations. 

The evening was set aside for George, a dear love who I’d missed deeply and the terrible pain of one short evening to spend amidst the hubbub of a busy party weighed on me during the long flight home in the morning. 

And finally, my Anna. My beautiful, beautiful Anna. 

Lives are crazy, messy things. We try to organize them, make sense of them with mile-markers, events and accomplishments. We scrutinize the pitfalls and the struggles like points against our collection of milestones. In the age of Facebook, we materialize our life stories even more so, filtering what people see to compile a sellable product. 

But thats not life. 

Life is love, relationship and connection. Those don’t pick between ups and downs. They don’t follow logic or an agenda. Amidst trying to make sense of the good in the bad, love is outlasting. 

When you’ve had friendships that last for years, you watch one another change. grow, fall, hobble in between. But it doesn’t change the love. 

Anna and I are thousands of miles apart and yet she lives one of the closest to my heart each and every day. Even when we don’t talk constantly, I am influenced by my love for her. She has been one of the strongest people I know and developed and eye-opening, keen sense of others’ vulnerabilities. I have learned some of the most valuable things about both my strengths and weaknesses through having her as a friend. We have laughed and cried through our most vulnerable moments in life. 

Up to now, there have been markers, of knowing when we’d see one another again. Right now, I don’t have a clear marker. I don’t know when I will be back in Ann Arbor. I just have a clear knowing that I need her in my life. And flying away on Sunday, that weighed on me most of all.

5 days, infinite celebrations: Part II

As a strictly chronological account, Saturday was not whimsical. There were the logistics of making sure everything was gathered up and brought, there was the fact that mother forgot to tell me what time we were heading out in the morning and so I was rushed to gather my belongings for the day, there was my over-tasked father who Anna kept tabs on throughout the night (“your father looks like he needs a hug!” she exclaimed a few times throughout the party) and there were the complex logistics of creating a collaborative birthday gift with my mom’s guest secretively throughout the day. 

But I don’t want to talk about the step by step. Because the day wasn’t about me or the gears making it happen. The meaning was in the moments like when my mom exclaimed, watery-eyed at 10am before her first workshop: “I feel so full [of emotion/beauty/joy] and nothing has even happened yet!” Or when introductions to her prayer circle participants were made and the vast webbing of the depth and variety of her connections was revealed. It was in the hour of musical expression led by Lori and the moments we looked over at one another when Carrie Newcomer or Leonard Cohen came on, reveling in the legacy of their lyrics in our family lives. And while I took the opportunity during Tai Chi to work on my gift, I can only imagine the swelling of her soul in sharing her passion and blessing of that practice with friends and family that were new to it. The last activity of the day (before shifting into party mode) was a sharing of a collage that guests had contributed to throughout the event. The board was clad in imagery of light, growth of flowers and trees and gatherings of animals engaged in compassionate gatherings with their kin. Guests shared how these images expressed the wishes for her life and the gifts she already embodied. 

The set-up

My dad's clever last minute surprise walking birthday card

Before dinner was served, I asked to make an announcement and my mother did her best to brace herself, to no avail. The tears came as I revealed our group project. I’d taken a liking to paper bead-making and had pre-cut strips for guests to write blessings or prayers on to be wrapped up as a necklace; a symbolic totem similar to a Buddhist Prayer Wheel. We delighted in dinner, catered by an incredibly sweet new business owner (Diana’s self-proclaimed new boyfriend) who made the most creative salad I’ve ever eaten, a pumpkin coconut soup, roasted root veggies and cod seasoned with cumin, capers and olives. Then, between dinner and dessert, I insisted in another crying fest when I sang my parody to “50 ways to leave your lover” (“60 reasons I love Mother”). 

While most people were quite fulfilled with the long day and began to gather up to go after dessert, a handful of us enjoyed the 60-centric dance playlist that my brother had diligently put together. Anna and I were called to lead the Macarena (which we cut short after 3.5 minutes of the damn thing) and the Cha Cha Slide. As we cleaned up, we sang along to the rest of the music. 

While the night was showered in celebration, the occasion carried heavy symbolism. Sixty is a big number. In a clock, it is the end of a minute or an hour. Mirroring the clock, Chinese and Western Astrological systems also take a cyclical, circle form. In these systems, 60 represents the ending of a cycle period, a coming-full-circle of sorts. My mother is a beautiful, healthy spirit, youthful in so many ways. And yet, this event marked, i think, a section of completion for her. In this room, in this cycle of a day, was a snapshot of her 60 years. Childhood friends, children, spouse, co-workers, new friends all in one place to show what these 60 years have brought to her life. The image that it painted was beautiful. And it felt complete. The growth doesn’t stop here. In a way, it elevates. It goes inward, to the core, where a calm, quiet growth occurs. It’s like saying “my life is in balance. I can focus here, within now.” 

As her daughter, still in the throes of mid 20’s, I cannot articulate what this feels like to her. I still don’t know what it feels like to me, exactly. But I know as a guide to this cycle ahead and how to view it with grace amidst the mistakes and rusty edges, I could not have asked for a better one in my life. 

I am not very good at connecting to what hasn’t happened. I cannot conceptualize the gravity of aging - time moves too fast for my heart - but I can connect to love and reconnect to love in every moment. And that is my ultimate gift to you, mother. I will continue to love you deeply, every moment I can. And that will never age. 

5 Days, infinite celebrations: Part I

Hypothesis: This is physically and emotionally possible

Conclusion: Not without physical and emotional wear

Constants: Love 

Variables: Time, distance, gravity of life events

Conclusion biproduct? Stated variables are not always adequate containers for the expanse of the constant

The long-short weekend began on Wednesday in Seattle with two incredibly beautiful souls; my teammate Ariella accompanied me on the way to her own reunion with my car and we stayed with Dusty. I was excited for the two musical talents to meet and sure enough, they connected beautifully. After my hectic week of missed connections and social disappointment, I was also needing to reconnect with more like minds. 

Old friends and new friends!

The day delivered typical Autumn downpour and grey until we reached the city where the sun finally decided to poke through for our evening excursions. We revisited Gas Works park before making a long awaited trip over to the 6-week old Schilling Cider House with some take out from Chiso Sushi. I wasn’t sure what to expect and was pleasantly surprised. A totally mind-blowing place for cider-lovers, the hub is tucked into a tame Fremont street with full front windows that expose the lit, art-laden walls. Unlike a dingy, dark bar, the Cider House seemed to invite a picnic-y community atmosphere, offering large wood tables and mod little stools for friends and strangers to gather in one space. We grabbed a seat and Ariella and I went in on a flight of tastes from their expansive list of over 30 rotating taps of strictly craft ciders.

Tasting Flght Left to right: 

Seattle Co. Pumpkin Spice: Autumnal Semi dry ranked 2/6 for me that day but definitely a seasonal-based preference

Schilling Blue-Perry: Bright and crisp, semi dry but sweeter than the pumpkin i think. A good summer sip. 3/6 for me. 

Red Nebula: Very floral, off notes and complex flavors. Strawberry notes. Interesting. 5/6 

Finn River Habanero: I didn't have high expectations; had seen this in the store and never wanted to spend on the bottle. As I guessed, not my style. Worth a try though. Got a bite. Overpowers the cider too much for my liking. 6/6

Schilling Chai: NOM. The seasonal win. Still wouldn't drink this in the warmer months but very flavorful for fall or a cozy up by fire. The foam does settle eventually. Ariella thought that maybe it's due to one of the spices used? 1/6

Finn River Black Currant: Sweet and flavorful. sort of like a drier desert wine ish. 4/6

In the end, I ordered a glass of my ATLAS Cider Company Apricot. Still the best thing ever. 

Leaving early enough, we headed back to West Seattle and walked down to Dusty’s Karaoke Locale The Outwest where I’d come with him and my parents over the summer. I was prepared to order perhaps one more cider and call it good but when we arrived, they had a dangerously enticing special to offer: Pumpkin Tini. 

THIS IS THE WORST THING EVER. AND SO GOOD. 

We had a grand time, singing and dancing and chatting with some of the regulars. 

We also had two Pumpkin Martinis. 

My 9am flight the next day was filled with pain and nausea. Fortunately, I had one of the smoothest airport experiences I could have possibly had and an empty seat next to me, to boot. 

At 4pm EST, I landed in Detroit where I was greeted by lovingly forgiving parents who more or less let me peacefully work my way out of my zombie-state. By the time we arrived back in Ann Arbor, I was feeling well enough to venture with my mom to the planned birthday dinner for our dear friend Deb. 

On our walk downtown, I could not stop taking pictures of the foliage. I don’t think I’d ever appreciated fall leaves so much in my life. Mountains boast a big beauty, but they aren’t everything. 

I was not the liveliest for dinner but it was a meaningful visit none the less; Deb would have a busy weekend of her own celebrations and it wouldn’t have felt right not to have a quieter visit with her while in town. Our waitress was very invested in helping me navigate their gluten/meat/dairy-heavy italian menu and I ended up with a nice salmon dish topped with garlic, greens and broccoli. 

The first face I saw on Friday morning was my dearest ever friend Anna. Our morning bonding was followed by an afternoon visit with my childhood babysitter and now soul sister Karen. As different as our lifestyles are, her presence and connection has always been incredibly calming to me in my adult life. In our letters, her contemplation and optimism offers immediate balance to my non-stop life and her visits similarly beg me to slow down and take note. She kept my mother and I company in the kitchen as we made some early preparations for the evening dinner with guests and then, after managing to get my mother to sit down long enough to open a gift, her and I took off downtown for a game of pool. Karen having once played league, I was pretty pleased that I was able to keep up with her (no slops!) Down to one ball each, she finished me off, of course. We parted ways back at the house and then it was back to work for evening festivities. 

In the late afternoon, my dad came home from Kalamazoo with Jordan in tow and my cousin Deena and mother’s close childhood friend Diana pulled into our driveway and plugged into the kitchen where things inevitably got a bit overcrowded and tense for a bit (kitchens and family are sensitive areas.) As far as pre-event stress goes, I will say that my mother did a fairly decent job of keeping it in check. She has a tendency to get flustered about the anticipation of big occasions going just right and I am pleased to say I can probably count the number of majorly noticeable ways this showed up (at least while I was around; Dad, my deepest condolences for whatever craziness occurred in the months before!) A risotto disaster was saved by our knowledgeable Italian guest Diana and we took a breather for a hot minute for me to be a tour when we realized that there may not be much time later in the weekend for a visit downtown. I drove Diana and Deena past all the significant spots of my upbringing and through the main drag of downtown (patiently putting up with the fact that we neglected to acknowledge rush hour time). Around 6:45, Deb and (eventually) Lori arrived to complete our gathering and we sat down to shabbat dinner together. The night ended with dominoes and dessert (with Lori being a surprising newcomer to Dominoes!) 

Getting ready for Dominoes...and surprise Truffles!

Diana, Deena and Mom

Add caption

He's got the right idea: beat me to the silly face.

Museum of WA History and The Museum of Glass

First field trip of the year! 

Since we are over-staffed for the gym this year, my chaperone availability is a bit more flexible. So on Wednesday, I got to attend a 9th grade trip to Museum of WA history and The Museum of Glass. 

Fluted Point arrows - one of the earliest
 pieces of decorative art - from the Clovis Tribe

My expectations for the history museum weren't high - we always have too short a time for my slow learning style to process information; it's overwhelming. As I assumed, I found myself still on the front quarter of the museum, trying to discern what was important to me from the information about the development of the geography (essentially a series of mass floods and glacial melts) when the rest of the group was running onto the next floor. I quickly darted through the Native artifacts and then decided to catch up and spent most of the time looking at their special installation of War propaganda, intrigued by the manipulative artistry of the posters.

But the main reason I'd been so excited to come on the trip was the Museum of Glass. It had been on my list of places to check out for some time. I had thought that the museum consisted solely of Chihuly's works but I was gladly mistaken. When we came in, the kids were still working off all the energy from the unstructured morning of running from floor to floor at the history museum. However, their demeanor quickly shifted when we were given a formal introduction and led into the "hot room", an on-site glass-blowing studio with live-coverage of a major visiting artist. This week's artist was Jiyong Lee and he immediately captivated their attention. Lee cuts and glues his glass pieces to create very precise, geometric work. He and his assistants were working on an evolved version of his kidney-shaped segment pieces, adding varying degrees of texture and color to this project. The kids rattled off questions, asking how long it would take to make (maybe 3 hours to make but 300 to cool) and what the largest piece ever made here was (the fountain outside.) Robby whispered questions to me and I filtered out to the host. He kept asking me about the heat and tried to posit how injured you would be if you fell into that 2,300-degree oven. "I'm not sure you'd be alive, Robby" I said.

Jiyong's design

The Fountain outside the museum

I thought that it was an ingenious way to begin a glass museum tour. As one who'd never really appreciated glass-blowing as anything but a kitschy gift-store market until I'd seen the process behind it, I knew that this was probably a strategic way to bypass any disengaged imagination of the students they received. For the rest of the tour through the galleries, the kids were clustered close to the speaker. Steven even came up to me, arms crossed and said he was afraid to put his arms out, for fear of breaking anything. It was nice to know they could focus when need be. 

the various galleries were incredible and none of them Chihuly. In the lobby, the first man we saw was considered by our guide as one of the most impressive glass artists out there - Lino Tagliapietra - and he was turning 82 next week. We also stopped to look at an anomalous non-glass installation by a glass artist who is part-time poet and I was immediately taken by the piece 'Coastal Alchemy'. Then we headed into the full gallery space where we saw drastically different examples of how contemporary artists use glass. 

First was Howard Bentre whose statuesque pieces didn't tickle the color palate of the viewer and yet carried a whimsey of their own with the inconsistencies of bubbly texture in their pillars and the sanctitude of the specially formulated patina embellishing them. His process was impressive also,  using molds that took months to dry before he could carve into them.

Next we saw a 20th anniversary exhibit of the Hilltop artists, a program designed by Chihuly in collaboration with the city as a way to get at-risk youth off the streets and back in school. Kids had to have so much attendance/achievement in school to attend the class (the slogan was "no class, no glass") and eventually, it grew into a curriculum in which the advanced were then teaching other students. The results were amazing. 

Other artists we saw included Jen Elek and Jeremy Bert, taking on another level of color with their outrageous, lit up designs and a final artist named Anna Skibska who made their glass look completely wire-like before constructing webs of incredible art. 

We ended in the hallway where we saw the results of a youth program in which kids design a piece and then an artist makes it. These were adorable. 

Overall, a good trip to start off the year with. 

Heads or Tails

The crazy weekend kicked off a crazy week.

First of all, I love my work, my Packwood community and these kids.

Love has its trials and tribulations.

Monday was behavior day. Three one-on-ones, three talks with parents, a blunt dismissal/kick-out from the gym and two follow-up talks with teachers the next day.

It may have been worse than usual or it may have just been that Matt and Kerissa had inspired a stricter "reigning in" of sorts. Either way, it was exhausting. First, what started as a friendly game of jumprope with two of our most well-behaved kids became a war  when everyone else joined and I had to talk with two kids about boundaries. Then football had to get taken away after tackling began to get painful. As the kids moved into a four-square, I had every reason to feel the need to remind them of the rules they'd constructed inside the week before. At that point, one of our very dear little rascals retorted "Okay, okay woman." Not flinching or missing a beat, I directed him into my "office" for a one-on-one as our biggest attitude kid kept bantering "don't worry, she's just going to yak and have you fill out a sheet." so I did not have him fill out a sheet. Instead, I got real. "Frankly, I'm pretty pissed off." I said after we'd talked about the logistics of how very wrong his comment was. "and I wouldn't be giving you such a hard time except that I know  you know better. I'm in your class and I know you've got a good head on your shoulders. When you come here, it shouldn't be any different. You know how to make better choices." He then burst into (rather fake) laughter: "You cussed! Oh my gosh! You cussed, Melissa!" It took me a minute to figure out what was considered cussing ("pissed of", apparently).  I explained that adults get upset too and told him you know, if you're upset about something and need to vent, you can come talk to me and in that situation, it's even okay if you feel the need to cuss. I'd told that to all the kids I'd talked to.

He headed back outside, and then five minutes later, he and the kid who'd been rattling off before rode up to me on their bikes. "Hey, Melissa! You're really pissin' me off!" they laughed. They rode around in circles and continued, getting worse. "Yeah! I'm pissed! And Lou is a bitch!" It was useless to explain about the misuse of the "privilege" I'd granted and finally I said to the prime culprit - our big attitude kid and bad influence - "How are you getting home? Need to make a call? Cause you're going home. And don't plan to come back on Wednesday."

Unfortunately, he had no ride and so spent the last hour biking down the street outside the gym. But I was through. Ignoring his taunts, I knew something would have to be figured out about these kids. It was the first night I was faced with the scope of this reality: our kids are way developmentally behind on behavior.

When the other boys' parents came, I talked with each of them about the various problems of the night. Our mom of the "Woman" commenter was especially surprised and we talked at length, both understanding where his influence was coming from. The next day at school he came up to apologize to me and said that he was not allowed back for three Open Gyms. "I think that sounds reasonable", I said. He nodded and I was pleased to have that be the standard for the other boy as well. "Thank you for the apology." I spoke with Mrs Shook about the issue, hesitant on where to blur lines with school and open gym. But she was very interested and pulled in the teacher of the other boy involved. She was also appreciative of the information. Later as I was walking down the hall, she was actually having a conversation with that boy and I got pulled in where I was informed of home life details that shed more light on his acting out.

The two days accelerated my week and by Friday it felt like it had been a lifetime. I was incredibly grateful to my family, the team and the rest of Packwood to have to bounce the conflicts off of.

The way we choose to handle behavior at the Open Gym has always been such a delicate and complicated subject for me. While we are not advertised as a youth sanctuary of any sort, it is sort of inherently the role that it takes on. Many of our youth are not coming from enriching home lives, school lives or otherwise. They are young, lost, hurt, taking on more than they should have to and trying to figure out how to deal with all of that. To punish them in a way that prohibits coming to the Open Gym is a last resort because for a lot of the kids, it is the healthiest environment that they have. But something has to change and we are not giving up on our efforts.

Next week, both kids are welcome back to the gym. At school, every classroom uses a point system called "panther paws" for positive behavior. I believe that it is horribly below par to have to bribe sixth graders this way, but it's become a staple at school and so it would probably produce results at Open Gym. Maybe with that system as a stabilizer, I can find ways to integrate understanding of behavior in a way that is not solely influenced by bribery. And so on Wednesday, we will have a new poster adorned on our wall on which the kids will be collecting "pumpkins" for October. See what happens.

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I was kept going through the week by clinging onto the prospect of a relaxing weekend. I got to work at the coffee shop with Patrice on Saturday since Koreanne was out of town and we were anticipating a crowd of pilots to fly into Packwood and afterwards, I'd taken a second stab at a bonfire.

Of course, it rained on and off all day on Saturday. I watched the sky, moaning whenever if turned sour and doing a jig at glimpses of the sun. But I'd made quinoa sushi and squash fries and I was determined to have a relaxed night with folk. After missing last weekend, Patrice was committed even if we had to be inside. But I had no idea who else would show. The day at the shop was slow because the pilots had canceled due to the weather. As we closed up though, the setting sun began to peek out of the clouds. It was wet and a bit drizzly but possible to make fire. And with the new location Dean and I had picked out, it would be right by the porch in case we needed shelter.

For the instability of plans, things ended up turning out quite pleasantly. To add to the chaos, Kell had asked me about Karaoke but luckily, the bar cleared out so I wasn't needed. Tim, Patrice and Dean all came over and just as we were getting ready to make the fire, Lou and Ainsley texted to let me know they were passing through on the way back from Ashford. So it was a nice little crowd. Plus, they appreciated the "sushi" far more : )

That was all I needed to turn my attitude around. By Sunday, I was ready to take Mercury in stride. My free Sunday became a 7-hour work day at the coffee shop (I love that it is a job I get excited to work at). Around 2:30, a man came in and warned that he was "one of many": the pilots had re-scheduled. I asked they just be patient and quickly went to bake off fresh cookies to appease them. They were a great crowd and although I texted Patrice, I was able to handle myself fine until she came in at 4pm to help clean and close. To top off the irony, we'd both wanted to be out fairly early after close and then, five minutes to five we got two pairs of people in, one of which wanted "anywhere between 4-10 shots in my drink." I had to laugh.

Like night and day, Monday at Open Gym was thoroughly enriching. Our impressionable kid that whose mom had set the "three open gym" misses showed up claiming that he forgot and had no way home. I pulled him aside to talk and he took it upon himself to make the observation that "I think I act that way because I'm around bad influences" and so I asked how I could help with that and he told me to make sure I don't hang out with those particular kids. We'll see how that goes.

I had another surprising connection with one of our most stubborn, emotionally closed off kids who I'd also had a one-on-one with the week before. When everyone went outside to play football, he started to tell me about how his foot had been bugging him so I encouraged him to take it easy and him and I ended up sitting inside alone for close to an hour just talking and hanging out while I made strips for paper beads, my new obsession.

The only thing constant, is change.

Yom Kippur take two and Palisades Lakes

The unfolding of chaos on Friday proved to be the only consistency to the next huge window of time up until now, at least (over a week later.)

Because my Seattle plans had changed, I suddenly had a Saturday and Sunday in the palm of my hands. Besides a brief stop at the Health Fair (which I drove to Randle for before finding out it was in Morton) I'd decided to make another observance of Yom Kippur. The trip to the city had worn me out and while I contemplated venturing up the pot-hole infested forest road that had led me to a beautiful flowing stream for Tashlich last year, I couldn't stomach the tedious drive. Instead, I decided to go see if there was some flowing water that was passable enough at Riffe Lake on my route home.

I drove far past the lake to the fishing bridge where there were way too many people for my liking. Even further along, there was no parking aloud and I could only imagine my inner anguish in response to a petty ticket at this point. I headed back to the lake and began to walk.

Riffe Lake is a giant, fluctuating reservoir formed by the Mossyrock Dam. When the water is low, odd bits and pieces of abandoned road and cement blocks are revealed. When it is high, it seeps into small inlets and snake trails, winding through tall grasses and disguising some of the constructed artifacts. Still, the atmosphere is eerily peaceful, never quite swallowing the remittance of a town or inhabitants once planted here. With the rising levels, the points of access are always changing. I'd only ever been out during the rainy season and so had never been able to venture very far. That day, the engulfed road was exposed to reach almost clear across to another edge of the lake and so I was able to venture out to a divergence, where I meandered to the left and discovered a surprisingly active section of the otherwise still, standing water. I trekked over moist, cool cracked earth and propped myself down amongst rocks, the slope in the land hiding me from any other passers by. The bank was fully in the sun, making the crystal clear water seem even more magical. I took the two small pieces of bread I'd brought and had my own Tashlich ceremony - a Jewish Yom Kippur practice of symbolically tossing away all the things you want to leave behind from the previous year - and then lay out in the sun for the next hour, opening my eyes here and there to catch giant flocks of geese congregating in the sky; a piece of sublime, surreal paradise.

Unfortunately, my highly-wound attitude came right back like a spring by the time I'd returned to Packwood and the secure feeling of appreciating the moment came back to feeling a small loss for my change of plans. Now that I was here, I deeply wanted to recapture the Yom Kippur of last year, breaking my fast with a few AmeriCorps members and a nice potluck. I'd extended a tentative invitation to people to come over for a bonfire and food but I kept wavering - a sign I should probably have let it go - but instead, down to the hour before, I decided "hell with it. I want to cook for someone" and went for it. Dean was the sole person able to join and we made a calm evening of it with a fire in the driveway, some wine and bowls of the giant batch of "curry like" root veggies and rice I'd made.

I'd appreciated it for what it was but went to bed still feeling a bit drained and flustered: why were all of my plans suddenly getting difficult to manifest?

The next day was an open terrain and I wanted to hike. My co-worker and dear friend Patrice and I had talked about going together but I could not get a hold of her so I frantically started to try and figure out who else may want to hike. I was not going to waste this day frustrated. After trying some teammates and Tim, I finally got a hold of Dann. He was down for it but as we tried to pick a route, Tim called me back and said that his boss had let him go seize the day (it was the first - and perhaps last - AMAZING day we'd had in a bit) and he wanted to come along. Then a whole mess of further miscommunication happened, resulting in Dann venturing off on his own excursion. But finally, I was going to be going on a hike. I picked up Tim and we ventured into Ranier Park, up to Sunrise Point. I'd chosen the 'Palisades Lakes' hike, an 8.5-mile round-trip trek past a few lakes, listed as a beautiful fall hike and a hot spot for wildlife.

It was absolutely beautiful. Hitting the trail from Sunrise Point parking lot, it immediately began a decent into a tree lined slope, taking us into the first valley and past a lake of vibrant Glacier blue. The trail continued to curve and drop down into more valleys and lakes until we began a climb up to the last lake: Upper Palisades (I'm actually not sure when we passed lower Palisades...)

On our hike there, we'd come to a few clearings that reveled large rocky mountainsides - prime Goat territory - and we kept pausing and squinting and hoping to spot one. No luck, we returned to enjoying the foliage and making bad jokes about lake names. The last up-tick was killer on Tim and I laughed as I reminded him we'd have a good handful more of those on the way back.

The lake was cradled snuggly by rocks and woods with small designated spots for camping along its edge. We headed down to the farthest end of it and climbed some rocks that revealed a breathtaking view of - I believe - the Cascades. We relaxed down by the lake before getting ready for our mostly uphill climb back to the start. Tim was super excited about that part (Ha.)

After some stops and goes, we finally made it to the last lake before the top. "Hey! There's the parking lot!" Tim pointed. I swept my gaze across the tree line, confused for a bit before finally spotting it. "Oh hell!" It looked like quite a climb. Nothing we couldn't do of course, but I hadn't realized how much we dipped; a few thousand feet is quite a bit, actually.

Finally back at the parking lot, we leaned against the wall, looking out to see if we could figure out where we'd been. That's when I saw a lone, bright white spot on a rocky hill in the distance. "Hey Tim, I think that's a goat." He disagreed. We stood a few more minutes before he suddenly said "Hey, Melissa. I think you were right. That dot has moved." HA! I confirmed the observation and then our gaze was drawn to the left where there had been about 25 more mountain goats hanging out that whole time.

The lone ranger I spotted...

...and the 25 others next-door.

Very poetic way to end the day. : )