When the world speaks...

The most meaningful journeys that I’ve embarked on have always been the most unplanned. They hit me like a boulder of intuition, in one swift moment. That was the way it was when I first decided to come out West in 2011, sitting on the floor in my college apartment. In an instant, I went from having no sense of direction to a vivid image of where I was supposed to go. So when I experienced a boulder moment a few weeks ago, I didn’t question it. I told Leo to mark his calendar, be ready to pack some bags and hop in the car. 

The running theme of the month has been “trust in the unknown” so it meant a lot that Leo took no mind to not knowing where the hell we were going. 

On Saturday night, the day before we were supposed to leave, we’d learned that Kate was having another one of her comedy shows - a “Midnight Mass” theme - down in Portland so we opted to head out a day early and stay with her in the city. We got into town in time for dinner at our new regular spot where we’ve seemed to develop our new regular habit of meeting new irregular characters. That night, Johnny was our plus one at the table. He told us his story about being a music teacher and a self-proclaimed street-smarts bum in the summer. His charisma afforded him more acceptance among the waitstaff than his grungier counterparts who got driven away from the establishment for causing too much ruckus. The story of his musical endeavors - to give free, re-purposed instruments to kids and teach them how to make money on the streets - was intriguing but he also spoke a lot of circular jargon, reminiscent of the banter that I put up with during my ‘Diag Days’ in High School. As we excused ourselves and headed to the comedy venue, he provided good example for sharing a bit about the atmosphere of that past. 

Dinner with 'Johnny' as opposed to the more sophisticated 'John' he is with his hair pulled back.

We had an hour to kill in the courtyard of the ‘Funhouse Lounge’, where we thoroughly enjoyed  the Rob Zombie-esque ambiance and gained some new titles of musical artists. We plowed through the show with sleepy laughter and afterwards, followed Kate to her hotel where we promptly made a makeshift bed on the floor and passed out. 

Before beginning our voyage the next day, we went out for coffee with Kate and I grabbed some groceries for the road. I’d finally told Leo of our first destination: Crater Lake. 

It was a long first day of driving but we split it up nicely, stopping in Eugene half way for a break. We’d begun wandering and found out that there was a Hemp Fest happening at a nearby park. However, being the directionally challenged genius I am, I led us in the wrong direction and we mostly just ended up wandering the neighborhoods and talking for a while. It turned out to be time better spent because when we finally realized where the event was, we determined that the crowd was not anything we wanted to be involved with. 

We got to the rim of Crater Lake by early evening and although we had to make it around to the opposite side for the campsite, there was no way we could pass up an initial stop at the first lookout we saw. Blue has never been so breathtaking. The water from the lake was so dense and vibrant that it looked as thought you could paint with it. On the short drive from the entrance, I’d been reading a bit out of the panflet we’d been given, trying to make sense of the natural wonder we were looking at. 

We've arrived!

Before Crater Lake, the mountain that had occupied this space had been called Mount Mazama.  7,700 years ago, the mountain not only erupted, but collapsed in on itself as it’s unstable foundation blew. The large crater filled with rainwater over thousands of years eventually becoming the deepest lake in the U.S at 1,943 feet. Because rain and snow are the only water sources, the lake also boasts having some of the purest water in the world. Both of these factors contribute to the surreal color that had us immediately captivated: the purity of its hue is enhanced by the depth which absorbs all other waves of color. 

On the Northwestern side from which we’d entered, we also had the closest views of Wizard Island, a small volcano within the still-active crater/Caldera

. 

By the time we made it to the campground, it was well into the evening and I apologized to Leo in advance, should we be completely out of luck for a spot since it was first-come-first serve. We drove around the whole loop once, receiving an enthusiastic, incredibly inviting wave from a young man who had just pulled into his site as we were driving by. As we passed the final occupied site and I paused the car to consider our options, the same man who we would affectionately be considering our brother ‘Ben’, came to meet us at the end of the road. I rolled down the window as he approached with the same big grin and wave as he had before. “Hey! Are you guys looking for a campsite?!” I was relieved that my inkling of some good fortune had panned out. “Yes!” Ben explained that they were allowed two vehicles to a site and that we were more than welcome to share the land. He and his partner Sarah had done the same for another couple the night before and were now on generosity mission number three to go bring food and warmth to a motorist who’d broken down and was waiting for a friend. “You guys’ll have the place to yourself for a while. Make yourself at home! Feel free to use the fire!” We briefly met Sarah before they left and she pointed out a small nook on the other side of the stream behind their site where someone had made a makeshift table and stool for a perfect little home. We got set up, put some dinner together and then headed out just as the last bit of sun was setting to get a sight of ‘The Phantom Ship’, a large formation in the lake that looked like a ghostly pirate vessel. We stood there and watched the jagged pieces of rock become sillouhetted before being engulfed into the dark backdrop, holding onto every last piece of light.

We had intended to be up and out of camp bright and early to explore all that Crater Lake had to offer, but our efforts were easily thwarted by the enticing offer of coffee and good company. Absolutely no regrets to be had. When Sarah woke up, her and I immediately jumped into conversation, joined soon after by Ben and Leo and Alan, their rad hippie sculpture. Ben and Sarah were a couple months into a 2-year long investment to be on the road together. Originally from Indiana, it was Sarah’s first time really traveling. I never would have guessed by the way she carried herself and how savvy they seemed to be in their camping strategies and gear. We let the morning sun get higher in the sky and warm our backs as we sat at the picnic table with them for a couple hours, unconcerned with our preconceived “schedule”. When we finally began to prepare to leave, we asked where they were headed next. “We’re on our way to the Redwoods today.” No way! That was where we’d be going next as well. We excitedly exchanged contact info and they promised to get a hold of us when they’d reached a campsite so that we might be able to meet up again. It was ‘I love yous’ all around by the time we had packed the car and Ben made a point to emphasize that they were there if we ever needed anything. “Really. Thank you. I could tell how appreciative you were of us and that meant a lot.” 

The offer came in handy a lot sooner than expected when I went to start the car. We’d used it the night before to charge phones and the battery had run down. “Hey Ben, do you mind if we take you up on that offer?” 

Back in action, we headed to the visitor’s center to get some advice on how to go about our day. We’d missed the opportunity to boat over to Wizard Island which made our choices easier. Garfield Peak was a decent-sized hike nearby that would get us to the second highest point in the park overlooking the rim. The hike was estimated to be 2-3 hours and would allow us plenty of time to see a few other prime views before the day’s end. 

The hike was beautiful. The trail ran along the rim practically the entire way, begging one to stop every few paces. But even taking our time, we were up in probably just over an hour. We bided our time at the top, watching a group of hikers take goofy acrobatic pictures, which inspired me to try one of my own. It was another view that was difficult to pull away from but eventually we had to carry on. On the way back down, Leo walked me through a fictional realm that put a whole other perspective on the atmosphere around us.

The other 'Lady of the Woods'

We headed back in the direction of our campsite, stopping along the way to meet ‘The Lady of the Woods’ a 1917 sculpture carved into stone by a doctor that had been helping to build the first route along the rim. We then continued on to do a one-mile trek into Plaikni Falls. Paikni is a Klamath Indian word meaning from the high country which is indicative of its placement, snugly among the high rocks of the old growth forest surrounding the crater. We shuffled past a large tour group to beat the crowd to the falls where we basked in the water and the sunshine for a bit. Our last stop nearest to our site was the Pinnacles, a forest of Fumarole towers left by the eroding river valleys of the crater. These hollow, alien spires were formed by gases from the erupting mountain and solidified underground before erosion from the rushing rivers exposed them for all to see. As large as Crater Lake is, it’s incredible to imagine the land being even taller, from the 12,000 foot mountain to the crevices that used to cover these towers. 

Even though it was getting late in the day, we were both pretty excited to meet back up with our new friends so we decided to pack up the tent and head to the coast that evening. I took up the first leg, stopping at a funky co-op in Medford for groceries and dinner before Leo got behind the wheel for the last darkening, winding leg of the drive. I didn’t think about losing daylight and it was his first time night-driving on these sorts of roads but trekking along a bit slower than the speed limit and with podcasts to keep us alert, we made it safely to the pull-out for the backcountry camping trail that Sarah and Ben had found. My uncertainty about where the trail began was easily sorted out when a cop car followed us up the road and pulled us over as we crossed the ‘No Overnight Parking’ sign in the lot. There was no trouble once we confirmed that our friends had registered for a backcountry permit but the officers seemed eager to deter us from the experience, warning that break-ins happen all the time and we should bring “everything we could’’ with us. It wigged me out a bit but we didn’t end up having any trouble. We brought only what we’d need for the night, along with some libations and trekked the half mile to a site a stone’s throw away from the ocean. Once we’d set up, we joined Ben and Sarah over at a fire set up by the site of Kevin and Brittney, an expansion to our little traveling family. 

Kevin and Brittney were on the road for a while as well, bouncing around to various festivals in the Pacific Northwest. Kevin had been working towards his disertation, founded on his interest in the importance of “flow-states’’ for personal well being and human bonding. He was exploring how these manifest at festivals but over the next day and a half, I felt such a state manifest within our group. Sure, we didn’t have the music or the ambiance to throw us into that ethereal time-space, but our experience had equally negated time as we knew it. I felt like we reached a state within our group where the length of time we’d known each other became irrelevant and we were all connecting within the present moment. The next day had happened the same as the first with Ben and Sarah, the hours slipping away as we explored the tide pools by the ocean, pooled our resources together to make coffee happen, and got lost once again in one another’s stories.

In the afternoon, Leo and I managed to pull ourselves away long enough to do some Redwood exploration at Stout Grove, as per Kevin and Brittney’s recommendation. On our walk there, we passed over some of the clearest, most perfectly warm water we’d ever come across in the PNW. When we entered the grove, I was speechless. Even though I’d been in the Redwoods before, they have a way of instantly commanding their surroundings. Its a humbling, slowing experience and for a bit, all I wanted to do was lay there and feel cradled by their sanctuary. Eventually, we kept walking and picking out our favorite formations, ending with a wade in the water.

It was nearing a good time for dinner on our way back so we decided to pick up enough food to cook for the family. We heard back from them just as we left the store and they all got a fire going for veggie patties and dogs when we returned. We were granted one more amazing sunset after dinner and then carried our fire on late into the night, joined by another interesting fellow named James. James was on a “Great American Roadtrip” with his friend Tony, whom he’d met in North Korea. Tony was also from Indiana and had promised to give him an American tour, should they ever meet up again. James had been to 6 continents and was just about to head to Antarctica to complete his jaunt around the world. For as epic as his journey sounded, he talked about it very nonchalantly. He and I split hairs on how we perceived the wonders around us and the nature of people and got into a bit of friendly banter later on. Leo and I were the first to call it a night but I kept waking up throughout the next few hours, tuning into conversations here and there. The last I heard was the girls walking James to his tent before he promptly tumbled into a bush. He was a bit worse for wear the next day.

It was difficult to pull ourselves out of that flow and hit the road again, but we had solid 7 hours of driving to make it to our last destination: Manzanita. 

After breakfast, we made a couple trips to the car before waking Kevin and Brittney so we could all do a group picture. Multiple hugs and I love Yous were shared before we finally forced ourselves to turn and walk away, reassuring one another that it would not be the last time we saw them. 

Family photo!

The arduous drive up the 101 - however breathtakingly beautiful - was a bit sobering for me. Minds and hearts readjusted to the reality of time, which played a heavy hand before us. I set aside my somber state as we neared Manzanita and we got out of the car for an ice cream break at Tillamook. Back in my little coastal hometown, we met up with Mindi for dinner at the Pizza Garden and got a tour of her flourishing community garden plot before going to post up at her house for the night. Even though we were beat, we stayed up for quite some time, her and Leo bonding over growing up in practically the same neighborhood. 

I wasn’t in a hurry for our trip to end the next day. We went into town for coffee and then drove up to Neahkahnie Mountain, which I’d wrongly recalled to be a nice “walk’’ to the lookout over the coast. About the 20th switchback in, I admitted to Leo that I’d lied to his face. He took it in good spirits though, and agreed that regardless of what you want to call it, the view at the top was worth it.

Still smiling after making it to the top, right before I'm pushed overboard for my gross miscalculation ; ) 

Moving North, we then stopped at Oswald West State Park for what really was just a walk to the beach. Leo was absolutely taken by the beachfronts on the coast, vowing to covet this secret from all back home who apparently thought the beaches out here were poor quality.

From there, we stopped in Cannon Beach to see if there was a Goonies-related exhibit but after driving in circles just for visitor center parking, we learned the main Goonies attraction was in Astoria so we just decided to carry on towards Portland. 

We were officially back in familiar territory, the world around us beginning to go back to a different pace again. After some dinner and groceries, we were bound for Packwood. 

A good trip is one that, while never planned, feels in retrospect, like the world intended it to go in every way it did. There are a million and one ways that we danced with the universe in those five days. And while I didn’t know what was calling me to this journey in the beginning, I look back knowing that the world wanted to have this conversation with us. 

This next month moves into a completely new realm of unknown. All I can hope is that we don’t forget the footnotes and that we keep listening for the answers we’re supposed to find…    

Non-ending ending

Contrary to my naive assumptions, life did not slow down once Mary left. In fact, the friendships we’d formed while she was here brought my transition from AmeriCorps volunteer to commonplace resident into full swing. As the winding down of AmeriCorps freed up my schedule, my hours at the coffee shop began to fill with any additional time being very willingly confiscated by my new family. 

I’m not any sort of major Pomp and Circumstance type but I tend to need some sort of ceremonial or reflective period to process large transitions. In the past, I think this has been both because of the piecemeal way I’d been viewing my life and my level of ability to deal with change in general. Sometimes it meant traveling overseas, sometimes it meant isolating myself for months, sometimes it was a season on a farm, then a couple years in AmeriCorps. But with all of these “chapters”, I felt like I was always starting new books. 

Back in the spring, I had begun frantically looking for jobs, trying to shove some sort of intuitive wisdom into a box confined by a timeframe. I’ve separated pieces of my life this way very often, and up until this year, it has usually worked out. However, as I tried to get together a plan that would have me up and out of Packwood by mid-July, there was no miraculous unfolding, no stroke of genius or inexplicable feeling of certainty. There was just stress, panic and a deep sense of failure. Amidst this mental and emotional debacle, I was also devoting plenty of time feeding the frustrating stalemate that I was in with my digestion. At one point, I began to consider simply moving back home, living with my parents, and putting life on pause for a year or two of a sort of out-patient care. 

But nothing felt quite right. 

Well, it is now July 17th and I am still in Packwood. One week ago, we had our AmeriCorps end-of-year “celebration”, traditionally the time to give gifts, get certificates and take cheesy group photos. Leo and I were headed out of town that day for a show and I stopped by on the way through Randle to get my certificate and pay my regards to Meghann. In a week, i haven’t looked back once to place that symbolic marker or ending. I haven’t needed to. 

This year most certainly had its challenges and many times, I let myself get hung up on the rifts among team dynamics. Yet in the end, the year underwent a metamorphic change. 

To us, a caterpillar is a caterpillar until it is a butterfly. The change is abrupt and almost perceived as different realities all together. But to the caterpillar, his process is one of going in, gradually moulding and adapting in one continuous flow. 

I feel like I am finally beginning to move like the caterpillar. 

Once I was able to access what AmeriCorps meant to me, I focused my attention in those areas for the rest of the year. The community and the personal relationships with the kids became a daily second-nature. It would never have felt right to rush out of my working position and straight out of town. It has been a gift to be received as not just an AmeriCorps volunteer, but as a valuable member of this community. Because the people of Packwood have embraced me that way, there has been no need for ceremonious closure with the AmeriCorps team. 

The friendships that I have cultivated during this shift couldn’t have happened at any other time. Just as the community supported me in a way that did not force me to isolate beginnings and endings, I have a deep inner feeling as I move forward, that I am supported in a way that doesn’t make life feel like a series of misplaced puzzle pieces. As I look to the future these days, it is beginning to feel like a continuation, not an isolated experiment. That desperate feeling to pause life and tackle one aspect of my challenges at a time is not the crippling voice that it was months ago. 

It is a strange and surreal world right now, in the best of ways. During AmeriCorps service, one can get so wrapped up in the paperwork documentation as a means of showing “progress”, that it begins to feel stale and insincere. However, as I am writing this, I am finally able to recognize some of the transformations that were going on in myself and see the experience as a whole. I am captivated with my present moments and the person who I am becoming. I am captivated by the discovery of people in my life who fully honor, support and enhance that. I am experiencing belonging once again, with all of it’s love, joy, challenges and mystery that is not easily put into words…

The Mary month of June: Voyage of Departure II

We welcomed the morning smoothly with the rising of the sun, as I've seemed to make Leo more accustomed to this sort of early-bird insanity. The goal was to be headed back towards Lew and Mary ASAP so that we cold have a full day to tour the ciders of Port Townsend, still while making time to drive up to Hurricane Ridge.

It was my third time to the top of the ridge and after last visit's foggy fiasco, I was cautious as the sky began to get overcast the further along we went. Not only did we get graced with the panoramic view at the top, but we also got in on a mini nature talk about Marmots. It was mostly a refresher of what I'd learned back in February. There was also a decent view of smoke that grew smokier while we were there; signs of a fire that had started in a rainforest part of the valley and while under control, would probably smolder through the hot summer.

On our way to Cidery numero uno, it started to drizzle. Mary wasn't feeling too hot and a few stomachs were rumbling as I navigated shady directions so I began to worry that maybe we were pushing ahead into resistance. Fortunately, we stumbled upon Eaglemount after only a couple of wrong turns and Mary eventually worked off the funk enough to come inside. Between the two of us, the sales price of two flights would allow us to taste all ten ciders and so that is what we did. Our host was very forthright about his desire to be anywhere but working that day and it immediately let down any formalities and by the end of the tasting, I was talking to him about the possibility to work there and live in a Yurt.

Leo and I got a kick out of the fact that for every two tastings he would bring out to us, we would each prefer the opposite, meaning that we cleaned out the glasses between the two of us. However, we both claimed dibs over the Ginger.

Our next stop was Finnriver, the cidery I already had a bias towards after developing my instant infatuation earlier in the year during spring break. By now, they had started up their weekly musical entertainment and the place was packed, a far cry from my quiet, personable first experience. Instead of the casual tasting environment that lent itself to conversation, groups were being held in sessions with barely enough one-on-one to learn the host's name. Leo and I were the only ones to partake and in combination of the large crowd, drama and exhaustion, we were in and out pretty hastily after.

Finally we made it to our last and most obscurely located cidery, Alpenfire. A seemingly quaint middle aged woman named Nancy greeted us at the tasting counter which was placed in a small opening underneath a shed, keeping us very much in the outdoors. Nancy was actually quite spunky and it turned out that she and her husband were the primary owners and operators. They had started simply from their love of drinking cider and since toured the ways of cider-making overseas. Many of their elixirs seemed to be reminiscent of the more classical, straightforward english and french varieties. I had already become a huge fan of their 'Spark' after initially feeling it to be too plain. I left with Spark remaining the decided favorite but with an itch to develop a more nuanced taste for a true cider.

We were all running on fuel by the time we made it to Port Townsend. Fortunately, we had a hassle-free check-in at the Air BnB and were able to simply throw our stuff in and go. We walked downtown  to find dinner, ending up at the same restaurant my mother and I had tried out before. The night finished with movies, games and of course, cider.

Not that I wouldn't have been up early, but that night, I slept horribly. With everyone still in bed, I snuck out and walked through the quiet streets waiting to catch sight of an "OPEN" sign for coffee. Better Living Through Coffee was right up my alley. Perched right on the Portside of town with seating by the water, they served everything breakfast-y, treat-y, wholesome-y and fresh. I bunkered down for an hour or so to write as the place started to stir with the commotion of customers. Every so often, I would pause for a glance at my surroundings and during one of these moments, I looked up at the doorway to see Leo walk in, putting a ridiculous grin on my face for chancing to find me without so much as a call or a plan. Since Mary and Lew were still asleep, we decided to elaborate upon our spontaneous outing and venture over to Fort Worden State Park.

Fort Worden was originally built as a preventative measure to protect the Puget Sound from foreign forces back in the late 1800's but as far as I understand, had never had to be utilized during that time. It closed its active status in 1953 and had since been turned into a state park historical site. Mother and I had been prodded to visit when we were here and had only gotten to the first clearing in the wooded park area. With more time and interest that morning, Leo and I ventured on past the initial set of Barracks to discover additional complexes, lookout towers, storage units and electrical hubs. Leo and I dipped in and out of all the nooks and crannies, his excitement charged as he compared the sight in front of him to the virtual reality of many of the games he's played. For me, his knowledge of the way operations would have played out gave me the opportunity to visualize it happening before my eyes regardless of my video game experience. We hypothesized the uses for different rooms and the extreme amount of brute force it tustve taken to operate some of the archaic machinery. Spontaneity is fuel for my fire and I didn't want to leave but we had asked Mary and Lew to be up and ready to go by a certain time so it would be unfair for us not to be there.

Back at the cabin, we were piling the last of our things into the car when our two hosts walked past. when I said check-in was easy, I'd meant we didn't even have to meet them. It was nice to put a face to the place and learn a little bit about the kinds of people they are. Both women seemed strikingly ambitious and equally warmhearted. They had started an eco-housing company that is run solely by women and they were incredibly laid back about our clean-up procedures. Next time I go back, I'd love to seek out some time to pick their brains. We went back to the coffee shop on our way out of town and then it was off to the Ferry for Seattle.

Mary's request for her last day was to be outside, so we headed to the best place to be outdoors in the city: Discovery Park. After a few hours to bask there in the diverse offering of forest trails and coastal  rocks, we played out my favorite pairing of sushi and cider at Schillings.

While we were there, we joked and laughed and made light of the thought that Mary would be on a plane in a mere few hours. As opposed to my sort of somber or dramatic approach to big changes, Mary didn't need a ritual. Her ritual was joy, to that last moment. We sat next to a couple people from the area and got to talking with them until we were almost late for the airport. It all went so fast that I don't even remember the drive between those places. But I remember the tiny shakes building up as we approached the lane to let Mary off and our blubbery faces as we hugged and re-hugged half a dozen times. Lew walked her into the airport while I sat in the car and it wasn't until she was out of sight that the big feels hit.

Mary month was more than a visit. It was a beginning, an ending, a past and a future all converging at super-speed.  It was a mini paradigm shift. Our friendship was taken out of the context of AmeriCorps and evolved into its own sisterhood. With it, we found a new family, a new belonging and a new tune in the course of our lives. We abandoned things that no longer served us, we sound boarded our visions for our futures and we did it all side-by-side. With transformed hearts and minds  and the sense of completion of a puzzle, we were breaking up our puzzle pieces. Mary going home was feeling like work undone...

But life has a way of coming full circle...and if it isn't a hell of a ride in the meantime...

The Mary month of June: A voyage of departure

Just the other day, it had felt like we had all the time in the world. I guess with the right people, time could continue forever and you still wouldn't have enough. I tend to need my space from people frequently, so when the sensation of tiring doesn't take hold, I know I've found a particularly exceptional friend.

It makes things all the more difficult to bring to a close, but knowing that I (or you, or anyone) can feel so strongly is simultaneously revitalizing. And I can only believe that the universe is going to allow energies that bond to meet again.

But enough with the sap!

A la Mary style, we totally went out with a (few) parties.

A week or so before, I'd come back from the food co-op with two ears of corn, thinking that it was only fitting to do one last fire and make my favorite fireside luxury. Well before we knew it, two ears turned into twelve and a small fire turned into a super shindig, infernal heat be damned! Lew and Mar offered to open their house so as to make room for more people and Mar even took it upon herself to make a store run the day before and load up on everything-party; they know how to celebrate right and proper.

We had a table of food galore, a table of even more drinks galore and our three fantastic in-house spinners taking shifts with the music all night long. I didn't stalk Mary much because there were plenty of people that had shown up that she hadn't had nearly enough time with. Plus, I wanted to get some dancing time in and tend to some thoughts that fast-paced life has a habit of throwing on you all at once. I made it to the dance floor late into the night when most others had decided to check out the waterfall down the way. Mar was left dancing in the living room with Leo spinning and the three of us basked in our own musical medley, ending with a particularly animated rendition of "C is for Cookie." I wound down fairly quickly after that, feeling fulfilled with the night.

Not to mention that we were about to embark on an even more climactic send-off the next day.

We were on the road before noon, bound for the Northern lands of the Olympics. A group of two had doubled which I was admittedly wary about at first - my travel style has tended to feel exponentially squashed as the number of fellow travelers increases - but in the end, I don't think we could've had a better blend of old and new friendships. There are few things like a good family-feud-prone road trip to quick and firmly test the waters of friendship survival potential. And we did have our moments, but overall, I wouldn't have had things any other way.

Getting ready to be stuck in a car with these crazies!

We arrived in the general vicinity around 5pm and dropped Mary and Lewis off at a very classy Bed and Breakfast near Port Angeles before Leo and I continued driving onto the Elwah Hot Springs trail. Once we'd parked (not without a horrid driving blunder from me, of course!) we scarfed down some food and assembled a haphazard collection of overnight necessities. Bugs were coming at us in droves so I finally gave up on my dinner and snagged a brownie for the road instead. Once we started out, they dispersed and we fell into a calm, easy silence for a bit before gradually making our way into conversation between our long breaths that hung in time, perched on the moment of our surroundings and the lowering sun shifting its hues through the trees. The trail is relatively flat, save for a few spaces it dipped up and back over small canal like openings spread across the trail over few feet. At about 2.3 miles, we began to see signs for the nearby CampGround and a quarter mile after that, the sulfur began to hit our noses. For at least a tenth of a mile, the trail of hot springs continued, curving along the river and then back up into the woods. We made it to the upper most spring, which probably would have been the most spacious, but opted to let the group of speedo boys have their own party. We headed back towards the front where there had been a decent-sized pool - at least a foot or two deep - and I was quick to fling my shoes off and test the waters. No sooner had my feet hit though, I clenched. HOT! I stepped out to re-evaluate and finally, when Leo said he was going all in, I beat him to it. Once we were sitting for a minute or so, our bodies adjusted and it felt much more akin to hot tub temperatures, with the soothing sauna effects of Sulfer to boot. As we basked, looking off beyond the path to the river below, it was decided there was only one proper way to finish off our soak. We scuffled our way down a rocky dip to the water's edge and with our legs feeling out the water first, we gave each other one last nervous glance as we counted to three.



The sensation was exhilarating. Over in seconds, I climbed out on limbs that felt they could go run a marathon. I'm usually fearful of getting wet if there is no immediate solution because of how sensitive I can be to the cold. But there I was, washed in the invigorating moment and happy to be feeling the stunning chill.

We packed up our things and headed back down the trail in the direction of the campgrounds. The camping areas aren't built up - semi-intentional looking clearings are the only indication that there is a designated camping area - and no one else was around so we had our run of the mill to set up. Sun was just near set once we got there and so we were quickly tent-bound after clothes were laid out. Conversation drove us into the darkness as we tried to keep our eyes open for the abundance of stars that we'd imagined would come. Yet the lights or the clouds produced a simple dark palette, where we laid our dreams instead.

The Mary month of Jun(iper) Ridge

I've never been one to readily invest my trust into a support group as a reliable way to heal, change and grow. The stubborn bone (or two) in me tries to think it's way through the future while the feeling part can't experience how a support group may actually change habits until it happens. This usually ends up leading me to a "got this on my own" mentality. I'm getting better, but I will be the first to admit that I have unfinished business with this area of my growth.

But the proof is in the practice and in practice, I've not pushed myself on in a fraction of the hikes I hoped to make it on since being out here. Turns out, it's a lot easier to fulfill one's hiking goals with a support group!

With Mar, Leo and Lew already part of their own hiking pact, I used the opportunity to suggest that we go to Juniper Ridge, one of the many hikes I'd been told is too breathtaking to pass up. Honestly, which hike have I not been told this about? Lew and Mar had to work but Leo's friend Brain was in town and boldly agreed to the adventure despite his severe lack of confidence in hiking capabilities.

While finding trailheads can sometimes be a battle, it was easy for Juniper because the trail head is just across from Tongue Mountain. Since we'd already covered the whole getting-lost bit on that road the week before, we were extra attentive and efficient with our navigation this time.

Washington had officially entered a heat wave that continues as I write this bare-legged on my couch with a fan blowing up my skirt (this weather can take it's own hike anytime now, thanks) and so we wanted to get started fairly early.

We hit the trail around 10:30 in good spirits, although I think the boys were stewing on some mental anticipation of the difficulty level we'd read about in descriptions. The first two miles or so was completely in the shade of the woods and although it switch-backed most of the way up, the switches were long and gradual. I got stuck in my groove relatively quickly and lost them before I realized. When Mary caught up, we sat on a log singing musicals until they arrived.

The trail is well-known for it's wildflowers but they'd all but come and gone this season!

There is a beautiful breaking point about a mile from the top where the woods open up to a view of what we first thought was mount Rainier, because woods severely distort the context of my directions (it was Adams). We stopped here for a bit, oooh-ing and ahh-ing and taking pictures. While I was sitting down, a stunning, fiery-colored butterfly joined me on my bag, eventually becoming comfortable enough to crawl onto my fingertip. I dubbed him Merlin and he hung out with us for the good 15-20 minutes we were stopped. I was elated to have this little buddy around and even more so when we got up to walk and he accompanied me, perched parrot-style for a good stretch up the trail until we entered the woods and he began to shiver.

The last mile or so doesn't joke around. It mostly keeps you in the shade, but the ascent continues on without pause. From the break, we'd seen the top of the ridge and I was determined to push through to the very end but I was definitely moving at a stagger's pace by the time the trail evened out. The expanse that I was greeted with at the top however, gave me an instant burst of energy. When the trail first levels, it follows along a trench that is most likely flowing with water during a more typical summer. Up ahead, I could tell that the last little hump was going to open up onto something impressive and my pace quickened. Sure enough, once over that hill, the world is unveiled at your fingertips. I could see our three snow-capped peaks and as I climbed the nearby rock cliffs to reach the highest point, Mt. Hood came into view as well. Below the cliffs I was on, the trail can be seen to continue for miles along the ridge, valleys in every direction.

In time, Mary and Leo caught up at the top and we basked, for what would never be long enough. Life hadn't felt this whimsical in a long time. It felt as though I could wait away any other problems, just by remaining on that mountainside.

Photo courtesy of Leo: Where we'd been. Tongue is the blue arrow and the break is the red. 

Of course, suiting for the toneset of 21st century hiking, I called my mom while I was up there also.

Going down was a synch. Since the trail is mostly uphill, the return trip is obviously the opposite. We

had much more breath reserved for conversation and between talking and wide grins, we were down in half the time. Overall, the hike took about 4 hours including the leisurely time spent at the top.

Before and after