When I take the occasional pause to think about where I've been and where I am at now, I am almost shocked at how much I've managed to distance myself from that state of being. It's almost like looking down one day and realizing you've been trying to walk on your hands this whole time; that's why I'm so tired!
A dear friend of mine who is far more adept at waxing philosophical than I recently said: "Too little security makes people anxious. Too little novelty makes people angst. Our brains are too big for our tiny little lives."
I find myself in this crux far too often and occasionally it bursts, insisting upon dramatic shifts in attempts to toggle myself into equilibrium.
My service here of course, currently limits the scope of my adventures. But I realized they certainly don't have to continue to be confined to the Rainier region. So this past weekend, I decided to treat myself to a trip to the Olympics.
Even though it would be a short excursion, I was being drawn to the trip from an irrefutable need inside. As soon as I merged onto 101 leaving the big-city freeways, I felt something return to me. Whimsy. Out here, thoughts aren't on a ticking clock, racing to be digested in between the next obligation. I could exist solely for myself.
I arrived in Port Angeles about an hour before sunset with no prior information about camping. Driving up towards the visitor center, I passed signs for a Fine Arts Center, an eccentric looking playground, and the road that seemed to lead into a quaint business district, all of which I'm sure are intriguing places to explore. However, I wanted to get information on a campsite I'd looked up in Elwha, still a good 45 minutes away.
The center was closed but the map outside revealed that 'Heart of the Hills' campground was only about 5 miles away. I got in to set up my tent and heat some food on the stove just as the last daylight left the sky, replaced by a sliver of a moon.
The weather was considerably nippier than I'd anticipated and even zipped up in my coat underneath all of my blankets, I awoke with numb feet in the morning. Fortunately, I had an hour's drive to Elwha which warmed me up and let me enjoy the slow lightening of the mountain's shadows.
The Elwha River area was a bit confusing to navigate at first. Back in 1913, A dam had been constructed on the Elwha despite opposition from the Elwha tribal community. The dam declined to build the required fish passage into their design and thus an ecosystem was forsaken. It wasn't until 1992 that the native people and the park teamed together to restore the river to its natural state and an act was passed that began plans for dam removal. So nature's greens and browns are currently spotted with construction's oranges and whites in the Elwha area. I was wary about the construction and road closures and it took me a bit to find the information I needed. Eventually though, I found the posting that pleasantly informed me that the trail I wanted was accessible: The Olympic Hot Springs Trail.
These were the first Hot Springs I've been to that have not been "built up"and I was rather disappointed in myself for having not planned to bring an extra set of clothes or a towel. It was tempting to forgo reason and dip in anyhow but the hike was a nippy 2.5 miles one way and I knew I would have a very unpleasant return had I done so. Nonetheless, the steam from the pools made for the perfect personal heater which allowed a good chunk of time for me to sit and write comfortably without getting the shivers.From the Elwha, I wound back down 101 to pack up camp before heading further down that road to Hurricane Ridge. The winter publication for the park featured guided snowshoe hikes with a ranger every weekend afternoon and I headed up even though I was skeptical that there would be enough white stuff hiding within the 20 minute drive. Although my guide Meghann would later inform me that something called the Adiabatic lapse rate formulates that there is a 3.5 degree temperature drop for every 1,000 feet gained, it was definitely not enough to manifest winter fluff. Sill, going up Hurricane Ridge was way worth it. The drive alone took my breath away. The road winds along views of mt. Olympus and gradually inclines until one last hill that takes you toward a final curve. As you round the bend, the most incredible mountain range reveals itself all at once and it feels as though you are at the edge of the earth.
While the meadows surrounding the visitors' center were missing their typical 6 feet of snow, Meghann still led myself and two others on an informational walk nearby. the theme of her talk was appropriately based around the change of climate and how animals and plants might be adapting. First she painted a picture of a typical February - winds that could exceed 70mph, 34 feet of annual snowfall - and pointed out ways the wildlife have been used to living in these conditions. Firs for example, grow in narrow a-frame stature and tend to group together so that their center of gravity is condensed and they can support one another through heavy snowfall. Hemlocks on the other hand, drop all over like elastic, letting snow slide off of them easily. When it came to animals, we spoke a lot about layering and hibernation. Meghann pulled out an example of a bird and held up a picture of its skeleton beside it to show how much of the bird was just feather. Check it out:
She explained that while the bears living in the Olympics have taken to not hibernating, there are still some master hibernators in the park, number one being the Marmot, whose heart rate get notched down from 140 beats per minute to....3. The Marmot is only active from mid May until September and during that time, has to eat a third of its body weight in order to have enough bulk to lose during its months of slumber.
As the walk came to a close, Meghann plugged the standard pro cautions about doing our part and asked us to close our eyes and envision what it would usually look like up here and showed us one last picture indicating the % of its standard snowfall the area had received: 3%.
Will the adaptations that once came in handy to protect from the cold suddenly become excessive burdens? Will it be like our human stress responses that so many of us have permanently clicked on, even when real danger isn't present? Perhaps its permanently on because real danger is permanently present. These are strange, strange times...
By late afternoon, I was heading down towards Olympia where last year's teammate Jordan had graciously allowed me to come stay the night. I'd always enjoyed Jordan's even-keeled disposition and it was refreshing to catch up, and just to be social in general. After comparing notes about kids and education and changes with our lives, I curled up in the guest bed for one of the most comfortable nights of sleep I'd gotten in a long time.
Back to work on Monday, I had a significantly easier drive from Olympia to Chehalis for the monthly LC Thrives meeting. Playing a secretarial role for a group of people established as long term residents in the area, I don't feel I have a lot of input for the content of the meetings; the group is slow-moving and the projects take on the scope of years as opposed to weeks. However, the most recent project to begin to shape itself into something active is one that I've enjoyed hearing about. A County Health Improve Plan (CHIP) group has been formed to conduct detailed data collection on the disparities and resources in the area. After pinpointing two main priorities, it is in the stages of holding focus groups aimed at brainstorming concrete strategies to address these issues. There are 4 scheduled meetings and the outcome will be presented to the public to approve for actual action measures. I like it because there is a deadline that will result in action and a lot of the recent meetings have generated good talks but little tangible strategy.
At school this week, the mother of a student who suffered third degree burns in the fall came to give a re-introduction talk as he starts back at the high school. The presentation immediately had me welling up, jarring memories of losing my friend Amy and imagining that her family had to face similar public sessions when her sister Lisa re-entered school from the coma injury she sustained. Our sixth grade class was combined with a fourth grade one to be an example for the younger kids. Questions were blurted about his physical appearance and limitations and some knew only to relate by way of breaking into their own story of "a friend of a friend" or "grandma fell". The mother very delicately waved off the stories but her voice became shakier every time. When it was time for questions, she managed to be very matter-of-fact about his appearance, emphasizing how normal he really was underneath it all. My fascination with hardship and resilience had me wanting to linger after, feeling a need to reach out that was unattainable at that time. I did share a quick exchange and she was excited to learn that I was AmeriCorps, stating she's sure she'd see me around more. I hope so.
Our third book group meeting took place last night to discuss A Year in Paradise. It did not prove incredibly captivating to anyone else besides Loren and I - Sara was neutral while the kids were downright bored - but it provided an interesting discussion nonetheless. Even though I had to drag a reluctant Elijah over to the meeting, even he was in good humor to share from what little he'd managed to read. Our next book will be a fantasy called EarthSea which challenges my typical genre interests. But I'm prepared to learn a lot from the kids about how to appreciate the themes.
I've organized an impromptu writers' group this weekend and had almost 10 kids sign up, a large amount than I'd anticipated. Hopefully they show up. I'm going to bring pizza and drinks to entice. I've been yearning to fuel some creative juices both in myself and the community and thought it would be neat to have a youth-designed publication of "news" stories, and interviews. I've got a couple of ideas to introduce at the start but overall, I'm not quite sure how it will go. I just want to see imaginations challenged.
In contrast to last weekend's snowless adventure, I think I will finally take my snowboard up on Sunday, winter be damned (which, apparently it has been). I learned that Winter Carnival is this weekend and supposedly the expansion really isn't bad. I just have to go up and see for myself and stop waiting for some miraculous "perfect storm".
That's a dangerous trap I could be more attentive to avoid: waiting for perfection...
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