A Lighthouse Story
(Note: I wrote this six years ago, in September, 2010. Seeing the life I have created since then, I know it’s because I committed to a plan.)
I was never one for having a long-term plan. When people asked “what are your goals for 5 years, 10 years?” I’d look at them blankly. I had no idea.
I would tell myself, I live in the moment, I can’t possibly know what I’ll be doing in 10 years.
And yet, in the deep of my heart, I DID have a vision of what I wanted to be doing, where I wanted to be living. I just never shared it.
Not even with myself.
Because some voice inside of me said that, if I wasn’t doing it NOW, then I must be a failure.
I only knew how to have short term goals. I didn’t know how to create a long term plan.
And so I tucked my secret dreams deep and away and continued to believe that the only long term goal I needed was to just be happy doing whatever I was doing.
And then, a few months ago, I went to New Jersey and spent a week at the beach in Cape May. I was so happy in the ocean air, watching the waves and the gulls, eating fresh seafood right off the boats. My heart felt so full.
And I realized how much I had been denying that this is what I want for my future. That I DO want something more than just being happy in the present moment.
When I got back home I knew I was ready to untuck my dreams of living on the Central California Coast and start to make a plan.
And it occurred to me that, this is exactly what a five-year plan is all about.
It’s NOT about doing it NOW.
A plan is about knowing where you are and where you want to be and using the time in between to discover how to get from here to there.
My big first step was realizing that I DID have a dream.
My second big step was reclaiming the dream and bringing it into my daily awareness.
Several years ago I had put all of my lighthouse paintings into the back of my closet so that I wouldn’t be reminded of the ocean. But now I was eager to hang them prominently all over my house. They no longer taunted me with longing, but now served as a beautiful visual reminder of where I am going to be living.
My third big step was sharing my dream. I started telling my friends, “I’m on a five-year plan to live at the beach.”
By naming and claiming it, suddenly there is noticeable movement toward this thing I most desire.
In fact, now that my mom has passed away, I’ve adjusted the time frame and now I’m on the two-year plan to live at the beach.
It feels possible. It feels real. And I KNOW it’s going to happen.
I don’t know all the things that I have to do between now and moving to make this happen, but I know that, if I stay focused and clear, each step will be revealed in time.
Because I’m planning for it. I’m committed. And I’m doing it, one step at a time.
NOTE: Yes, I did “move” to California in 2012, but not as I had originally imagined. I lived in my 24′ motorhome across the street from the beach for 6 months out of the year until December 2015.
Now, my partner Marika and I are living full-time in a bigger motorhome, and this month we are realizing a huge, long-time dream: we are giving tours of a working lighthouse on the Oregon Coast.
Looks a little bit like my painting, dont’cha think???
So what is YOUR dream for yourself one year from now, five years from now, ten years from now?
1. Do you hold that dream in your consciousness?
2. Do you imagine what it will be like, feel like, taste like to be living this dream?
3. Do you share you dream with people, give voice to your vision?
3. Have you considered what you need to do today to make it happen in that time frame?
4. Do you have your one next step clearly defined?
I’d love to help you explore these questions. If you’d like to set up a coaching call, or dive into to a 4-week Heart Sparks coaching immersion, email me.
[ssba]The Joy of the Kayak!
After years of dreaming about it, I finally bought an inflatable kayak. It came with two deluxe seats, two paddles, a carrying case and a repair kit, big enough for two for when Marika wants to join me. We inflated the kayak on the asphalt next to the RV to try it out. It was easy to inflate and comfortable to get into. But it had a small tear in the skirt of the bow (front of the boat).
I called the manufacturer and they said they would send a replacement skirt. Meanwhile, I was anxious to try the kayak out, even without the skirt fully inflated. So we folded it into a manageable 2’x5’ bundle, and hoisted it across the backseat of the RAV4.
I chose to take my maiden voyage in a small lake at a city park, instead of the river or slough where I’d have to deal with the tides. And this way, Marika could walk the trails and look for birds, while I was on the water. I cried on the drive over, just so full of joy and readiness. We parked near the official boat launch beach and inflated the kayak near the car, then carried it thirty feet down to the lake. I got in, she gave me a good push, and I was on the water.
I paddled toward the middle of the lake, gulls frolicking in the water beside me, Marika, waving to me from the shore. I felt stable, relaxed, and my stroke was light, yet strong. I practiced stopping and circling, paddling slow and fast. And then I lifted my paddles out of the water to feel the slight current in the water move me oh, so slowly, into the center of the lake. Coils of underwater plants, thick as a bottlebrush, but soft and floaty, surrounded my boat. The air was still and quiet beyond the noise of the gulls, and I heard myself thinking, “I am in my very own kayak in the middle of a lake on the coast of Oregon!”
I paddled around a tree island, out of Marika’s view, and watched three men fishing off of a twenty foot wooden pier. I turned toward the opposite shore and paddled to within ten feet of the bank and I floated, scanning the shoreline for movement.
A great blue heron stood as still as the driftwood next to it, and I almost didn’t see it. We watched each other for a good long time, neither one of us moving. Then it spread its wings, lifted up, skrawking as it flew to an upper bough on a nearby tree.
I moved along too, toward a couple in matching orange kayaks near the center of the lake. “Nice day to be on the water,” he said. “Yes it is!” I said. “It’s my first time in my new boat and I’m loving it!” The woman took one hand off her paddle and gave me a thumbs up. “You’re gonna love it!”
I made one more long pass to the opposite shore, then headed toward the put-in beach where Marika was sitting on a bench, talking on her phone. I fast-paddled up the incline and onto the wet sand and the boat skidded to a stop. I leaned back against my seat, grinning, and handed her my paddle. “That was amazing!”
I went out again two days later, to the bigger lake in the park. There were tall green trees and coves and tree islands, and gulls and an egret and a man fishing from a rubber boat. I paddled to the furthest shore and around a line of dead tree snags jutting from the water. I enjoyed the paddle, but not the solitude. And so Marika said that the next time, she would join me.
We went to the bigger lake and she paddled solo first. I was glad she was able to get into the kayak easily, and she felt comfortable on the inflatable seat. She pushed the seat back a bit and settled her legs in. I handed her a paddle, gave the kayak a long push and she moved out into the water.
Her paddling stroke is so different than mine. It is slower, shallower, and there is a pause between left and right. I paddle with more effort, a faster rhythm, and the ends of my paddle go deeper in the water.
I watched her glide on the lake, surprised how far she had gone for paddling so slow. After a few minutes, she turned back toward the beach and I pulled the boat’s bow onto the sand. She rolled herself over the side of the boat to a standing position. “OK, I’m ready to try it with you.”
We pulled the boat fully onto the sand and moved her seat more forward so that I could put mine in the back. We both got in, right there on the sand, to make sure there was enough room for our feet.
After a little rearranging, she said OK, and we carried the boat back to the water. She got in, and I pushed the boat further into the water and stepped in. We kept our paddles out of the water and just floated. The boat wasn’t folding or crinkling with our weight. We were steady on the water, and we were both comfortable.
As the back person, my job was to steer, and follow the paddling rhythm of the front person. I was conscious that this was her first time in the kayak, and five years since she’d been on the water, so I just followed her tentative movements, focusing on the joy that we were in the boat together. We had moments of paddling in sync, and then we were moving across the water toward the farthest shore, and I was overflowing with thank you’s for this dream come true.
We paddled across the water from one shore to the other, scanning the trees, enjoying the sun and slight breeze. Sometimes she paddled solo, because I couldn’t follow her movements and sometimes I asked her to just relax and let me take over. After almost an hour, we headed back to the beach. I couldn’t wait to do it again. She said, “We’ll see.”
A few days later the replacement arrived, except it wasn’t a spray skirt, it was a whole new kayak! I offered the first boat up for sale, but had no takers, so now we had the option to paddle together, or on our own, and we both really liked that.
On Monday we took both kayaks to the lake so we could go together, but in our own boats. She pumped up the new boat and I took the original. We dropped the car keys in the dry bag and carried both boats to the water. She got in and I pushed her into the water. When I got into my kayak, the bottom of the boat was partially deflated. I pumped it back up to full and closed the valve, but when I applied pressure, it got soft again. I dragged the kayak against the tree and called to Marika to come back to get me.
She paddled onto the beach, not thrilled about the change, but we arranged our seats and moved into the water. I settled into my steering position and tried to follow her rhythm.
I was expecting her to paddle left, right, left right. But she was doing left, left, right, right with pauses in between, so I couldn’t find anything to follow. And the boat kept veering to the right because we weren’t in sync.
I was still feeling cranky that I wasn’t in my own boat, so I didn’t have the patience for her erratic rhythm. I tried to give her a quick paddling lesson, and that was not the thing to do, because then she got cranky too.
We moved in silence toward the middle of the lake. I thought about calling it a day, but that didn’t feel good either, so I focused on the greens of the trees along the banks. I pointed out an egret along the shore. She said how perfect the weather was. We both agreed that this really was pretty nice, even if we had to be in the same boat, together.
She wanted to stop on the far shore to practice getting out and in again. We paddled over a small clearing of sand and she got herself up and out of the boat. I stayed in my seat with my legs draped over the sides of the kayak while she took a short walk around to stretch her ankles.
We got the kayak back into the water and paddled parallel to the shore, looking for the egret. Every time Marika changed her rhythm, I just took my paddle out of the water and breathed, and remembered to appreciate that she was, indeed, moving us along.
The wind kicked up and we headed toward where the car was parked, paddling and floating, allowing the breeze to turn us around so we’d have to paddle harder to straighten out. She paddled a few strokes. I paddled a few strokes. She said we were in training for bad weather and extreme conditions. When we got closer to the put-out, we paddled together, making an easy landing onto the beach.
We deflated and folded up both kayaks and hauled them to the car and agreed that next time, we’d go in our own boats.
We have since fixed both leaks on the original boat and now have two fully functioning kayaks. Yes, we wear life vests, have a whistle, a hand pump and a repair kit. I’m really glad we didn’t sell the first kayak, because two boats don’t take up that much more room, and it sure gives us more freedom and choice. And fun!
[ssba]Life at the Marina
We are in Charleston, Oregon, a small fishing village situated along Coos Bay and the South Slough, forming the largest estuary on the Pacific Coast. Ocean access is just a quick drive from here, and right across the street is a short beach at the clamming mudflats where we take our family time walks at low tide.
The city of Coos Bay, the biggest town on the coast, is 20 minutes away with a Walmart, Safeway and Fred Meyer, but no Costco. So before we left Florence, we drove into Eugene, an hour and a half each way, to get dog food for the next 2 months. We also got haircuts at a recommended woman barber, the best we’ve had since our long-time hair stylist in Phoenix!
We’re in space #28 at the Charleston Marina and RV Park. It’s essentially a big parking lot with laundry, a rec room and a crab cleaning station, adjacent to the marina where private and commercial boats come in and out. We are backed into our double wide spot so there’s room for the car, our chairs and a picnic table outside our door. The space next to us is empty so it feels pretty roomy. Most of our neighbors are here to fish for salmon and tuna and crab, and they are gone much of the day.
We’ve been exploring our new neighborhood, driving the scenic road south for those spectacular ocean views, feasting on senior fish and chips at one of the dozen restaurants in this fishing town. We ate some really good falafel and gyros sandwiches in Coos Bay, and walked around a gorgeous city park with a lake.
And it is warmer here, mid 60’s to 70’s with good sun and less wind and fog, so it is easy to be outside.
This is my favorite place, hands down, from the inside out. I can’t really explain it yet, but it feels like home. Like Cayucos did. And I am so glad to be here for the entire month. There’s time to go to the Cranberry Festival next weekend and the Oregon Shorebird Festival the weekend after that.
And I finally ordered an inflatable kayak! I’ve been talking about it for more than a year, but with work so quiet it was hard to justify. But I know it will fill me and fuel me and be so good for me! I’ll start in the lakes so I don’t have to worry about the tides and boat traffic.
You might think that this life is all joy and happiness. But I’m not working. And I need to. Not just for the income, but for the engagement with others, for the feeling of helping others, and connecting with people on a deeper level.
So now that we’re in one place for a while with good wifi and cell service, I’m ready to work with clients, make some new Mac training videos, and do more of my real work in the world.
Perhaps you, too, are ready, to spark something in your life. Let’s set up a coaching call to fan your fire and ignite a flame. And if you’re a Mac user, check out the upcoming THE ORGANIZED MAC online class that begins September 19 at www.mac2shool.com/biz/
[ssba]Happiness on the Oregon Coast
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 We decided to stay three extra days to make up for the days we lost not being here sooner. We’re eating local Dungeness crab, fresh, off-the-boat halibut and salmon, clam chowder and oysters. And the Farmer’s Market is gorgeous and delicious, with peaches, peppers, sweet carrots and heirloom tomatoes.  On Friday we went to the free “Shop the Dock” program at the commercial docks and learned about the different fisheries in the area and the difference between trolling, catching one fish at a time on a line, and trawling, using a large net to catch many fish. A halibut fisherman demonstrated how fast you have to work when reeling in a 40-foot fish by hand.  We went to the Lincoln County Fair and ate corn dogs, and we checked out the exhibits at the local art centers in Nye Beach. I paddled in a handmade kayak at the Wooden Boat Festival in Toledo, and we watched gray whales feed so close to the shore at the Headlands.  We’ve been walking the estuary trail along the back of Yaquina Bay, watching mostly gulls and cormorants bob in the water. I’m riding my bike along the paved bike paths, out to the jetty and around the marina, and remembering how much more I enjoy biking than walking.
And in the midst of all of this exploring and delighting, I enjoyed a one-on-one Mac phone session with a new client, hosted the last live Q&A phone call with my Organized Mac students, and facilitated the amazing Dream Altars workshop. It is this balance of working and playing that makes me most happy, that I’d like more of. Surprisingly, I haven’t yet spent any time at the ocean. The waves feel too big and loud, and it has been so darn windy. So I have been appreciating the gentleness and proximity of the bay, and the views from inside the motorhome.  We’ll be heading south to Florence and staying at the Port of Siuslaw for the rest of August, enjoying more seafood and fresh, local goodness, and seeing and experiencing whatever lies ahead. |
Welcome to the Oregon Coast!
Last week we were still in Montana, awaiting a fix on a faulty tire sensor on our tow vehicle. We spent the night in the Walmart parking lot with a dozen other motor homers, and chatted with a young couple traveling across the country in an SUV, visiting every National Park.
On Wednesday at noon, we finally hitched the car and headed west. It was a long three days of driving, 789 miles through Idaho and Washington, and we finally pulled into the marina in Newport, Oregon on Friday after 5, tired and happy to have finally arrived.
We drove over to the seafood market for dinner to go, came home and prepared fresh Dungeness crab meat on a bed of romaine for me, the best clam chowder and smoked oysters for Marika, and a kid’s portion of local fish and chips with extra tartar sauce to share.
We spent the night in the dry camping area behind the marina buildings, across the bay from the active fishing port, then moved into our reserved spot in the main campground/parking lot on Saturday.
We restocked the pantry at the Farmer’s Market with peaches, blackberries, heirloom tomatoes, cucumbers, carrots, eggplant, sourdough bread and amazing almond pastries. Marika made crab cakes one night and a vegetable medley with chicken another.
On Monday, we moved again to the annex area for 4 nights, where the spaces are smaller and even closer together.
But it’s all about the location. We are at the marina, which is between the ocean and the bay, next to the Oregon Aquarium and Hatfield Marine Research Center, and the crabbing pier, the estuary, and the Yaquina Head Lighthouse. And we hear barking seals and screaming gulls and honking Canada geese, even with the windows closed.
And there are bike paths! I rode out to the jetty and around the day use area, the mist from the fog cooling my skin and the sea air filling my lungs so deeply that I felt them expanding in my back body. In the afternoon the fog hangs low and the wind picks up and the Yaquina Bridge fades in and out of view.
And it is again a balance of daily living and sightseeing, client calls and bike rides. Yesterday I taught the magical Dream Altars workshop at a studio in Yachats and I couldn’t help but reflect back to nineteen years ago when all of this was just a dream for me, for Marika, for us. I made a new altar, to spark the energies of my next big dream, which is all this, and so much more.
[ssba]Between Here and There, I Surrender
I am writing this on Monday morning from Basin, MT, where we are still waiting for the car to be ready. The wheel for the car DID arrive on Friday. But the tire pressure sensor got lost in the shipment, and they still need some clips, so they had to reorder the parts. Maybe they’ll show up today. Maybe the car will be done by the afternoon, or Tuesday. They reminded us that we’re in a rural part of the country, and things take a little longer to arrive.
I started to freak out that we’d be here another week and Marika suggested the word surrender. She assured me that we will get to the Oregon coast in time for my Dream Altars class next Tuesday. It’s a 4 day straight drive, which I’d rather do in 5 or 6. But we will get there.
Once I settled into the facts and let go of our original plan, I was actually glad we didn’t leave on Friday. We had the weekend to accept the not knowing, to ease into what we need to do to be ready to leave, pull out, get on the road. We did some serious housecleaning, sorted through the two remaining boxes and restocked the pantry and fridge.
And we had another day of exploring the area, this time to the well-known Archie Bray Foundation. Situated on land next to an abandoned brick making factory, the Foundation is a mecca for ceramic artists from all over the world to come and work. And the grounds are decorated with sculptures and pots and all kinds of ceramic artworks. We walked around the property, peered into the broken windows of the original brick factory. We walked inside one of the original kilns, a beehive structure with a twenty-foot ceiling, built exclusively with bricks. The afternoon light streamed in through the spaces in the bricks that had served as vents for the oven.
As we drove home in a slow rain storm, I realized that I also needed to start creating some forward-moving energy so I wouldn’t feel stuck, waiting. I needed to look ahead to being at the coast, even if I didn’t know WHEN we would get there, and to start feeling the excitement of being at the ocean. In Oregon. For three months. Big dreams coming true.
And maybe that scares me a little. To know that we are really doing it, just like I imagined we would seventeen years ago, when we spent six weeks on the Oregon coast, and I dreamed of this full-time life, staying at the marina, crabbing, birding, writing.
Because now what? Once we get to the coast, the only big dream left is the one I keep dragging my feet about, holding my breath against, putting off until someday. A part of me knows that my time on the coast will be all about embracing this next big dream, and taking the steps toward making it real.
Which may be why I started to think about cancelling the class to take all pressure off, and even changing our route to spend more time exploring Montana.
But Marika reminded me that I have students signed up, that we will get there in time, and so we are sticking to the original plan.
As much as I’ve loved being here in this place of healing and simpleness, I’m readying for the new shifts that are on the horizon, and all that is coming next. Even if it is so big and scary, because it is also big and wonderful. Like most dreams are.
[ssba]
Leaning In, Grounding Down, Remembering Fun
After our immersion of 11 days, 3 times a day treatments in the radon mine, we were both excited to have some free time to get out and start exploring the area.
On Thursday morning we went to the tiny Farmer’s Market in the next town. On the way, I said, “I think I’m finally going to find my silver earrings today. And for a reasonable price.”
And I DID. A retired man named Bob makes chain-maille earrings, different designs, different colors. Only $12. And if I lose one, I can send him the remainder and he’ll make a new one for $6. WOW!
We also got delicious snow peas from the youth garden, and beets, apricots, baby carrots, zucchini, a bag of purple, yellow and white cauliflower, and a quart of relish pickles, all from nearby Conrad, MT.
We had fun going up and down every aisle in the hometown hardware store, past crock pots and BBQ grills, fishing lures and poles, glue sticks, rubber gloves, knives, bullets, and contact paper that looked like wood. There were also the expected paint cans and color samples, an aisle for plumbing and electrical, and, in the backroom, old metal drawers neatly hand labeled for every size spring, screw, nut and bolt. And, in the showroom through the last door, there were washers and dryers, a refrigerator, and several models of wood stoves. I looked for a new hooking key chain. The man behind the counter showed me three kinds, but they were all too bulky, so we just bought a pair of earplugs for 49¢.
Outside, we took pictures of the old murals on the sides of the brick building, and checked out the six-lane bowling alley/bar/casino. Tim, the owner, was in his office counting dollar bills while he answered my questions. Bowling is from noon to 2 am, every day. $2.75 a game and 75¢ for shoes. We thought we’d invite our new friends Barry and Madge, from the campground, to play.
We stopped in the Boulder Historical Society and talked with the volunteers who were compiling marriage and death dates from old newspapers. And then suddenly, I had to go outside and sit on a bench. I was exhausted.
We skipped lunch at the Local Supper Club Restaurant and headed home. I ate some turkey and some of the pickles, in case it was just low blood sugar. Marika checked my oxygen level-97%, and my blood pressure-117/70. Everything was normal, so I got into bed. I slept for three hours, got up, peed, had a pretzel and went to sleep again until 7.
I watched Chelsea Clinton introduce her mother, listened to Hillary’s speech, and went to bed after 10. I didn’t get up again until 10 in the morning.
I realized I had what they call the mine sickness. It’s the body processing all of the radon gas. And I just needed to rest, drink lots of water, and ride it out.
I ate a bowl of cereal, talked with Marika, checked my email, and went back to sleep for another 3 hours. In the evening I put on some clothes and went for a short walk, but I had to lie down when I got back.
As I laid in bed, too tired to do anything between sleeping, I remembered that when I’ve gone to retreats, another kind of immersion, each time, I’ve come home exhausted. Once I realized this, I leaned all the way in, grateful that we had nothing on the calendar for the rest of the week. I allowed myself to sleep, watch TV, and eat whatever sounded good. And I walked a little, to keep my body from getting sore and stiff.
And, in this down time, I opened up my copy of Heart Sparks to the first practice, realizing that Grounding is exactly what this is, and exactly what I need.
After this amazing experience, and really, ALL of the changes since we decided to live this new life on the road, nothing is the same. And so now is a time to begin again, to ground myself and explore what ELSE I want to live into.
I am re-committing to a daily stretching practice. And brisk walking. And deep breathing. I’m hardly coughing, but my lungs still feel tight and I get winded after exertion. But we are at 5600’. I’m curious to see how things will be once we are on the coast, at sea level. I also feel looser in my hips and joints. Marika hasn’t admitted to any improvements yet, but it can take a few weeks for benefits to appear.
I felt 100% by Sunday and we had a blast bowling with Barry and Madge. The gals bowled and Barry kept score. It was so much fun, even if my muscles were screaming sore the next day. It reminded me that I like doing something over and over again to hone the skill and get better. And that I can trust my body to be more physical and active. And how much I like to have fun!
[ssba]The Power of Immersion
As you read this, we are on our last day of the 11 day radon mine treatment. It has been an amazing experience to fully commit to doing this 3 times a day for the last 11 days. Our days revolve around our visits to the mine, with simple things like walking the dogs, gentle stretching, making meals and doing laundry added to the mix. There is no time to go out and sight see, and little energy to do much else.
This act of immersing myself in an activity, fully committing to a single purpose, brings me face to face with all of my fears, excuses, insecurities. There are no distractions to keep me from feeling the feelings, or doing what I came to do. But when I embrace the discomforts and dive deep into this thing I’ve given myself time and space to do, so much becomes clear.
Like what’s really important to my heart. And the stories I tell myself in the midst of my busy life. And how it really feels to be myself and tune in to what I really love.
A friend recently attended a week-long art retreat at a college. She slept in the dorms, ate dorm food and spent the rest of her time in her studio making art. The experience, she said, was life-changing – to be able to focus all of her energy on creating, without any outside obligations or distractions. And to finally realize that her art making was for her, and it didn’t matter if anyone else “got It.”
Another friend takes herself camping for a week every summer – just her, a tent, a stack of books, and, more recently, her kayak. The first time she went she was terrified that she’d be bored with all of that solo time. Now, ten years later, it’s one of her favorite times of the year.
Leaving the comforts and routines of our daily lives opens us up to bigger, deeper experiences with ourselves. Yes, there is discomfort and boredom. But if we can stay with the feelings, there is often a breakthrough revelation.
I am realizing how much I miss teaching groups and leading workshops, and how the simple act of decorating rocks to leave in the mine makes me feel good. I see how easily I am bored, and how I think work is the only answer to that boredom.
I am still processing and integrating all of the thoughts and discoveries from these past two weeks at the healing mine. I’m sure more things will become clear as I return to “normal” life. I can only hope that I am able to continue to hold the magic of it all.
[ssba]The Healing Mine
Last week Marika and I camped at Lewis and Clark Caverns, about an hour north of Yellowstone. From there, I had no idea where we were going, just a general direction westward. After the high priced campgrounds, we both were hoping to find some free or less expensive camping for a few days, but every forest campsite I checked would only accommodate RVs up to 20 feet.
I felt stuck and frustrated, and finally, I stopped looking and went to bed.
In the morning, Marika talked with the park ranger about birding in the area and came home with a beautiful brochure of nearby birding spots. And then I remembered that I always imagined we’d plan our route by where the birds are. And sure enough, there was a large refuge listed in the pamphlet in the direction we were going. I had a new town name to research, to find a camp site.
According to RV Park Reviews, the Merry Widow Mine Campground got 9 out of 10 stars. Sites were shaded with full hookups, and some backed right up to the Boulder River. And it was only $19.28 a night if you stayed at least 5 nights. They had availability and we booked it.
When I finally looked on the paper map, I saw that we were only driving 45 miles, and it really wasn’t ON the route. In fact, we were backtracking a few miles. But we were committed. I said, “Something magical is gonna happen for us to be going here.”
We took our time leaving camp since we only had an hour’s drive. We hitched up the car and headed west. Instead of driving the interstate, we took the narrow, winding, two-lane state highway, through rolling hills and pastures. A detour put us on a fairly well-graded gravel road for about 5 miles, then back onto the main highway to our destination.
We pulled in and stopped in front of the rec hall, looking for where to register, and an Amish man with a long gray beard wearing overalls and a long-sleeved shirt approached us. We assumed he was the camp host, welcoming us, but instead he said, “Do you know you’re missing a tire?”
What?
The front passenger tire was gone and it looked like we’d been driving on the rim for a while. The liner inside the wheel base was also gone, and the cables to the headlights were cut. We hadn’t felt a thing.
We unhitched the car and pulled the RV into our space. I called the Toyota dealer in Helena, 26 miles north of camp, and AAA came and towed the car there for a Monday appointment.
Marika called the camp hosts to find out about registering, and when Veronica, the Korean owner, heard we didn’t have a car, she drove down to pick Marika up to take her to the office, which was at the top a fairly steep hill, where the healing mine is.
Years ago, they mined for gold, silver and uranium in this area that lies halfway between Butte and Helena. Several years after the mine closed, a couple re-opened it for healing, based on the belief that radon, in small, controlled doses, eliminates inflammation, the cause of so many diseases.
Healing mines have been popular in Europe for decades. And hundreds of people from Canada come here every year since it is covered under their medical system.
Some folks have voiced concern about the dangers of radon. But that’s why they limit your time in the mine. Like alcohol, a small amount is fine, but too much can cause health problems.
In the campground reviews, folks had mentioned the mine, but I really didn’t know much about it. Now, without a car to explore the area, it seemed like the natural thing to do.
And so, on Saturday morning, we had our first treatment.
There are three ways to take in the healing properties of the mine: breathing the air, soaking your feet and hands, and drinking the water. Some people use an eye cup to rinse their eyes. Some people even bring their arthritic dogs to the doggie den for treatment.
And every single person in the mine has a story: how many years they’ve been coming, how their aches disappeared, how their arthritic fingers unfurled, how their breathing improved.
And they return every year to repeat the 3 times a day, 11 day treatment regime.
We go at 9, 1 and 5 for an hour each time, with three hours in between to release the gases from our system. Veronica has been picking us up since we don’t have a car and it’s a steep walk uphill. Also in the car is a middle aged law professor from Korea who has bone cancer, and her 25 year old son. They are staying in one of the furnished apartments about a mile down the road, and Veronica gives them a ride. They speak very little English, so Veronica translates for us. The woman is impressed that we drive such a big RV. The son is studying economics at University.
At the entrance to the mine, the son helps his mother out of the car and into a wheelchair, and pushes her down the long passageway. We follow, walking about two football field lengths into the mine, through the well-lit, damp, cold corridor. It’s smells a little rusty and my lungs love the dampness. Small stones with handwritten names line the walkway, along with names and dates written in permanent ink on the walls.
We pass a small room designated for bringing your dog, and a curtained alcove with a white bathtub for people who want to do a full soak. The end of the corridor is lined with thin-cushioned benches and seats from an old school bus. There is also a picnic table in an alcove for playing games, doing a puzzle. There are heat lamps hanging from the ceiling, but it’s pretty cold inside-58°.
This is the main treatment room. At the end of the room is a long bench for people to sit and soak their feet in a trough of the magic mine water. There are buckets for you to pour the water on your knees and a plastic tub for soaking your hands and forearms. There is also a spigot so you can drink the water.
Marika and I sit next to each other on the bench nearest the heat lamp and watch the son help his mother onto the seat. She pushes her sleeve up and places her right hand in the long tub of cold mine water, then closes her eyes. After five minutes she dries her hand and her son helps her walk to the bench for the foot soak. The sign above says The Agony of Defeet, and when Marika and I put our feet into the water, I understand why.
The water is 50° and my feet burn from the cold. But I keep them under, breathing calm into the rest of my body. I pull my feet out for a moment and can no longer feel the difference between the cold water and the cold air.
The Korean woman is sitting next to me, whispering in her native tongue. And then she begins to sing. Tears rise up in me and I let the unnamed emotions release. I join in her song, humming the melody as more tears fall. I cry because she is singing for her life and I feel like I have been squandering mine.
And I realize that I am here to be healed, to release the griefs and the fears that hold me in this complacency, to let go of the visions I have for what’s next, and open my lungs and my heart to all that is unknown. And to love bigger and fuller, both myself and others.
The woman is now crying too, and I place my right hand on the back of her heart and cry with her. When our 10 minutes are up and we are drying our feet, we both say thank you.
It is no accident that we are here, that our car won’t be ready until at least Monday. We have extended our stay to take advantage of the full 11 day treatment. Maybe the treatments will clear my lungs. Maybe they will help Marika’s knees. Maybe they will even remove the floaters in her eyes.
It may be days or weeks before we feel the full effects, but already I imagine that we will return next year to repeat the experience.
For more information about radon therapy and the mine, visit www.merrywidowmine.com
[ssba]The Geyser Effect: What Really Happened at Yellowstone
We have never camped over a summer holiday weekend. We’ve always figured, let the working folks enjoy the crowded campgrounds – we have the flexibility to go anytime. But, as full-timers, we needed a place to stay over the long July 4th weekend. As timing had it, we would be near Yellowstone National Park so we committed to being there for the holiday, with the crowds.
All of the state parks were booked and, with the afternoon temperatures in the mid 80’s, we needed a campsite with electricity so we could leave the dogs at home while we ventured out. After all kinds of online searching, a woman in an RVing Facebook group said she owned a campground 20 miles west of Yellowstone’s west entrance. I called and we got a space for the entire weekend, from Thursday through Tuesday. Yes, it was our most expensive campground at $58.32 a night, but, compared to the $80+ at all the other options near Yellowstone, it was the best choice.
The park was nice enough, with full hookups, a few trees and, beyond the campground, expansive views of cattle in pastures and mountains. But our spot was narrow and we were so close to the rigs on all four sides of us, with no view, no cell signal, intermittent wifi, and neighbors who barely looked up when I said hello.
Usually, if I am at a campground like this, I amuse myself with making up stories about the neighbors, or I watch TV, play online or read. But the wifi kept dropping, I had finished my last book over the weekend, and Marika and I were both cranky with each other.
And we were there for five days.
We did spend a full day at Yellowstone, learning how pressure builds up under the Earth’s surface, causing geysers and bubbling mud pots, and the technicolor pools of fiery hot bacterial water. We ate our picnic sandwiches along the Firehole River and I even got my feet in the Madison River with Cody and Mabel. But we saw very little wildlife. Friends had shared how the bison had stopped traffic when they were there, but the only traffic slow-up we experienced was for a single elk standing in a river.
The holiday crowds were daunting. I haven’t experienced so much human energy in one place in years. People moving on all sides of me on the narrow boardwalks and walkways, cars crammed on the side of the road despite the No Parking signs, and the sounds of so many foreign languages and young children’s repetitive questions. By the time we found the car and drove out of the parking lot at Old Faithful, we were both exhausted.
On the drive out of the park we did see a single bison standing in a pool of water. He was huge and still, facing sideways and looking just like the buffalo on a nickel. But there was no safe place to pull over and study him, so we kept driving.
When we got back to camp, we took the dogs for a walk outside of the main camp area along the dirt road that separated the property from the acres of cattle pasture. Swallows swooped over the tall grasses, then ducked into their man-made boxes perched every six feet along the wooden rail fence. But we had to cut the walk short because the mosquitoes were feasting on us, even through the layers of bug spray.
Back in the motorhome, both of us were irritated, snarky, and ready to explode.
Over the weekend, we stayed at camp to avoid the Park crowds. It was windy and thundering, which kept us inside. And all of that closeness and lack of outdoor space did something to me. It was like what happens with the geysers. Pressure builds up under the surface until there is a necessary, somewhat violent release.
I stayed in bed for two days, not talking to Marika, only getting up to pee, walk the dogs and make myself a grilled cheese sandwich. I kept the air conditioner at 75 so I could stay tucked under my favorite blue comforter, moving in and out of tears and sleep, imagining every worst case scenario, focusing on all of my disappointments, irritations and grievances. Which is why I didn’t talk to her. I didn’t want to just spew every thought as it came up. I needed the space to just feel it all without discussion.
And I was so far into it that, of course, I couldn’t explain that to her, not even in a note. And so I was very glad that she kept to her plan to go birding early Sunday morning, because it’s what makes her happy, but then that set me off on another burst of envy because she has a hobby that she loves, and can do for hours, anywhere, any time of day, and I don’t.
Finally, on Monday morning, we talked. About the campground, our relationship, what we both wanted for our future. And she heard me. And I heard her. And we were both able to re-commit to this new adventure.
I have to keep reminding myself that this is all new for us, the planning, the traveling, the co-habitating, the communicating. And that I need to share my feelings, my needs, and lean into the power of this partnership, even when it gets difficult.
That afternoon we made a plan, together, for the next stretch of our journey. We decided to stay longer in the Yellowstone area, and the next morning we moved to the campground at Henry’s Lake State Park just down the road, on the lake, with spacious camp sites, a slough for excellent birding, and trails to walk with the dogs.
We went back to Yellowstone that evening for dusk. We drove along the Grand Loop Road to Hayden Valley, looking for movement in the open fields. We were rewarded with a herd of elk, a gathering of trumpeter swans and even a pair of sandhill cranes.
We got back to our new campsite on the lake after dark and took the dogs for a walk. The new moon glowed a bright sliver in the sky and, even in the darkness, I could feel the water, the pastures, the mountains and the gorgeous space around us. I was so glad to be home.
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