TRAVELOGUE Part 3: California, Here We Come
Flexibility. Following the energy. Asking for what you want. This is life (on the road).
DAY 12
On our last day in Brigham City, we drove out to Promontory Point and the Golden Spike Historical Park, where, in 1869, the Central Pacific and the Union Pacific Rail lines met to create the first transcontinental railroad. The original wood burning Jupiter engine and the coal burning 119, have been refurbished and are used in the daily re-enactments of the historic event.
The Ranger mentioned the ATK Rocket Park nearby, so we stopped on the drive home to see actual NASA rocket boosters and missiles. The reusable rocket motor from the Space Shuttle was 159 feet long. One placard showed the two rail line grades in the background, and the space program items in the foreground, remarking how only 100 years separated the two innovations.
DAY13
Welcome to Wells, Nevada, the Gateway to the West
There is not much to see between Brigham City and Wells, NV, except so much wonderful wide open space. The dry stretches of desert are dotted with ranches and cattle, a town or two with a bar/restaurant, but mostly it is breathtaking vistas and not much traffic, which made for an easy 216 mile driving day. We even drove under two underpasses that were created for wildlife to cross.
I loved that we were following the same route that the Central Pacific Railroad created to meet up at Promontory Point with the Union Pacific, just in reverse. Our first stop west from Promontory Point would be Wells, then Winnemucca, and Reno, where we’d actually be staying a few miles further west, in the border town of Verdi, then on to Sacramento where we’d be camped about 30 miles north of the city.
We stopped at a pullout for lunch, a walk, and to change drivers, and Tillie found a massive pile of manure to roll in. I tried to grab her in time, but that just made it worse. As soon as we arrived at camp, guess who got a cold bath outside?
Camp was an oasis of green grass and thick old trees in the middle of the vast and barren high desert of northeastern Nevada. We were parked in the grass, with water and electricity, and there was even a little stream that ran along the border of the park, with waterfalls, benches, flowers, and robins.
Marika was suddenly hungry and the only restaurant in town was closing in thirty minutes. So she went to eat, and Tillie, still wet from her bath, and I played in the huge grassy field.
I attached her purple walking leash to her 20’ rope leash and we took her ball out to the grass. I kicked it, she ran after it, with me, running close behind, holding onto her leash. We did this for at least fifteen minutes, me kicking, her chasing, until her tongue was hanging.
We came inside and I was sitting at my desk, writing, and I kept catching whiffs of manure. I changed my shirt, since I did brush up against Tillie. Still smelled it. I thought for sure I was going to have to scrub down before bed.
When Marika returned from her mediocre eating experience, we all took a walk around the RV park, and Marika pointed out the little mounds of manure scattered throughout the grass. I was relieved that it wasn’t me that stunk, after all.
Day 14
Wells to Winnemucca
With all of the rest stops closed on I-80, and very few town options, I ended up driving the entire 165 mile, three and a half hour stretch across Nevada. It wasn’t an issue since the roads were good, and the truckers were courteous.
We had reservations in windy Winnemucca for two nights, to break up the every day driving, and to learn a bit of history about this Wild, Wild West.
Our spot was a back in, next to a converted school bus. There were a couple of young trees on either side of the gravel spot. I chose the park because they advertised wifi and a dog park. The wifi was non-existent, and the dog park was just a big area of chunky gravel, which felt like walking in snow, and a single bench. Still, it was fenced so Tillie could roam and smell, off leash.
After a light salad lunch, we all took a two hour family nap, then drove to the neighborhood Riverview Park. There were placards with information about the California Trail, and how the emigrants crossed the Humbolt River just outside of Winnemucca, to get to grassier lands. It boggled my mind to imagine being a pioneer, traveling across this vast and unforgiving landscape, for months, years, seeking a better life.
We stopped at McDonald’s for dessert and Tillie enjoyed her first licks of ice cream.
DAY 15
We started with breakfast out at The Griddle, except they are now closed on Wednesdays. A woman in a van also pulled in, found it was closed, and asked us for a recommendation for another local place. Marika, having perused all of Yelp’s reviews, said Sid’s Family Diner, and we all drove there.
Marika asked if I wanted to sit at the counter, but I preferred a table. We ended up sitting across the separator from Kelly, the woman with the van. She was on her way to a dog show in Logan, Utah, with her 180 pound Mastiff, Sweet Pea, who was a veteran winner, and her young pug, Violet, who she was going to show in the all-dog category.
She was born in Phoenix, now lives outside of Oakland, and was familiar with Fort Bragg, the next town up from Mendocino. We exchanged emails so I could send her the latest Heart Sparks newsletters of our travels, then we walked out to her van to meet the dogs.
We drove to the Visitors Center, where they have a display of rocks and minerals, and stuffed animals found in the area. But they were closed for lunch, so we walked back to the car and headed to the Humbolt County Museum.
As we approached the parking lot, we saw big spots moving in the road, on the sidewalk, in the lot. Thousands of three-inch-long grasshoppers, nicknamed Mormon Crickets, because they originally came from Utah, were everywhere. They don’t bite, and they don’t even crawl on you, but they were everywhere, literally as far as the eye could see. I took slow, single steps to avoid them as I walked to the museum entrance.
Nel, the volunteer at the desk, said the grasshoppers come every year, that they had just shown up that morning. They were making their way into town, probably be there by the afternoon. Later I looked up the phenomenon, and these grasshoppers eat crops, plants, even the paint on houses, which is why some folks cover their houses with plastic when they come through. They also eat each other, which is why they just keep moving, and they can cover a mile in a day.
The museum had a display of the humongous mammoth skeleton found in the area, as well as artifacts and photographs from the 1800’s, before and after the railroad came through. We learned that 7-UP was invented in Winnemucca, and that there was a flourishing Chinese community of rail workers and their families in town. There was also a restored church and a house from the 1800’s on the property, but they were closed for renovations.
When Marika asked Nel if she’d live in Winnemucca all of her life, she shared that, when she was 11, her family moved from New York to California by car. When they drove through Nevada, her father said his dream was to have a ranch and be a cowboy. After he died, Nel moved to Winnemucca, and bought a piece of land, and is slowly going to turn it into something, in honor of her father.
After the museum, we stopped at a thrift store and found a 50 cent squeaky chicken for Tillie, and a container that will work perfectly as our much needed replacement napkin holder.
Back at home, I took a walk with Tillie, Marika and I each called a friend, then we made a shopping list of necessities until we get to the big city in two days. After the supermarket, we picked up crab rangoon and BBQ pork with vegetables, because who can say no to a four-star rated Chinese restaurant? It was pretty good, and there was enough for traveling leftovers the next day.
Day 16
To the Edge of Nevada
I was so anxious about the weather warnings – winds up to 22 mph, rain, with snow in the mountain passes – that I asked Marika to take the first driving shift. We were driving a short, 165 miles to Verdi, Nevada, a small town a few miles west of Reno, at the border of Nevada and California, just before the mountain passes. I didn’t think we’d see snow, but rain is no fun, and winds higher than 25 miles per hour can turn to dangerous when you’re 32 feet long and towing a car.
I-80 was long and mostly straight heading west out of Winnemucca, and the wind was coming at us from the northwest at 17 mph. Very doable, though it does require more upper body strength to keep the RV straight against the gusts and passing semi trucks. We drove through the barren Black Rock Desert, a challenging stretch of terrain for the emigrants on the California Trail.
After an hour and a half, Marika was ready for a break, so we stopped at a rest stop and switched drivers. Soon after, the winds picked up to 21 mph, and the road began to curve and climb toward the western edge of Nevada and the Sierra Madres. The high desert turned to tall pine trees and greener, leafier bushes, and huge snow capped mountains loomed in the distance.
Even with the wind, we made good time, and arrived at our overnight RV park a little before one. Check in time, according to a review, was one to two, closer to two. I went into the office and the woman was having lunch. She said check in was at two, but yes, my spot was ready, so we could pull in and come back later to check in. I thanked her, and went out to help Marika unhook the car so we could back in to our spot.
The RV Park was attached to a casino, with a gas station, Jack in the Box and a Starbucks. The sites were asphalt with nice grassy lawns at each spot, full hookups, wifi and cable. And there was a walking trail at the end of the park that actually crossed into California. There was a line between the states made up of two fences, one with metal stakes on the California side, and the other with wood stakes on the Nevada side, with a few inches in between.
Because it was going to get below 32° that night, we filled our water tank so we wouldn’t have to risk the city water connection freezing. Marika hooked up the electricity, and also ran an extension cord from the 20 amp outlet at the post through the window so we could plug in a high wattage space heater to compliment the house propane heat without worrying about blowing a fuse.
As soon as I finished filling the water and Marika returned from a walk with Tillie, it started to snow! Tiny popcorn balls of frozen water fell from the sky. I was now even more grateful that we arrived when we did, and that we were able to settle in early. Just in time.
Marika said she was happy to be in a new place, that she was liking being in all kinds of new places, visiting museums, talking with people. We were both a little sorry that we only had three more days before we would be at our summer destination. I vowed to plan for us to be on the road for a longer time after our summer gig, to really appreciate the rhythm and flow of this life.
DAY 17
We woke up to light snowfall and a little anxiety about the upcoming 7200’ Donner Pass. But I checked the weather apps and there were no warnings or advisories. It would be wet, but not slippery.
So we agreed to continue as planned. We got the RV ready for travel, with the slides in and the jacks up, and then we needed to check the air in one of the back tires again. For the first time, instead of going to a tire store, we were going to do it ourselves.
We have six tires on the RV, two in front, and two sets of two (duallies) in the back. A year ago to the day, we had a blowout on the I-10 freeway only 30 miles out of Phoenix. Both back right tires had gone flat and we needed to be towed to Discount Tire, where we bought four new back tires. In the last year, the outside back right tire has frequently been low and needing air.
It’s much easier for me to get on my knees, so Marika was my cheerleader and I was the air filler. Because the two tires are next to each other, it’s a challenge to reach the tire stems, so we use extenders, four-inch-long metal gadgets that screw into the tire stem and provide a fill valve that’s easier to reach to fill both tires.
I attached the compressor valve to the tire extender stem, but I couldn’t get a seal. Marika tried, same thing. I kept maneuvering the valve on the stem, while Marika went next door to ask the neighbor for assistance.
He tried too, then we took the extender stem off and tried to fill directly into the tire stem. But he still felt air leaking. And when he looked closer, he said the inner tire was rubbing against the outer one. We looked under the back of the RV, and saw an inch-wide nail head in the inner tire. So we had two flat tires. And we only have one spare, so we needed to be towed.
Marika called AAA for a tow to the Discount Tire in Reno, just ten miles east. I went to the RV Park office to see about staying a second night. And then AAA called back and said they didn’t have a flat bed big enough today. But a different company could come in the morning.
So we rolled the RV back a few feet back in our spot so that we were lined up to dump the tanks, we re-leveled, and moved back into the RV for the day. And then AAA called back and said no, because it’s the back tires, they need a Landall, a different kind of tow truck, and one wouldn’t be available until mid-week.
We went to our backup plan and called Les Schwab to schedule a mobile repair for the next morning. They could inflate the outside tire and fix the nail tire, so we could drive to Discount Tire for a complete assessment. Mind you, they don’t fix tires on site. They take the tires off, bring them back to the shop for the repair, and then return and put them on. And they charge $130/hour, starting from the minute they leave the shop until they return to the shop after the job. He estimated a $400.00 bill, plus any supplies.
But it seemed our only choice.
And then Marika called our insurance company, because we also have roadside service through them. They have a larger database of tow companies and they did find one with a Landall, and they could even tow us that evening. But Discount Tire closed at five, and we didn’t want to spend the night in their parking lot. So we opted to call back in the morning to get on the schedule.
We figured we would call at seven, get to Discount Tire by ten, and be on the road by one, since it was only a 120 mile, three-hour drive. The first 50 miles would be over the mountain pass of the Sierra Madres. There would still be weather, but the snow had turned to rain, which was expected to continue, with possible snow pellets, on and off, through the weekend. But we would take it slow and easy, and then, finally, we’d be in the warm sunshine of Sacramento.
With a plan in place, we drove into Reno and did our big city, Costco and Walmart stocking up, since we wouldn’t have the extra day to do it in Sacramento. We even picked up Thai food on the drive home. We were exhausted, and still holding a lot of unknowns, but at least we had Pad Thai and a plan for the morning.
We each handle stress very differently. I breathe a lot, cry, talk things out, brainstorm possible solutions, and trust that all will work out. Marika gets quiet, stoic, focuses on the immediate next step, while holding on to all of the previous stress. Somehow, we meet in the middle, and we get through it.
There was a moment where I was feeling so overwhelmed that I just needed to be still, and breathe, and I thought we could both use a hug and some belly breathing. I asked Marika to join me, but she was resistant. Then I asked her if she could just hug me while I breathed. And she did. And I calmed down. Later, I thanked her, and, in that moment, she was ready to share a full on hug.
Tillie’s easy, adaptable nature also helps keep the calm. She is a silent, happy traveler, and loves to lie in the bed, and watch the world out the big back window, just like she did at the house. She’s been watching birds, squirrels, people, kids, even other dogs, and she doesn’t bark. She just watches. Intently. For hours.
DAY 18
Tired of Tire Woes
We were up early to make the call to get towed to Discount Tire. While we waited for a time, I told Marika that I was still stressed, because of so many unknowns. But I kept breathing and trusting that however the day went, all would be OK in the end.
And then the dispatcher called us back to tell us that the overpass at our exit was too low for us to be towed on a flat bed tow truck. Now our only option was to use a mobile repair place.
As promised, Les Schwab called me at nine and said they could come out to inflate, but not repair, the nail tire, and put the spare on to replace the outside tire that wasn’t holding air. Then we could drive over to Discount Tire where we bought the tires just a year ago, to patch the nail tire and get to the bottom of things with the other.
And we both agreed, that, instead of driving to Sacramento afterwards, we’d stay at the RV park one more night.
Our tire tech, Jason, arrived a little after 10, and took off both tires. He put air in the nail tire, and noticed that the stem was cracked, so he swapped it with the spare. The other tire was fine, and holding air. He said it just couldn’t handle the weight of the RV with the inside tire being flat. We thanked him and paid him $130.00, then drove the RV to Discount Tire.
Tillie and I waited inside the RV in the Discount Tire parking lot, while Marika walked over to pick up El Pollo Loco for lunch. Less than two hours later, the nail tire was patched, the broken tire stem was replaced, and the outside tire was taken off the wheel, examined, remounted, and checked thoroughly for leaks. The other four tires were also checked, and we drove back to the RV Park.
We were both exhausted, still processing the stress of the past two days, and were glad we had agreed not to drive that day, even though we had to move to a different spot in the RV park. Our new spot had mountain views, and we each relaxed and released the stress of the previous days in our own way.
Marika had a cocktail, did the laundry, and enjoyed the toasty fire in the community room. She even drove with Tillie to an e-bird hotspot less than a mile from camp for an adventure walk. I stayed home and smoked, took a walk around the park, wrote, and watched TV.
And I said so very many thank you’s.
That we checked the tires and found the problem before it became a hazard on the road. That we asked the neighbor for his opinion, and he discovered the nail in the tire. That we had a safe, comfortable place to wait and figure things out, with full hookups. That we worked together to explore our options and make decisions. That we finally found someone to help us. That the outside tire didn’t have a problem. That the Discount Tire was on the west side of Reno, so we didn’t have to drive through crazy traffic and construction. That we found an easy place to have lunch. That the snow had turned to rain, and it would be clear driving the next day when we went over the mountain. That we could afford to pay for unused and extra camping sites, and be flexible with our schedule. That our insurance company would reimburse us for some of the extra expenses. That Tillie is so adaptable and easy in every situation. That our new spot was even closer to the laundry, so we could walk over. That we were back on the road. That we have each other, and we’re a pretty good team.
DAY 19
Usually on a traveling day, we are up at seven and on the road by nine-thirty. Even though I had gone to bed at nine the night before, and fell asleep long before my Yoga Nidra meditation was over, I was still so tired when the alarm went off, that we agreed to sleep longer. When I got out of bed after nine, there were patches of blue in the sky, and I was ready for the driving day. Tillie and I had been walking into California for the past two days, but today, we would finally be driving over the border.
It was an easy, three-hour drive up and over the snow dusted Sierra Madres, with gorgeous clouds popping in and out of blue skies, no rain, and no snow pellets. I drove the first half, Marika drove the second, through the suburbs of Sacramento, so that I could navigate the lane changes.
We arrived at our campsite at the fairgrounds north of Sacramento and were leveled and hooked up by two. After a walk around, Tillie and I were content to hang out inside, with the A/C on, me writing and her watching out the back window. Marika went to Home Depot for some supplies, and brought home some yummy Mediterranean food for dinner. All three of us slept long and hard, glad to be over the mountain and heading to the ocean.
DAY 20
Home to the Coast
After almost three weeks as travelers, we headed north and then west to the Northern California coast to begin our volunteering summer with Mendocino Parks.
I drove the first leg up I-5, past rice paddies and agricultural fields, to California 20, which begins as an easy, curving road around Clear Lake, the largest and oldest lake in the United States. After two and a half hours, we had our lunch in a casino parking lot and switched drivers.
After a few more uphill climbs, the two lane road became 35 miles of hairpin turns, with hardly a shoulder, up and over the mountain with 5-10% grades the whole way. It took us a little over two hours, and then we were on Highway 1, just 10 miles from home.
Home for the next three months is a campsite in the Sonoma-Mendocino Coast District complex, on the east side of Highway 1, across the street from Russian Gulch State Park and the Pacific Ocean. The huge property includes the maintenance yard for the campgrounds, offices, a variety of cabins, single wides and trailers for employee housing, and campsites for volunteers.
Our spot is tucked in the pine trees with peeks of blue sky. It is a balmy 57°, with no wind. We have a patio deck, and a garden with an array of flowers. What we don’t have is cell or TV reception. But there is public wifi, so I can stay connected online, but I can’t make or receive phone calls with my ATT iPhone. Fortunately, Marika has Verizon, and she’s getting a single bar of service, so we do have a working phone.
Our State Parks Volunteer Coordinator met us when we arrived, showed us to our spot, went over some paperwork and gave us our name tags and vests. Tomorrow we have to get fingerprinted, and Wednesday is our first day of training.
Our neighbors, Denise and Matt, were at work when we pulled in, but we chatted a bit when they got home. They have been volunteering here for several years. They’re here all year, except for November and December when they go to their daughter’s house in Sacramento so they can take care of medical things.
Their dog, Callie, is a very laid back eleven year old Springer Spaniel, who is off leash because she’s going deaf and is never far from their side. She and Tillie had a quick sniff exchange, but that’s all. Tillie was too interested in all of the other smells around.
They have a 30 foot trailer and double that in outdoor space, with tables, chairs, a grill, an ice maker, and a small refrigerator. There are several seed feeders and a hummingbird feeder, strings of lights, garden stakes, welcome flags, a bounty of fresh flowers, and even three tomato plants.
We talked a little about the job and the area, and they said they have a fire every Friday and Saturday night, so come on over.
We were both exhausted from all of the getting here, but after dinner, we drove down to the beach, and there was no one there. I let Tillie off her leash and she ran a huge circle around the entire area of the beach. Full speed. Twice.
We walked closer to the water and she chased the small rolls of surf up and down the edge of the water. And she came every time that I called her. Oh! There is NOTHING happier than me and a dog on the beach!
When we got home, Marika set up her propane fire pit on the patio, and Tillie, cabled to a 20 foot line, smelled every inch of the front lawn. I sat inside at my writing desk, watching them, loving it all.
TRAVELOGUE Part 2: The Joys of Utah
Flexibility. Following the energy. Asking for what you want. This is life on the road.
Day 6
Painted Rocks Campground, Yuba Lake State Park, Utah
We were supposed to leave on Monday for our next camp site, but it was so quiet and spacious at Yuba Lake State Park, with only three other campers in the entire campground. So we stayed an extra day.
Marika spent much of the day outside with her binoculars, watching the birds. She saw western kingbirds, Bullock’s orioles, yellow warblers, Blackburnian warblers, western tanagers, white crowned sparrows, killdeer, mourning doves, Canada geese, white pelicans, black billed magpies, a robin, and some swallows.
And Tillie and I did something that was bigger than a bucket list item, all about a dream come true. She ran next to me while I rode my bike. She watched me, I watched her, and we rode the length of the camp road, twice. She loved it, I loved it, and Marika took pictures of the whole thing.
Day 7
Yuba Lake to Antelope Island
I was expecting the day to be the horrendous traffic/construction drive through Salt Lake City Day, and so the morning blessing was all about courtesy and ease and safety.
But it was an easy drive 150 mile drive from Yuba Lake State Park to Antelope Island, with no construction or delays, not even through Salt Lake City. I guessed the fifty miles of construction began after the exit we took for Antelope Island. So we would experience it on our NEXT traveling day, which would be a short, one hour hop up to Brigham City. This meant that, even if it took twice as long, it would still be a very short driving day. Now I could lean in to being on Antelope Island for the next two days without fretting.
As soon as we pulled in, I unpacked the inside of the RV and Marika sat outside with her binoculars, watching and listening to the Meadowlark, the orange headed blackbirds, the Western Kingbird. She even hung a hummingbird feeder because someone on youtube said they do pass through.
This was our first time in over a year that we were boondocking, which meant we had no hookups to water or electricity. We had forty five gallons in our fresh water tank, and full batteries for the 12 volt system which runs the lights and the water pump. We also had solar panels connected to an inverter if we needed 110 volts to run the TV or my mini blender. The fridge was switched from electricity to propane, and the stove is always fueled by propane. It’s wasn’t too warm to need the air-conditioner, but if we did, we could turn on the generator to run it, and if it got too cold, we had propane heat. And, we had amazing panoramic views.
The terrain out my writing window was slow and low rolling hills covered with the same sticker weeds as the last campground. Trees had been planted at each campsite, but it would be a few more years before they’d provide real shade. But they did offer the birds food and habitat, which made Marika very happy. There was also a ramada and a picnic table, and a free-roaming bison at the top of the hill, less than 1000 feet from our campsite.
Outside the sofa window, the hills sloped down to a wide stretch of brown dirt and white alkaline beach, and then the glass blue water that is Great Salt Lake.
Great Salt Lake is one of the largest and saltiest lakes in the world, and provides habitat for millions of shorebirds and waterfowl. Antelope Island is the largest island in the Great Salt Lake. It is home to free ranging pronghorn, bighorn sheep, American bison, porcupine, badger, coyote, mule deer, and millions of waterfowl, and a state park campground.
We were originally going to be on the island for three nights, but because we opted to stay an extra night at our last campsite, were only there for two. There were several other campers in the campground, but all of them were at the other end of the loop, so Tillie and I had room to run/ride again.
That night Marika took a drive down to the ponds to watch some shorebirds. Tillie and I stayed home, safe inside from the biting bugs, and watched the sun set like a creamsicle, over the lake.
DAY 8
Antelope Island
Riding an e-bike is as thrilling as riding a regular bike, plus you feel like you’re flying! OMG! I signed up for an hour and a half guided ride around the island and it was the best $99.00 I’ve spent in a long time.
It was just me and Ethan, my 24 yer old guide. I had asked Marika if she was interested, since biking was a huge part of our early years. But with her replaced knee and new hip, she didn’t feel secure. So I went by and for myself. Other times I might have resented that she said no, or lamented that I had to go alone. But I was doing it all for me, and it was absolutely thrilling.
We rode all around Antelope Island, stopping at trailheads and parking lots for views and information. I pedaled with the wonderful electric assist that the e-bike offers. I could ride faster with less effort. And even when I was on an uphill and pedaling hard, I was doing 11 mph. And the downhills, OMG! I maxed out at 34 mph and loved every thrilling moment of it.
We pedaled up the visitor center, then down to the day use beach access area. The water in the lake is so low that it’s about a half mile hike to the water’s edge, and another half mile or so before it’s deep enough to actually float. Ethan said he remembered doing it in fourth grade, and how sticky and smelly he was when he got out of the water, and that’s why they have showers at the day use area. After hearing his story, I decided I didn’t need to have the experience first hand. Especially since the no-see-um bugs were showing up.
They only attacked when we were standing still, so Ethan limited his tour information, and we kept riding. We peddled out to the area where they round up about 500 bison every fall, to keep the island population under control. Two horses stood in a pasture and one came up to the fence for some pets. We saw a lone antelope, and lots of swallows and gulls.
On the ride back to the rental place, a bison was standing on the shoulder of the road, too close for us to pass safely. So we stopped and watched, thinking we’d pass behind a stopped car for protection. And then the bison walked a few steps away from the road and started rolling in the dirt, so engaged that it made passing him safe.
After lunch, Marika drove us around the island and I pointed out all of the places and vistas I had ridden to, and the downhill from Buffalo Point where I hit 34 mph.
The no-see-ums and mosquitoes kept me inside the rest of the day, though Marika sat outside with her mosquito netting face cover on, and called a friend. Tillie joined her, happy to lie on her outside cushion in the shade. I was glad to turn on the inverter and relax with the Food Network playing on the TV through my phone.
Day 9
Antelope Island to Brigham City
I had been fretting and worrying about driving through the traffic/construction on I-15 for DAYS. Even though Marika said she would be behind the wheel, and I just had to navigate. I am not usually one who spends a lot of time worrying about future things, but OMG, this was ridiculous. And for nothing!
There were NO accidents, NO slow downs, and only ONE place where the lanes split. Easy peasy. 37 miles and we were at our next campground before 11 am, two hours before check in time, but our spot was ready so we pulled in.
Before we had to change our plans, twice, we had reservations at a state park about fifteen miles south of Bear River Migratory Bird Refuge, the focus of our time here in Brigham City. When we finalized our plans for the third time, I chose to come into the city and stay at a private RV park, an easy ten minute drive to the refuge.
As much as I love camping in nature, it’s good to pull into an RV park every once in a while to take care of things. The Golden Spike RV park was clean and small, with three paved rows and ten spaces on each row. Our site was level and paved, which is always nice, and we had a manicured patch of grass and a picnic table. There was a laundromat on site, a Walmart across the street, and lots of fun restaurants to consider. With full hookups, we didn’t have to conserve water so we could clean thoroughly, and take longer showers. And they even had wifi and cable TV hookup, so we were really living it up.
The park was surrounded by box elder maple trees and pine trees, all in full spring bloom. Brigham City used to be called Box Elder for all the trees in the area. The grassy areas all around the campground were dotted with hundreds of dandelions. Of course I picked one and made a wish. When the breeze blew, I felt like I was walking in a snow globe of dandelion wishes.
After we set up camp and had a light lunch, we took Tillie to The Barking Lot, a dog park with grass and trees and agility equipment, behind a vet’s office. We were hoping Tillie would find a friend to play with, but there were no other dogs there. But there was lush grass, and so many smells, plenty of room to run and play ball, and then a soft, shady spot to relax.
We came home, rested a bit, then drove up to Main Street for dinner at the local’s favorite family diner because Marika had a hankering for ground sirloin with gravy and potatoes. I had crispy fried shrimp with tater tots and a delicious salad, with enough for leftovers.
And then we drove out to Bear River Migratory Bird Refuge so Marika could see where she’d be driving in the morning. Bear River Migratory Bird Refuge is one of the largest refuges in the country. Situated between the Pacific and Central flyways, hundreds of thousands of bird stop here enroute from north to south in the spring and fall. In April and May, songbirds and shorebirds, ducks, and birds of prey can be seen along the refuge roads.
The two lane road into the refuge cut through wide open areas, some with sand and dirt, some with reeds and ponds. The road followed a canal for twelve and a half miles to the beginning of the auto route, a twelve mile, one way road that takes you past ponds, mudflats, marshes, and fields, and all kinds of habitats for birds.
I was not up for the hour plus drive around, so we turned back toward town. Marika spotted terns, avocets and a few gulls on the drive out. We stopped at Peach City, where a carhop brought us mint chocolate chip ice cream cones, then we came home to a sleepy, happy puppy.
DAY 10
Brigham City
Marika left at six this morning to get to the Bear River Migratory Bird Refuge. Tillie and I snuggled in bed until after eight, then took a short walk around the park before breakfast.
I appreciated the overcast skies, the grey clouds creeping over the snow streaked mountain tops. It was only going to be 79°, and cloudy, so I didn’t have to rush out to get my bike ride in, like I did in Phoenix.
I was looking forward to the homey day – writing, laundry, food shopping, restocking supplies inside. But, due to Covid, they required a reservation to use the laundry, so it went on the schedule for the next day instead.
After Marika returned and rested, we shopped at Walmart. I restocked the house supplies, and wrote another 500 words. I rode my bike around the park, and then Tillie and I enjoyed another run/ride up and down the campground road.
Marika had an amazing time at the refuge. The mosquitoes showed up around ten and kept her in the car, but she saw enough birds to fill three pages of her spiral notebook. Tillie and I joined her for a drive on the auto route that evening.
There were thousands of white faced ibis and avocets feeding in the channels. Hundreds of red winged and yellow headed blackbirds flitted between the reeds, hovered in the air, even sat in the road. There were cinnamon teal ducks, mallards, two kinds of grebes, terns, and a handful of black necked stilts. And my favorite, floating fat white pelicans.
Tillie was just as interested in the activity as we were. Her nose poked out of the opening in her window, and she shifted from one side of the car to the other, tracking all of the movement.
DAY 11
Brigham City
Marika left at 6 again in the morning morning to head over to the refuge. Tillie and I lingered in bed until after 7, then enjoyed a lovely, cool, and quiet walk around the campground.
This campground was a lovely place to be spending our first extended stay of the trip. We could visit some local places of interest and not have to cram everything into one or two days. We also had time to nap, watch TV, and talk about where we were and what we were experiencing. It was a wonderful place for us to reconnect.
Marika and I are very much opposites. I am a planner, she’s a procrastinator. I clean up as I go, she leaves a messy trail. She fears change, I thrive on what’s next. She uses her imagination to worry, I use mine to dream. She likes spicy foods, I’m all about the sweet. I’m a sprinter, with a short attention span, she thrives with detail work and repetition. She locks the bottom lock, I lock the top. When we back into an RV spot, she will back up to the left and then pull forward to the right, while I will always go to the right and then the left.
Yet it is in our extreme differences that, when we come together, we bring the best of our strengths and powers and gifts, and we are an amazing team. In our 32 years together, Marika has helped me be more present, compassionate, and focused, and I have helped her embrace change, have fun for fun’s sake, and take more risks.
But when each of us is not happy with our own selves, those opposites clash, and become sharp points of contention. And in this last year and a half, with Covid, and not working last summer, the isolation has really exacerbated our differences.
The few months before we left Phoenix I was unhappy with much of my life. Marika was a very non-communicative hip surgery patient, and we were barely speaking about anything. I did my thing, she did hers, and all was fine. Except I felt so alone that I wasn’t sure I wanted to continue this life with her.
When I shared my feelings with her, she shared that she was probably depressed. And also healing from surgery. She felt she had no purpose. And that she didn’t want us to get divorced. I told her that I needed more connection and communication and intimacy. That I was committed to working on the relationship, with the hope that these next six months could give us space to reconnect and redefine our relationship. And I was clear that if things weren’t a lot different by the end of our summer gig, we would return to Phoenix and figure out how to separate.
I’d felt this way before, and even talked about breaking up before. But this time I felt clearer. Stronger. Because I finally realized that I can’t make her feel or do or be anything but who she is.
I realized that most of my misery came from expecting her to love me in certain ways. That I was putting all of my love eggs in her basket, and coming up resentful and empty every time.
I needed to re-spark my relationships, not just with Marika, but with myself, and the world. I realized that I wanted to fall in love with my own self. To be my own biggest source of feeling good.
Every night, as part of my Yoga Nidra for sleep practice, I set the intention to enjoy my life more. I wanted to feel as good about myself and my life throughout the day as I did when I was riding my bike.
I planned a weekly play date with a fun friend. I called friends on the phone. I started my online exploring of Mendocino, where we will be spending the summer. And I have been writing 500 words every morning, which I LOVE. I even told Marika that I was falling in love with myself, and she was tickled by the idea.
This new perspective has been everything. I find delight in what I’m doing, because I’m doing it for me, and with me. I don’t feel the old stories of resentment that I have to do it by myself because no one is doing it with me. And when, out of habit or simply feeling good, I want to say I love you, I say it first it to myself. And, when I am truly feeling love for Marika, I tell her.
Things are shifting with her, too. Now that we are finally on the road, she is relaxing, opening up, beginning to enjoy the newness of the adventure. She is engaging in conversations with people we meet, and walking without hip pain. She is saying thank you, doing little things for me, and sharing her observations. And now that we are in birdwatching country, she too, seems happier, filled up, falling in love with something.
And Tillie fills my every day with pure love and delight. She rolls on her back to be belly rubbed, tucks her nose close to my knees to be head petted, and even seems to enjoy being hugged and kissed. She usually comes when we call her, but she is also very easily distracted by scents and movements, so she is always on a leash. And even though she weighs 50 pounds, she sleeps long and lean between us in the bed, and we both have enough leg room to sleep.
And, best of all, she has adapted to a regular bathroom schedule, stays alone in the RV alone without incident, and waits inside until she’s invited down the steps. And she is able to get her zoomies in by racing from the sofa to the bed, and back again.
I guess we are all adjusting to the new rhythms and routines of the road. We’re remembering how good it feels to be in nature, to learn new things, and connect with people. We’re seeing how well we work together as a team when we both show up, and how much we both really enjoy living this life.
TRAVELOGUE Part 1: From Arizona to Utah
Flexibility. Following the energy. Asking for what you want. This is life on the road.
DAY 1: Wednesday
Our first traveling day was a success. We drove 168 miles via I-17 and Highway 89 from Phoenix to Cameron, Arizona, just 30 miles north and east of the south rim of the Grand Canyon. We used half of our $140.00 fill up of gas, made stops for propane, pooping, and checking in to our campground. Five hours later, we were leveled in the dusty dirt, and cooling off inside the RV at the Cameron Trading Post, overlooking the Little Colorado River Gorge.
The Cameron Trading Post was established in 1916 as a place to trade with the local Native Americans. They still sell and showcase gorgeous Native American art and craft items. There’s also a motel, restaurant, and RV Park, where we spent the night.
After dinner at home, we left Tillie alone in the RV for the first time, and drove across the highway to the restaurant for some Indian Fry bread to go. It was crispy and warm, served with hot packets of honey, and containers of powdered sugar and cinnamon. Delicious.
The three of us walked around the campground to admire the Little Colorado River gorge, the suspension bridge and the vistas, all while encouraging Tillie to do her business. She does NOT like to pee and poop in public. So she went 24 hours between poops. We’re hoping she relaxes a bit about that with practice.
She does seem to enjoy the driving and all of the new smells. And there’s enough length inside to play ball! My biggest worry was teaching her to wait when we go out the RV door. But by the second morning on the road, she was waiting until she got permission to come down the steps.
She’s also learning to watch without barking, which is something I am also practicing when something upsets me. Instead of arguing or reacting, I am practicing just observing. (We teach what we most need to learn, right?)
DAY 2: Thursday
Highway 89 begins in Congress, Arizona, southwest of Prescott. It winds through Sedona and Oak Creek, and continues north from Flagstaff, where we picked it up and continued all the way into Utah. The two lane highway rolls through red rock canyons and the vast high desert, surrounded in the distance by snow capped mountains. There are ample passing lanes and few semi trucks, which made for an easy, four-hour driving day to Kanab, Utah, where we were staying for two nights.
The Hitch ’N Post RV Park is tucked behind a house on the main drag, which is highway 89, across the street from several restaurants. Behind the park is a church, some houses, and a dirt reservoir set up with trails for ATVs.
Our spot was at the back of the park, quiet, with a few trees. It was in the 80’s, too warm to sit outside after the driving day, so we relaxed inside, watching some television. Later, I walked across the street and picked up delicious junky food from Big Al’s. The onion rings were some of the best we’ve ever had.
DAY 3: Friday
Every town has its own weather advisory on the weather channel app. In Phoenix, it’s the UV Index, in Los Angeles it’s air quality. In Kanab, there is a Dry Skin Index, and the warning was extreme, advising people to moisturize and bathe in lukewarm water. I was drinking even more water than usual, and my fingers and lips were drier than when we were in Phoenix.
We put on sunscreen and wide brimmed hats and the three of us spent the morning walking around Best Friends Animal Sanctuary, just up the road. Established in 1984, the huge complex is on 20,000 acres, and they take care of an average of 1600 animals (horses, pigs, cats, dogs, birds, parrots) on any given day.
We picked up a map at the Welcome Center, and drove along a wide dirt road through the red rock canyons to our first stop at Angel’s Rest. Marked with a gorgeous iron gate, and bordered by rock walls and pavers, the area is the final resting place for hundreds of animals. Eighteen hundred wind chimes are dispersed among the markers that are adorned with pet photos, healing stones, painted rocks, and trinkets. The stone walls have niches that hold boxes with cremains, photos and collars, all surrounded by more trinkets and rocks.
We walked along the markers, reading names, me waving my hands through the wind chimes to make them sing. Tillie was ultra-cautious around the life-sized dog and cat statues, stopping several feet away to look, smell, tilt her head, then inching a little closer until she was close enough to sniff the statue’s face.
We drove a little further up the road to a labyrinth and Angel’s Lookout. Marika and Tillie took a walk and I followed a path to the top of a hill, so aware that I had no pain walking. My legs felt strong from all of my riding, and the 5000 foot elevation wasn’t even hard on my breathing, because I had used my inhaler in the morning.
A labyrinth is not a maze. It’s a spiraling path that leads to the center, and then back out again. Each turn leads you closer to the center, but the turns go out and then in, so it is not a direct, linear journey. Just like life.
The labyrinth overlooked a gorgeous gorge, with canyon walls colored in millions of years of layers. I stepped on the path, reminding myself to focus on my steps, and only the path in front of me. The sun felt warm on my arms, and soon I was sweating. I do not like to sweat.
And then I thought of a friend who recently shared that, when she goes to the gym, she doesn’t like how it feels when it gets uncomfortable. But that if she just does twelve minutes of hard cardio, she knows she is conditioning her heart, and that’s what she wants. So I thought about how sweating is a great way for the body to release toxins. And I want that. So I was willing to sweat for a few minutes, because I knew it was good for my body.
And when my mind wandered off of the path and I realized that I was wondering where the trail was that I had taken to get there, and how would I get back, I paused, breathed, and, chuckled at myself. And when I was fully present again, I followed one foot after the other.
When I was almost to the center, and the path curved back out, I thought about how life is the same way. We think we’re so close to our goal, because it’s in view, but there may be more turns in the road before you get there.
I stood in the center of the labyrinth, touched a few of the trinkets and stones that people have left in the circle, then returned along the same path to the beginning. I said a few thank you’s, then found the trail back down the hill and met up with Marika and Tillie. We sat on a bench at Angel’s Lookout, overlooking Angel’s Gorge. I tried to name all of the variations of colors in the rocks, but settled on simply red, orange, brown, white, and tan.
We drove home and Tillie and I enjoyed some time together while Marika went back to the Sanctuary for a tour of the Wild Parrot area. Some parrots can live to be 60-80 years old, so most of the rescues there were abandoned after their owners’ deaths.
Later, we drove through the neighborhood to Ranchos Park, a big, green, grassy space with a few picnic tables and a softball field. We had the place to ourselves, so we let Tillie play and free-walk on her 25’ leash. She did NOT automatically come when I called her, but she did, eventually, come back every time. And she pooped a second time. And peed. In public.
We stopped at the local market for some bananas and lettuce, and a great photo op on the way home, then we all rested in bed for a little bit. I fed Tillie as we walked out the door to go for dinner at the Mexican restaurant down the street, hoping it would distract her. It was our first time leaving her for longer than twenty minutes. She found her way to the RV passenger seat to watch us leave, and I prayed that she would go back to eating and then relax.
We sat outside at the Mexican restaurant, and a couple with a large white dog sat at the next table. We said hi to the dog, and enjoyed a lovely conversation with them while we waited for our meals. They live in Wickenburg, AZ and were heading to Montana for the summer,. They offered to text us some directions to avoid the mess of construction traffic on I-15 through Salt Lake City.
We came home an hour and a half later and I asked the neighbor if he’d heard any barking or howling. He said he didn’t even know we had a dog. Tillie was relaxing on the sofa when I opened the door, then she came over to greet us, butt and tail hyper-wagging.
DAY 4: Saturday
It was an easy drive from Kanab to our Levan, Utah, where we had reservations to camp for the next two nights at the Painted Rocks campground in Yuba Lake State Park, about two hours south of Salt Lake City. Both of us were tired, so Marika drove the first hour, I drove the next hour and a half, and she took the last hour. The terrain was wide and open, through canyons and valleys with very little human presence. We passed horses grazing, antelope, groupings of mobile homes with sheds, and many wooden stalls arranged along the pullouts, with signs advertising Authentic Navajo Jewelry.
We drove through small towns, some with a grocery store, a couple of restaurants, a gas station, and at least one shop that sold Indian jewelry. And we stopped for gas when we changed drivers the second time, because there was a Flying J right there, so now we don’t have to fill up between here and our next spot two days from now.
Tillie continues to be an amazing traveler. She lies on the sofa for most of the ride, checks on us a few times, rests her head on Marika’s shoulder for a few minutes, then returns to her perch with a view.
It is high desert here, with low, scruffy bushes, no grass, but lots of green weeds with stickers that get in Tillie’s pads. All around us were brown mountains, dotted with the same green. The lake is not really a lake, it’s a reservoir created by the nearby Yuba Dam.
When we pulled in, it was windy, with 17mph gusts, and 59°, so we took a short walk after we settled in, then hung out inside, resting from the drive. After a three-way love fest and some crazy ball playing, Marika and Tillie napped in bed, and I sat at my writing desk, watching the rippling lake water from my window.
I could hear Marika’s out puffs of air, and the buzz of ATVs rolling through the campground and over the surrounding hill trails. The camping man next door was trying to split a 12” diameter log with a small hand axe, with absolutely no success. His wife was sitting on the picnic table under the ramada, trying to quiet their crying baby. Somewhere across the camp road, country music faded in and out of the wind.
And then a few hours later, even though the fridge and freezer were stocked, Marika drove into town eighteen miles away to pick up Chinese food. She was so excited to be supporting a small business in a small town. And we are forever searching for the perfect egg roll.
Tillie and I stayed home to fill the fresh water tanks, instead of hooking up directly to the camp spigot. This way we could be more water conscious and have a better sense of our usage, since we didn’t plan to dump again until Thursday.
After dinner, which was just OK, but fun, nonetheless, we drove down to the lake just in time to see the sunset. It was too windy and cold to want to get out of the car and walk, but I was sure we’d go back the next day. And I couldn’t wait to get into bed and go to sleep without an alarm.
DAY 5: Sunday
A good, quiet sleep with no alarm, and breakfast outside means we are officially camping. I sat at the cold metal picnic table with my bowl of dry cereal, a cup of coffee, and a view of the lake. Tillie was on her long cable, roaming the edges of our campsite. Marika sat in her camp chair, watching a rare Blackburnian warbler, a bright yellow, black, and white bird with an orange throat, flitting in a nearby bush.
It was cool and quiet, the neighbors were still inside, and we played Tag-Team-Tillie brushing, which she loved. And then her cable was double wrapped around a pole so I unleashed her for a minute to retie her, and she took off. She was walking too fast to catch her, then she ran down the hill into the brush. She looked back when I called, and again when I squeaked her toy, but then she kept going.
I was wearing slippers, Marika had on hiking boots, so she took the leash and some treats and followed Tillie’s path. I had faith that she was just exploring and would eventually come back. She finally came to Marika for a treat, got leashed up, and they headed home.
So, big lesson. Yes, she’ll come when she’s in a controlled environment, but she will also explore on her own when given the chance. And she needs to run in the mornings, but she’ll have to do that on a 20’ leash, unless we’re in a contained space.
After fours days of traveling and touristing, Sunday was our first day with no plans, no destination. This is what camping is all about. I spent most of the morning writing at my desk, something I haven’t done since October. I took breaks playing and walking with Tillie, and watching our neighbors pack up. I kept saying I was going for a bike ride, but then I’d sit back down to write a little more.
I also had a few to do’s on my list. One of them was to NOT worry about the drive through Salt Lake City. I’d been obsessing about what the couple had told us about the fifty miles of construction through there. But Marika said she would be behind the wheel, and she wasn’t freaking out, so I just needed to be patient and calm and trust that we would get through the shifting lanes safely and with ease.
And the reward would be three nights camping at the state park on Antelope Island, boondocking with no hookups, alongside antelope, bison and coyotes. And, if the no-see-um bugs weren’t too bad, we were going to rent e-bikes and explore the island.
By noon, the last of the weekenders had pulled out. There were only three other campers still in the campground, so the views were now open and endless. It was so quiet and relaxing, with birds right on our patio, that Marika suggested we stay an extra night. She checked with the rangers and yes, our spot was available. So we cut a day off of our next destination, to enjoy being at the lake for a whole extra day. Now we could really relax and lean in.
I finally got on my bike around three, and circled the campground several times. It was windy, but my legs were strong, and I made it up the steep hill without too much trouble, and really enjoyed the fast ride back down. I stopped to chat with one of the other campers, and picked up a self-pay envelope at the entrance station for our additional night.
And then we drove down to the lake. Three white pelicans floated in the water beyond the boat ramp. A Canada goose walked on the opposite shoreline. We heard the sharp chatter of the Blackburnian warbler in the bushes. The three of us walked as close to the water as we could before the dirt became too muddy, and we just stood there, taking it all in. You know I was saying a whole lot of thank you’s.
Riding, Redwoods, and Rosh Hashana
We’re past the halfway point of our volunteering gig here in Mendocino on the Northern California coast. Three and a half months done, one and a half months left to go. Both of us agree that this is the most beautiful place we’ve volunteered, with all of the moist green, the redwoods, the headlands, the ocean, the rivers, and so many gorgeous wildflowers, plants, and blooms everywhere.
I asked Marika, “Could you live here?”
“Too cold,” she said.
“Too isolated and hard to get to,” I said.
But boy, are we enjoying it all while we’re here.
This past month, we had a very different work schedule. Instead of working at the Ford House, we were scheduled to only work at the two campground visitors centers. And it was every weekend.
At first we were both upset. How come no one else was scheduled at the campgrounds? How come we didn’t have a single shift at the Ford House? And why were we the only ones working every weekend?
And then I remembered that the new couple was still in training so they can’t work at the campgrounds yet. After a bit more whining, we agreed that we were fine working wherever we were needed. And I sent a note to our boss, asking for at least one shift at the Ford House the following month.
And then I cracked myself up, because, when we first interviewed for the job, we were told we’d probably be working at all three places, and we had both hoped we wouldn’t have to work at the Ford House and learn stuff and have to do tours.
Of course, we actually had a lot of fun working in the campgrounds. It was more relaxed, less busy, and we didn’t have to be “on” as tour guides. Many campers had come to escape the inland heat and fires. One family had been evacuated and was waiting to hear when they could return to their home.
We answered questions about the trails, sold lots of merchandise, and, my favorite thing, we engaged with kids about nature, and swore several in as Junior Rangers.
And we even worked a shift at the Ford House because the new people were sick. So it all worked out. As it always does, if we just allow it. This month, we’ll be working a mix of weekdays and weekends, at both the Ford House and the campground visitors center. Win Win Win.
When we’re not working, we’re still finding new beaches, new vistas, and new restaurants. We have checked out a lot of the local art galleries, and finally, the Mendocino Art Center has reopened. Established in 1959, it was a magnet for artists from the Bay Area to come up to Mendocino in the 1960’s, and still hosts exhibits of well known as well as local artists.
We walked around the sculpture gardens and inside the gallery, but the best part was talking with some Native artists in one of the studios. They were working on the tiles for the mural that will be installed in the new bathrooms near the Ford House.
We spoke to the three artists, each from different bands of the Pomo tribe, and asked them what they would like us to share with our visitors about the Pomo Indians. They said, “That we are resilient, and we are still here.”
The man, the oldest of the three, shared stories of how his people were moved from one piece of land to another, and explained that the difference between the words reservation, reserve, and rancheria is the size of the land, though not necessarily livable land.
One morning we joined Mary, one of the Ford House docents, for a very informative walk along the Headlands. She told stories about the Ford family, and pointed to the remnants of the wooden structures and chains from the apron chutes, then showed us photographs to bring it all to life. We learned that the Portuguese were excellent woodworkers, and she showed us where the Chinese herb shops were located. Afterwards, Mary and Marika made a plan to go birding together.
At least once a week we explore someplace new. We took a walk across the Pudding Creek Trestle where people leave locks, like in Paris, and listened to live music at the local Forest Fest.
We walked through the cemetery in Mendocino where the Ford family is buried, and explored the marina side of the Noyo River Harbor.
I’ve also taken myself into town alone a few times. I wandered through a wonderfully musty used bookstore that’s been in business for twenty three years, and revisited a few thrift stores. One morning I took myself for a walk along the Headlands, then picked up pastries to bring home to Marika.
One afternoon after I did the laundry, I stopped at a park that I had noticed on the map. It was a wilderness of tall redwood trees tucked into the middle of Fort Bragg. I walked a few yards into the park, but was met with the loud banter of school kids, so I turned back. On Marika’s birthday, we went back for a full exploration.
We followed the wide dirt path from the parking lot down to the floor of the forest, then followed a narrow side path along the slow running Pudding Creek. We walked over exposed tree roots that crisscrossed the path, and took pictures of the flowers along the banks.
And then I saw her, a fully hollowed out Redwood tree, taller than I could see. I found my footing down to the base and stood inside the tree with my back leaning against the bark. I looked up, then closed my eyes and just breathed. The sounds of the world muffled and I could only feel warmth and peace and love.
I feel that same peace when Tillie and I walk through our backyard forest cathedral. It is quiet and still, yet humming with energy. Especially when the fog hangs low and drips from the trees onto the path. My lungs love the moisture, and my whole being feels hugged in the presence of all of the magnificent trees.
I’ve been in forests before, in the pines in Northern Arizona and Colorado, the colored oaks and maples in the east, even the magic fairy forests on the Oregon coast. I’ve liked them, but I’ve never felt hugged by them like I do here in the redwoods.
Redwood trees are the tallest trees in the world, growing as tall as 350 feet. Surprisingly, their roots only grow six to twelve feet deep, but they intertwine with the roots of the nearby trees to provide incredible strength and stability. Redwoods also share nutrients through their roots with nearby trees. No wonder I call them Mother Trees. And when a Redwood tree dies, new trees grow in a circle around that tree, sometimes from seeds, often from the stumps and roots of the old trees.
When we’re not out exploring, our days off are filled with laundry, food shopping, TV time, neighborhood walks, beach romps, and dog park ball playing. That is, until Tillie tore a big chunk of a back toenail off at the end of July. She was on restricted activity for three weeks, with just walks around the neighborhood with a baby sock protecting her bandage.
She was more than willing to let us change her dressing daily, and she now lets us Dremel her nails every few days to avoid another incident. And now that she is all healed and back to full on fun, we are back to the beaches and dog parks at least every other day.
Meanwhile, my body has gotten bigger and softer since we got here, and I hadn’t been on my bike since the end of May. The neighborhood just felt too small, and too hilly to enjoy a lazy ride. And so I stopped.
A few weeks ago I noticed that my ankles were popping, my upper arms seemed even weaker than usual, and it was becoming an effort to walk up the RV steps. So I made a commitment to myself to get back on my bike. Not for a required amount of time or distance, but to simply get back in the saddle.
That first day I rode two times around the circle, with one hard climb up to the office. The second day I did the same, but without the hard hill. On day three, I turned my bike pedometer on because I was curious how many times around the circle made a mile. Three. Most days since then, I’ve ridden at least three circles around. Sometimes several times. Most days I even remember to turn on my bike pedometer, because I like to see my commitment, like proof.
Riding takes me deep into my head thoughts, and also completely out of them. I can rerun an uncomfortable conversation, or focus on the burn in my thighs as I climb up the hill. But lately, I’ve been able to let it all go, and just feel the rush of the air as I cruise down the hills, and lean into the turns to do it all over again.
I ride the same loop every time: out our driveway and onto the street to the left, toward the maintenance yard. I say good morning to the workers as I peddle up the slight incline and curve to the left at the water tower. On the straightaway I shift gears to pick up some speed in preparation for the hill up to the auxiliary parking lot. I gear down as I climb to the top and then turn around.
The first few times I noticed that I was always turning to the left at the top of the hill for the turnaround, that I felt less steady and sure when I turned a tight right. So I’ve been practicing turning right each time, and now, it’s as comfortable as turning left.
I fly down the hill, turn left back onto the main road, and then left again, up the hill to the employee parking lot next to the office. Sometimes I stand and peddle because it feels so good. And then I coast down the hill and turn left, circling into the maintenance yard again. I ride past the workers and peddle hard on the straightaway past our campsite as I enter the blind curve, listening for any trucks that might be coming down.
When we first got here, I avoided this stretch of the circle because the road past our campsite narrows to barely wide enough for one car, you can’t see around the corner, and sometimes the workers drive through kind of fast. And, after the turn, it’s a slow but steady uphill climb to the road where the office is.
But I got tired of only doing half the circle, so I tried it. Each time I approached the curve, I’d squeeze the brakes in anticipation of the slight bump in the road around the corner. And then I’d have to work pretty hard to get up the hill.
I noticed that my body clenched before the bump, so I reminded myself to drop my weight low into my seat and relax my arms to absorb the impact. After I got used to the bump, I tried slowing down as I approached the curve, but without using my brakes, and I began to trust myself and my riding skills. Now I fly around the corner at 15 mph, lean into the bump, and easily gear down to peddle up to the top of the hill. And it feels so good.
The metaphors are not lost on me. So I’ve been noticing where else in my life I’ve been avoiding blind curves and bumps in the road, and how I can tenderly and lovingly move toward them and through them. And it seems like the right time, with the Jewish New Year beginning next week.
There is a Jewish community in Caspar, just four miles north of us. For the first time since we’ve been on the road, I will participate in the Tashlich ritual, at the beach, owning my less than loving behaviors, forgiving myself and others, and letting it all go.
The following Sunday we are going to a special meditation related to Shmita, the every seventh year practice of letting the land rest. I’ve never heard of the practice, but being outside on someone’s land, chanting and meditating, sounds like a beautiful way to let go of the old, and and open up to the sweetness of the new year.
Never Say Never
It’s been four weeks since Marika’s hip replacement surgery, All went very well, and, according to her surgeon, she is healing ahead of schedule. She gave up her walker and is now sporting a cane. She’s driving and running errands, and even went to a friend’s house for some backyard birding.
I did a great job as her care helper. She got her meds on time, had clean laundry, dishes, groceries, had her potty moved and emptied every day, and I even found ways to make getting her TED hose stockings on more fun.
I felt like I was channeling my father, the efficient caretaker, while trying to infuse some of my mother’s compassion in the mix. Still, Marika will tell you I was too controlling, and she couldn’t wait to be independent.
So while she was recovering, I continued to get things ready for the house sale and getting back on the road. I’d gone through all of the “things” in the house, and was starting to look at storage spaces for our boxes of stuff and the few small pieces of furniture I wanted to keep. I had a cash buyer willing to pay my price, and a list of five estate companies that I was ready to interview about the bulk of the furniture. Everything was lined up for us sell the house and pull out of town at the end of April.
And maybe it was because everything was falling so easily into place, that I was able to see another option. Marika had been saying, all along, that she loves being in the house, and suggested I hold onto it so we could come back every year.
But I had always, adamantly, said I didn’t want to keep the house, that I didn’t want to live in Phoenix, that I hate the heat, and have no attachment to the actual house. But in the middle of March, a week or two after Marika’s hip surgery, something shifted.
Maybe it was how often we were both saying, over and over again, how grateful we were to have the house for her to recover in. Marika had her own bedroom, with a bed she could easily get in and out of, the halls were wide enough for her walker, and she had a huge shower with room for a shower bench so that she could easily bathe herself. We had a washer and dryer, a second freezer, long, carpeted hallways for indoor ball playing, and a huge, enclosed yard that Tillie loves. The house may be outdated, but it’s fully functional, paid off, and in very good condition.
And suddenly, I realized that keeping the house didn’t mean we had to live in it all year. We could still travel and volunteer, and come back to the house in the winter, when the weather is practically the best in the country, where we have friends and community. Heck, we can even volunteer and take classes, like other snowbirds who only live here part of the year. And we can still travel in the winter if we want to, using the house as a hub.
Living in this north central neighborhood is very different than living in busy, bustling Central Phoenix. I rarely have to wait to make a left turn onto the main street, four supermarkets are within a mile, many favorite restaurants are within twenty minutes, and we’re only a couple of miles from both major freeways.
And house values in Phoenix are only going up, so it seems like a good financial decision too. The gardener will continue to mow the lawns and keep the property looking good, the neighbor will check the mailbox for stray mail, and a friend will drop by to check on things while we’re gone.
I couldn’t believe it took me so long to figure it out. Maybe I had to grieve the relationship I had with the house, and the things in it, and find ways to make it my own. Maybe I needed to see the value of the choice. I know both of my parents would be tickled, knowing we’ve decided to keep it.
And so, instead of packing up my mother’s fine china that she bought at Fortunoff’s on Long Island, we took them out for our Passover Seder. It was just the two of us, but it was very special, telling family stories and the Passover story, with fun pandemic humor, and the old red Haggadahs, me reading the Hebrew, Marika reading the English, and me, drinking way more Manishchewitz wine than usual, because I wasn’t driving home.
And the meal was delicious. We ordered some brisket from Chompies, which was OK, but I must say, I have mastered my mother’s crispy, almost burnt on the outside, creamy on the inside roasted potatoes. And I made carrot tzimmis for the first time, and there were string beans, too. All so so good. Next year, I hope there will be many more people around the table.
When I first decided to keep the house, I considered how to not make it look vacant. I offered a friend the use of the garage for a new studio space while we were gone. I even offered him indoor space, if he wasn’t doing his dusty gourd carving. He considered it, but declined.
And then I realized that I could set up a studio space for myself! The idea gave me all kinds of giddy goosebumps. Years ago I had imagined turning the master bedroom into a studio, because it’s a 20 x20 room with huge closet storage space. But when I stood in the room and began to visualize things, the room felt stagnant, and had terrible light.
Marika encouraged me to consider the family room, which is next to the kitchen. The room is cozy, with a wall of west-facing windows, wood paneling, and a linoleum floor. I spent hours sketching where I’d put my tables and shelves and work spaces when we returned in the winter. And then my friend Judy said, “Let’s do it now.”
She helped me move everything that had been stored in the family room into the master bedroom, and then we moved tables and shelves into the family room, which is now, officially, my studio.
I kept very few books, supplies, pieces of art when we sold Marika’s house and moved into the RV full-time in 2016. Most of what I kept, I haven’t seen since 2012. It has been AH-MAZING to touch and connect with the precious pieces I chose to keep. Each with a special story, most that I made. They are truly reminding me of my authentic self. And yes, that fabulous yellow furniture was my teen bedroom set.
For my birthday this year, Judy asked me what I wanted to do. Now that we’re keeping the house, I can begin collecting boxes, objects, future parts of art pieces – one of my very favorite things to do.
So on my birthday we picked up my very fancy, very delicious Princess Torte, and then spent the morning at thrift stores, looking, touching, having a funderful time. And it felt so amazingly wonderful to know that I could buy anything I saw, because I have the space to begin collecting again. And I am even more excited because now I can go thrifting on the road, too, and bring things back to the studio.
While I’ve been unpacking and organizing the new space, I’ve also been idea-ing about a piece I want to make using my father’s handkerchiefs and pants hangers. It has been so fun to gather materials from my stashes, sketch possible compositions, scribble story notes, and get lost in the process of creating. And I have no deadline or need to finish before we leave town later this month, because I know I will be back.
We’ll be closing up the house and getting the RV out of storage later this month, then spending two nights at our local RV park, so we can clean the RV, prep, and pack for the road.
We were originally heading to Brookings, Oregon, on the coast just north of the California border, to volunteer with the Fish and Wildlife, educating folks about shorebirds and tide pools. It was the job we were supposed to do last summer, but it was cancelled due to Covid. Restrictions are still in place, so the job, while in a gorgeous place, would offer us limited public contact.
And after a year of mostly being with just ourselves, we both need more engagement with others. So we bowed out of the Oregon job and accepted a volunteer position with Mendocino Parks in California, working in the various state park visitors centers in the area. We’ll be camped at Russian Gulch State Park May 15 through Labor Day.
We’re both excited that we’ll be learning things, exploring a new place, and engaging with the public. Many of our California friends have promised to come visit, and we have friends that just built a cabin ten miles up the road, and they’ll be spending a good part of the summer there.
We’ll be taking our time to get from here to the coast, with a week’s stop at the Bear River Migratory Bird Refuge north of Salt Lake City, Utah. We’ll be there during spring migration, which should make Marika very happy. Then we’ll head west through Nevada, and into California.
I am excited to share the RVing life with Tillie, to take nature walks, romp on the beach, and explore together. She’s settling in so well, no longer getting into things when she’s left alone, and she comes every time I call her. She loves the daily routine of taking out the trash with me, has so much fun playing ball, and is also happy to entertain herself with her assorted squeaky toys. And just this week, I brought out Cody’s Chuck It Launcher and ball, and she loved it.
So these last few weeks we’ll be taking care of final appointments, stocking up on big city foods and supplies, and readying to return to life on the road. As always, it will be different leaving, this time especially so, knowing we have a house to come home to.
YOUR TURN
Do you recall a time when you were certain about making a choice and then changed your mind? How did you “know” you wanted to make a different choice? How did it feel? Did you have any regrets? Gratitudes?
I invite you to take out paper, pen, colors, clay, paint……and explore the questions.
Perhaps you’d even like to share in the comments.
[ssba]A Dog, a Hip, and a Bucket of Tears
It’s been a month of idling and waiting to see if Marika would be approved for a much needed hip replacement, when it might happen, and how long the recovery would be. Without any of this information, I’ve had to find ways to be OK with not doing, planning, or even knowing when we’re leaving, or where we were going.
That’s a pretty big ask for a person who loves to plan and know the future.
So, while Marika went to her medical appointments for her face and eyes, did physical therapy, changed her diet, and lost 30 pounds, I spent most of last month watching Hulu and Netflix, riding my bike, playing games online with friends, and keeping up with the laundry, dishes, vacuuming and washing the floors.
We did have fun shopping for the fabric to have the sofa and bunk cushions reupholstered in the RV. And we’ve been spending lots of play time with our new dog, Tillie.
Back in December, Marika and I started looking at online rescue sites for a dog. After several failed meetings with other dogs, we brought Tillie home on January 10. She’s about two, originally from Rocky Point, a beach town in Mexico. She was taken to a rescue there, had puppies and was then spayed, then brought up to a local rescue in Phoenix where we adopted her.
It has been sheer delight to have her puppy love energy in the house. She’s smart, quick to learn, loves car rides, and will do anything for treats and pets. And she loves all kinds of squeaky toys. She’s great at chasing a ball, and has even learned to bring it back. And when she’s done playing, she’ll sit for a minute, gnawing the ball, then run like the wind with it, around the yard, into the house, onto the sofa, out the door, back inside, and down the hall, then back out into the yard. Like I said, sheer delight.
Last weekend we picked up the RV from storage, packed up the fridge and some belongings, and took Tillie to a favorite state park campground two hours north of Phoenix for a quick camping trip. She found her spot on the sofa, and was a fine traveler.
She loved all of the smells, but is not a fan of peeing in public places. And we need to practice getting out of the RV. It only took a few times for her to learn the car routine, and now she knows to wait while she gets buckled in and out of her harness. And she knows to wait until she gets permission when the car door opens. Not so much with the RV. As soon as I started down the steps, she tried to follow. We were only there for two days, so I’m sure, with practice, she’ll learn her manners.
But it was a great getaway for me, to be in the quiet, to be able to hear the birds and the neighbors’ conversations. I was able to let go a little deeper, and it felt so good.
And then we were home, and the week was suddenly filled with my own endoscopy (routine checkup), and Marika’s pre-op appointments and getting all the supplies she will need after her hip replacement surgery this Wednesday.
Suddenly, I was emotional, tired, and crying unstoppable buckets.
I thought I had been doing a good job of feeling my feelings of grief as they came up. I’ve been though all of the drawers and closets in my parents’ house, and things are sorted and stacked for sale. I’ve been sharing stories of my mom and dad, gifted a favorite pitcher and glasses to a cousin, and finally figured out that I don’t need to keep my grandfather’s entire rolltop desk, just the drawers for future art pieces.
I even joined a friend for an intimate art making class called Holding Space for Grief Using Color. It was uncomfortable, and I wanted to quit several times, but I stayed with it and created a very beautiful book.
But this past weekend, as I was readying for an online writing class, I was filled with anxiety about what might come up, what I might write. I had been dreading the class for days, and even considered cancelling. I had steeled myself so tightly against my feelings, barely breathing into my belly, that on the morning of the class, I tweaked my back.
Of course, I didn’t see the connection right away. It’s been at least two years since I’ve had a thing with my back, so it caught me off guard. I wanted to blame it on the lumpy mattress we’ve been sleeping on. And then my dear writing teacher friend Laraine Herringreminded me that feelings are so big sometimes that they will, of course, overwhelm us and take over. But if we can name them, even if it’s just with just a color, or sound, it moves them out of our heads, so we can observe, examine, and begin a conversation with them.
The more I talked with the pain, the more obvious it became that, while my instinct was to breathe shallow so it wouldn’t hurt, what I really needed to do was breathe deeply into my belly, to give my back the full support it needed.
And as I breathed, the sharpness moved a bit and I realized I was terrified that Marika would die in surgery. Because last year, when we were having some big relationship issues, I considered leaving. But it was too hard, and so I wished for her to die, so that it would be easier.
This, in and of itself, is a shameful thing to feel, to wish someone you love dead. The thing is, a part of me believes I really have the power to make it happen. Because in my life, I have manifested so many amazing things with the powers of my thoughts. And because when I was 6, I wished for my brother Lenny to die, and he did. And so I was terrified.
As I listened to myself tell this story, I breathed deeper and slower into my belly, and my back, and then into my heart, giving me the much needed reassurance that I am safe and loved and strong, and that all will go well with Marika’s surgery.
I spent that day resting on a heating pad, crying lots of tears, releasing, recognizing, writing, and being gentle with myself and my feelings. I was able to step back into life the next day, feeling strong enough again to support Marika and the family through these next few weeks.
After the surgery, Marika will spend the night in the hospital, then come home to this perfect rehab house, with wide hallways, no loose carpets, and, yes, my parents already had the high toilet seat commode, and walker that Marika will need for her recovery.
She’ll be healing and recovering for a good six weeks, so now we have some time before I need to schedule the estate sale, sell the house, and plan our route out of town. And that feels good. I don’t need an exact date, just a pin in the calendar that says SOON. Now is for focusing on Marika’s full healing and recovery. And we even had two friends over for a Walker Decorating Party, so now Marika will be surrounded with love as she walks her way to recovery.
UPDATE: All went well with Marika’s surgery and she is moving and grooving with her walker.
[ssba]Home, Again Home
We are here in the Big City, staying at my Dad’s house in central Phoenix for the winter. It took a few weeks for me to shift from the fear that we’d never get back in the RV, to enjoying and appreciating living in a real house, with great water pressure, three bathrooms, a big kitchen with a real stove, two ovens, a microwave and, my favorite, a toaster oven, a washer and dryer, recycling, and lots of space to spread out. And even though my Dad hadn’t lived in the house for the last year, there is an ample supply of plastic wrap, toilet paper, and scent free laundry detergent to last for the duration of our time here.
When we moved into the house at the beginning of December, it was familiar, odd, uncomfortable, and homey, all at the same time. This is the house I lived in from ages fourteen to eighteen, until I left for college. Except for a few overnights, and the time last year when we moved in for a week while the RV was being repaired, I hadn’t lived in the house since. But my parents did, so I was a frequent visitor. And, Marika lived here with them for five months while her kitchen was being remodeled. So it is familiar and comfortable for her too. Still, it has been odd to be settling in, while, at the same time, I’m going through things for throwing out.
Some moments I feel like I am in a movie. I’ll be washing the dishes while listening to the oldies station on the 1970’s under-the-counter radio that has a dial and no programmable buttons, and a song from the ‘70s comes on and I flash back to me at sixteen, listening to that same song in the living room on the family stereo console.
I remember my grandmother’s greasy fingers as I peel potatoes at the same counter she did, and think of the years of potato latkes that my mom and I, and then Marika, too, fried in the extra wide fry pan on the stove. But when I lit the Chanukah candles in the family menorah for the very ever last time in this house, I was crying so much I could barely sing the prayers.
I am memorizing the random house sounds: the rattle of the pipe after you flush the middle bathroom toilet, the rumbling motor of the electric garage door coming down, the clink of the brass handles on my father’s dresser drawers.
And slowly, I am emptying shelves and boxes, readying the house for a spring sale. I’ve been taking it a room at a time, with the larger picture clear in my view. December was all about going through my Dad’s office and taking care of the executor papers, the house deed transfer, and filing his 2019 taxes. I also emptied his desk and filing cabinet drawers. He saved everything, neatly organized in folders by year and topic, many labeled in my mother’s neat handwriting.
Much of it I just tossed, but it has been fun to go through the contracts for every house I’ve lived in, and read the operating manuals for appliances from the ‘50s. I read the holiday newsletters that the family co-wrote every year, all of the saved birthday cards, father’s day, mother’s day and anniversary cards. I touched every paper in the green metal strong box: my father’s parents’ birth, death and marriage certificates, my mother’s passport photos, and the note I wrote my father after his mother died, telling him he was a good son.
Some of it makes me smile, feeling the connection to what was important to my father. Sometimes I cry from a sharp memory, and the realization that, despite his later years of stubborn crankiness, my father was quite a great guy. But when I lit the Chanukah candles in the family menorah for the very ever last time in this house, I was crying so much I could barely sing the prayers.
I had a rare, two-day meltdown when the bathroom leak we thought we had fixed happened again. But I cried and slept, stayed in my pajamas, and ate all kinds of comforting carbs. Marika took tender care of me, and we got it repaired. And last week we put a brand new ac/heat unit in so that we can have heat in the house.
This month is all about clearing out my mom’s office. It is pretty much as she left it when she passed ten years ago, though I did go through her files and photos and papers back then. I still need to find a place to donate her various aids for the visually impaired, including a magnification screen that enabled her to write checks and read the mail.
The majority of the room is taken up by the twenty boxes I left here in 2012 when I thought I was moving to the Central California coast. I’ll be going through every box, choosing, once again, what to keep and what to let go of. I’m excited to see what things I chose to save back then, that I may have forgotten.
While I’ve been sorting through house things, Marika has been taking care of all kinds of medical things. She is benefiting from physical therapy sessions for her hip twice a week, had a MOHS procedure to remove a cancerous patch on her cheek, and had a laser procedure to remove the scar tissue created by her cataract surgery a few years ago. And she’s lost fifteen pounds on a new diet.
I’ve been riding my bike every day, though I often have to wait for the temperature to go up, and the air quality numbers to come down. Sometimes I ride on the quiet neighborhood streets, more often in the nearby school parking lot where I can let my mind and imagination wander.
One morning I was thinking how stuck I felt in the city, with no end in sight for leaving. And I noticed that, as I rode, I kept my eyes looking ten to fifteen feet ahead. Even though I was so familiar with the circular route around the lot, knew where the bumps and undulations were, I watched for hazards, as if it were my first time.
I challenged myself to just watch the road a foot ahead of my front tire. But I kept looking further, not trusting what I knew. After three circles around the lot, I was able to keep my eyes on the road just in front of me, trusting I’d know when to turn, where the speed bumps were.
It helped me come back to embracing being here, now, living in the house, and trusting that this, like everything, is temporary. And I realized that this is how we usually do things – staying in a place for three to five months. Yes, this is different because we’re in a house, and we’re not volunteering, but, really, it’s just another adventure on the road.
I also know that I need to have something to look forward to, to really know that we won’t be here forever. And so I made a call to a second possible camp hosting job on the Oregon Coast for the summer, just in case our preferred job doesn’t happen again because of COVID. And we’ve picked out new fabric to reupholster the RV sofa and dinette cushions. We’re also looking for someone to paint the dark interior cabinets a lighter color. It’ll be like a brand new RV when we move back in this spring.
These are the practices that work for me, that give me the ability to remain present to the work at hand, and still have my eyes on a down-the-road prize. Mix in some delicious meals, laughs with friends, and so much gratitude, and you really can call it home, again.
[ssba]Hold On, Let Go, Lean In
We left the Oregon coast mid-October, just as the evenings were getting colder, with days of rain in the forecast. We took our time, mostly sticking to our 2-2-2 rule: drive no more than 2 hours each, arrive by 2 in the afternoon, and stay 2 nights. This way, we don’t get tired and cranky on the road, and it gives us time to move our bodies, and explore the area if we want to.
We stayed the first two nights in Medford, where we ran Big City errands, visited an art coop, and ate Thai food in a park. On the third day, we had reservations two hundred miles south for three nights at a casino RV Park so that Marika could bird at the nearby Sacramento Wildlife Refuge. After a summer of few bird sightings, she was delighted to see shorebirds and pelicans, a variety of ducks and hundreds of white geese.
But on the second day, the weather reports warned of big winds, which could heighten the fires that were burning on both sides of I-5 that we would be traveling. So we left a day early and paid for an extra night at our next stop near Stockton.
We drove around the back roads of the town, trying to find the big ships at the Navy Pier. We ate gyros from a food truck, checked out several farm stands, and visited a Cambodian Buddhist Temple with giant colorful statues depicting the story of Buddha’s Enlightenment.
And then big winds were in the forecast, and again, we left after just two nights and added one more night at the next stop in Bakersfield, at a man-made lake in the middle of desert and agriculture. It was a lovely, quiet spot, with a bike path and lots of families enjoying the water, but I’d never go there in the summer, when it’s probably mobbed with locals escaping the sizzling heat.
We overnighted in Banning, then spent our last night on the road at a favorite county park on the border of California and Arizona, along the Colorado River. I reveled in the water, and the grass, and the trees, and the last bit of solitude before we pulled into our usual RV park in Phoenix on the last Sunday in October.
We will be here in the Big City for the winter. We cancelled our volunteer gig at Dead Horse State Park in Cottonwood so that we could take care of my dad’s stuff, and get the house ready to sell, without time pressures.
My father was a meticulous paperwork person, and every year of papers is in its own hand-labeled banker box, dated with big magic marker numbers, all the way back to 2010, the year my mom died. For the past few years he’d been sending me emails with the subject For Your Executor folder, so I had a good idea of things. And on his last brief visit to the house two weeks before he died, he left me a new red folder on the coffee table labeled Sol’s Death Instructions.
Still, it took many deep breaths to make the phone calls to the funeral home, the insurance companies, the banks. Surprisingly, my very estranged brother even offered to help.
While we were still in Oregon, I arranged for a lovely ZOOM gathering at the burial, and friends and relatives from all over joined in to share stories of my Dad. He would have loved that we were all together, and it was free.
And then I gave myself time before taking on any of the other Executor duties until we got to Phoenix. I kept reminding myself that there was no expectation for me to hurry up and get everything done. I was sitting shiva, the Jewish custom of seven days of grieving.
And I gave myself permission to enjoy our last two weeks at the Snug, riding my bike every morning, sometimes crying, sometimes remembering, sometimes visualizing how it would be when we got back to Phoenix. But every time I got overwhelmed, I let it go, and focused on the peace and simplicity of life in the moment.
A few days before we left, we spread Cody’s ashes along the grass at the marina. Marika spread some of her mom’s ashes, too, because she would have liked the view.
And then we finally joined the migrating birds and headed south. We took our time, enjoying the slow change from ocean to forest, mountains to valleys, from Oregon, through California and finally, into Arizona.
I worried about how I would feel when we went to my dad’s house. Would I be overcome with a wave of sadness? Would I feel nothing? I told myself it would probably be something between those two extremes, that I will feel what I feel, and I just needed to focus on staying centered. Centered between extremes, and centered in myself. Grounded, stable, flexible, able to feel, and still move forward.
My dad had been living at his girlfriend Carolyn’s house in Sun City West for the past five years. They used to spend a few weeks every few months at my dad’s house, but in this past year, he’d only been there for a few days. And so when we went to the house that first Monday, his energy really wasn’t there. And it felt much like all the other times we’d stop at the house when he was in Sun City. There were dishes with leftovers in the refrigerator, tax papers piled on the dining room table, and a handwritten pencil note reminding me that the dishes in the dishwasher were dirty. So it felt like he was still alive, just at Carolyn’s.
Until I went into his room and saw his orange Samsonite suitcase, and the three banker boxes of pills and papers, the Las Vegas carry on bag filled with One Touch strips, and a laundry basket filled with his shoes – all the things that my brother had brought over from Carolyn’s house a week after he died.
I still haven’t gone through all of his things, but I have opened every dresser drawer, remembering how it was my job to put his fresh from the Chinese laundry, white, no starch, shirts, wrapped in brown paper and tied with a string, in his middle, shirt drawer. I’ve looked through his desk drawers and filing cabinets, and the green metal box where he kept labeled envelopes with the birth and death certificates of his parents, my brother and mother.
With all of the emotions, the executor stuff, and getting the house ready, it could all be overwhelming. But I’m able to separate each big job into its own pile, then break down the individual tasks that each involves. For example, executor things are separate from house things. And readying the house for us to temporarily live in, is different than getting it ready to sell. The piles help me take care of big things in small steps. And as I get more information about things, I know what “pile” to put it in.
And when I do get overwhelmed, I cry, I step back, and I lean into the support of Marika and my friends, and my family, until I’m ready to dive back in.
And so far it’s been OK. All of the financial and beneficiary changes are in process, and the a/c thermostat and plumbing leaks have been fixed at the house so we can move in on December 1st. We have spoken with a realtor as well as a cash-offer company, to get an idea of our options. And I keep reminding both of us that we don’t have to make any decisions right now.
In addition to all of the house things, Marika has severe osteoarthritis, and is on the path to a hip replacement in February. Staying in the house will give us a big, open, easy place to spend the winter, rent free, with no steps. And for the first time in five years, we can buy the family size of chicken breasts, and still have room in the freezer for ice cream. We’ll park the RV in the driveway, and I’m sure we’ll be taking some camping trips while we’re here.
Besides seeing doctors and dentists, food shopping and picking up take out, we have been limiting our contact with the world. We did get together with some dear friends, maintaining safe distance and practices the entire time.
The one constant through all of this is my morning bike ride. Every place we camped, I found a place to pedal. There was a multi-use trail along Bear Creek in Medford, a bike path along the edges of the park in Bakersfield, and where there wasn’t a designated place, I rode around the park and parking lots.
I even experienced a bucket list item – riding my bike on a golf course. It was glorious to pedal on the paved, rolling hills, with moist grass on one side and tall dry grasses on the other, watching the sun set.
Now here in Phoenix, the roads through the RV park are rough with a lot of tall speed bumps, which does not make for a fun ride. After a few days I ventured to the next door apartments parking lot, and then further, to the church parking lot down and across the street.
And it is divine. I ride along the sidewalk to get there, just down the block and a little ways down to 27th Avenue, around the corner and into the lot. And then I’m home free, peddling up and down the lanes, across the lines, around the light poles, circling and figure eighting my worries away.
Sometimes I cut my wheel across the lines in sharp angles, which makes me think of my dad, which makes me cry. Sometimes I visualize the yard sale we’ll have, or work out the details of the new Heart Sparks chakra group I’m creating. Sometimes I just listen to the wild screams of the kids in the playground next door, and think, how wonderful that they have the freedom to let it all out.
And so I take my cues from them. I make a few calls, sort through a few boxes, and add more to do’s to the house readying list. And when it gets too big and too much, I cry and let it all out. And then I’m ready to go again.
This is how you move through any kind of change. You hold on, and let go, and scream and cry when you need too. Then you look around you and lean in, and you see, you’re really doing just fine.
[ssba]Where Parallel Lines Intersect
My father passed away this week at the age of 90. I imagine him swirling in happiness in a sea of numbers and equations, on the plane where parallel lines finally intersect.
The Practice of Here and There
It’s that time again, when we are leaving one place and heading to another. We’ve been here in the safe, quiet, perfect temperatures of the central Oregon Coast since mid May, before the official summer season began. Besides losing Cody, it’s been a bit of a dream come true time for me.
There’s no sales tax, I get fresh, wild, smoked salmon at the fish market across the street, we buy bread and produce at the weekly farmers market, and there’s a dispensary on every corner. And there are three quiet walking beaches, all within five miles of home.
I’m riding my bike every day around the marina, sometimes singing as I pedal, sometimes talking out loud as I prepare for the week’s Heart Sparks coaching circle. Yes, three women said YES to the circle, and it’s been expansive and inspiring for all of us.
I’ve sold all of the remaining Make Your Own Prayer Flags, and the last of the first edition copies of my Heart Sparks book. And I’ve sold even more decks of Heart Sparks cards though my Etsy shop. I’m writing a bit most days, and started sharing my stories onmedium, and I’ve even taken out my crayons a few times.
I fixed a flat tire on my bike, twice, all by myself, and Bill helped me adjust my seat and handlebars for the now perfect fit. My skin and bones love this moist climate, and my whole being thrives being surrounded by a big sky and so much water.
Marika and I are communicating in new, healthy ways, and singing and laughing more. We go on an outing at least once a week, and we have finally found a TV show that we both enjoy. (Last Tango In Halifax, on Netflix.)
And our dear friend Judy came to visit for two weeks. We took her for very windy jetty walks, and to our secret beach, and we explored the gardens at Shore Acres on one of the few warm and sunny days. We checked out all of the thrift stores in town, and she found the vintage folding TV trays that I’ve been looking for, so that guests can sit on the sofa and eat instead of us all being crammed around the dinette table.
On the mornings when I had my Heart Sparks circle, Marika and Judy picked up donuts and coffee and went to the beach. And on the day Marika wanted some home time, Judy and I went on a hike at the Slough, found a few geo-caches, and stopped inside a local distillery, but did not have a taste.
We drove to Bandon twice, once to check out Washed Ashore and the Marine Yard Sale, where neighbor Bill was selling a variety of boat related items, and again, to visit the local artist coop galleries. We ate pizza and ice cream, and drove out to the Coquille Lighthouse where we watched two young women choose the perfect piece of driftwood for a macramé project. And all three of us downloaded the SEEK app, so we could identify all of the plants and trees and anemones we found.
I told Judy the story of when we first came to Oregon in 1998 with the other RV for our first four week adventure, and we took a tour of the Coquille lighthouse. We both loved the idea of someday being that retired couple, giving tours. When we shared that with the couple, they said the next couple had to cancel, so there was an opening for the month if we wanted it. We actually considered it, but agreed we’d rather spend our month traveling, but that it was definitely something we wanted to do in the future.
And we did. It was our very first volunteering job in October 2016.
And on that same trip in 1998, we came to Charleston, where we are now, for a birding festival. We stayed at the RV Park near the marina and I rode my bike all around town while Marika went on birding field trips. I remember thinking, “Wow, you can stay here for a whole month for only $350.00. I want to do that someday.” And we did, for the entire month of September, 2016, on our way south to that lighthouse job.
We ate fresh crab and local smoked salmon. I bought my kayak and paddled in several nearby lakes. We enjoyed the variety of ethnic foods in nearby Coos Bay. And I loved the town even more.
Which is why I was so happy to return here again this summer, and even happier to find this RV park tucked behind the shops on the main drag, looking out over the ever changing tides of the South Slough.
We’ve made friends with our neighbor Bill, and Ruthie, the woman who cuts our hair at Beauty and the Beach. We know the back roads, the cheapest gas, and the best vistas for take out food eating. And we both agree that the best fish and chips is at The Portside Cafe, with huge portions of delicious panko-breaded fish, a tropical Cole slaw, crunchy-coated fries, and only $11.00, or $14.00 if you add a cup of chowder.
It’s been the perfect safe haven for us during the pandemic. It’s off the beaten track, so we had fewer summer tourists than other places on the coast. And now, with the fires burning all over Oregon and the west coast, we are blessed to be surrounded by water, and to have the fog that acts as a filter for the smoke.
I know I will be sad to leave. But I remind myself that we will be back on the coast in eight months, either here, or at our interpretive volunteer gig further south on the ocean.
For now, the practice is to continue to embrace being here. AND to keep an eye forward on the best plan for leaving.
We were scheduled to leave next Thursday, driving north to Newport for four days, then going inland for a few days in Eugene before heading south to the Klamath Falls area for two weeks of some migratory birding. But with all of the fires and smoke between here and there, we have decided to wait and see.
We’re still going up to Newport next week to visit with our next year’s supervisor who rehabs wild parrots. But, if the air in the rest of the state is like it is now, we’ll head back here to our safe Snug Harbor, pay for the month, and watch and wait and leave when it’s clear. We’re looking at alternate routes and timetables to get us back to Phoenix by November 1st, where we’ll stay for the month, to vote, visit my Dad, and take care of medical things. Then we’ll be camp hosting at Dead Horse State Park in Cottonwood, two hours north of Phoenix, for the winter.
Meanwhile, the summer tourists here are gone, the commercial crabbing season is on hold while the crabs molt, and “free range” albacore is now being sold off the commercial boats at the marina. Weekdays, there are only a few boat trailers in the marina parking lot, but salmon season is coming soon, and weekends are still busy.
This weekend is Rosh Hashana, the Jewish New Year. It’s a time for forgiveness and compassion, for ourselves and others. It’s a time of endings and beginnings, of moving forward with clarity and sweetness, for ourselves, for our beloveds, for our communities.
There are so many people struggling and suffering, especially these last months, that sometimes I think I should feel guilty for living this amazing life. But then I remind myself that my freedom and love amplifies and raises the vibrations around me, and extends the love bigger out into the world. Every time I say good morning to a person on my ride. Every time I smile behind my mask at the supermarket. Every time I say thank you for all that is.
[ssba]