River, Rocks, Repairs
Can you believe it’s already August? We’ve been here on the central Oregon coast since mid-May, our longest time in one place without volunteering. When I see the summer temperatures around the country, I can’t imagine being anywhere but here, where it averages 60° every day. Sometimes it’s sunny, sometimes foggy, sometimes gray and overcast. They are all my favorites.
We are adjusting to life without Cody. It’s the first time in our thirty one years together that we don’t have a dog. And now it’s just us. I realize how much time and energy and attention went to his care, and how I relied on him for my own regular moving and walking. Sure, now we can go away all day, with no time restraints, but we haven’t done that yet.
But it was a blessing that he did not have to endure the week we spent living in an RV repair shop parking lot last month. We drove 140 miles inland to Grants Pass to a highly recommended company for help with our suspension. Because we were parked and living in the parking lot, we had to be out of the RV by 8 am, and most days we couldn’t return until 5 pm.
So every morning we drove to one of the city parks along the Rogue River where I rode my bike and Marika walked by the water. By noon, it was already in the 90’s and too warm to be outside. All of the museums were closed, so we’d pick up lunch and spend the afternoon in the clean, empty, but sterile waiting room.
One day we did laundry and went food shopping, one day we checked out the thrift stores in town. We visited a glass blowing studio, spent a morning at the Pacifica Forest Farm and Nature Center, and had delicious hand pies at the farmer’s market. The hand pies were so good that we drove out to their farm on Monday morning to buy more.
Because all of our parts didn’t arrive, we had to stay the weekend, so the owners gave us gift cards to Olive Garden, and a local ice cream place that was delicious. As cranky as I could have been about the delays, I was grateful for their generosity, and that we had a free place to park with electricity and water, a dump a block away, fast wifi, places to be in nature every day, and everything we needed was within two miles.
We finally drove back to the coast with new shocks, a Super Spring suspension system to raise up the back of the RV, and an upgrade to the steering. And we bought two more new tires for the front, for a total of six since May. The ride home was smooth and quiet and stable. Now we just need a front end alignment and an oil change this week, and we’ll be ready to hit the road.
Except there’s no better place to be right now. We are loving the quiet community of Charleston, with fresh fish and crab, and a new fish and chips place to try every week. The weather is always perfect, even when it’s foggy or cloudy. I sleep well with the windows open, and I am comfortable wearing shorts and a long sleeved t-shirt to protect my arms from the sun.
I’m still riding my bike every morning around the marina, and most days I meet Marika on the jetty and we walk together to our private beach on the bay. She checks out the scoters, common murre, and an occasional brown pelican with her binoculars, and I watch the slow ripples of water trying to be waves. On low tide mornings we walk along the rocks and look for anemones, crabs, and sea stars in the crevices.
Sometimes we’ll drive into town in the afternoon to check out the thrift stores, or try some new take out. Last week we took a private tour of the Marshfield Printing Museum and learned about the local paper that was completely run by one man for more than fifty years. Some afternoons we drive to the beach. But most days we just hang out at home, not doing much of anything. We really miss volunteering, having a work schedule, learning stuff, and sharing with others.
Last Monday, Marika took herself birding so that I could work on a new vision board. I’ve made several in the last fifteen years, and everything on them has manifested. So I thought it’d be a great way to spark some new energy and passion.
I found a few magazines in the laundromat, turned on some baroque music, which is said to inspire creativity, and had a fun time tearing colorful images from the pages. But I ran out of magazines. And in these pandemic times, it’s been hard to find more. So yesterday, I got on my bike and went for a Vision Ride. I pedaled out to the marina parking lot and asked, “How can I be more active?”
These past few weeks I’d been thinking about how everything, including my work, is quite passive right now. I’m not walking much. I’m watching a lot of TV. And, if people are buying my book, or Prayer Flags, or Heart Sparks cards, it is not from any effort on my part. It’s like that’s my old work, been there, done that, so now what?
As I pedaled up and down the parking lot, trying to open up to new ideas, I thought about an email that a coaching client had sent me a few weeks ago about a good friend of hers. The friend had been struggling over the past year with her job, the end of a long term relationship, and generally trying to figure out what her next steps were.
At some point my client told her about me, our coaching, and my book, and the friend said she ordered the book, took copious notes, and it has been one of the best tools she has found. She said she liked it better than Martha Beck’s Finding Your Own North Star. The friend recently left her unsatisfying job and enjoyed a mini vacation before beginning her new one. My client said she sounded lighter than she has in months, and that I played a large part in that.
And I realized that I don’t need to create something new. This is my work. And this is what I love. So how can I actively share this work?
And then I had a clear vision of an intimate virtual group gathering, and we were using Heart Sparks cards as prompts for free writing, and then sharing. It felt warm and powerful, like magic.
When I got home, I found a webpage I’d created a while back that just needed a few changes to make it current. I looked at my calendar to see how seven weeks could spread across the rest of our time here. And I put out the invitation.
Suddenly I am excited about something. I can feel the sparks of possibility, imagining a woman reading about the Heart Sparks Circle and saying, “Hmmm, yes… that sounds like exactly what I am needing right now.”
I know it’s what I need right now.
So if you are feeling stuck, or unmotivated, even if you’re not sure where the resistance is, the Heart Sparks Virtual Coaching Circle can support you as you explore and claim and manifest something that sparks your own heart. Details are here. And if you’re not sure, or just want to chat, I’d love to connect.
[ssba]Riding the Joy and the Grief
Before we even got to the coast, I was thinking about getting a bicycle so that I could ride around the area right from our spot. Marika and I used to be avid cyclers, sometimes riding fifty miles in a weekend. But my twenty year old bike had seen its best days, so I left it with the rangers at Fort Pulaksi two years ago.
The only bicycle store in town sells mostly high end bikes, and, because of the virus, Walmart had limited stock. I looked on Craigslist with no luck, but kept envisioning an inexpensive fun bike to ride. And then I found a community bike shop in town listed on Facebook, where folks could share tools and work on their bikes. They also sold refurbished bikes, and they had a yellow Spalding mountain bike that fit my five foot, three inch frame.
It’s not a fancy bike, but it’s got fifteen indexed gears, a kickstand, and water bottle cage, and it fit me like a glove. I paid seventy dollars, put it in the back of the car, came home, and took it for a ride.
I rode out of the RV park, crossed Cape Arago Highway at the crosswalk, and rode the half-mile to the marina. I pedaled past the boat charter companies, and the fish processing plant, then out to the jetty at the end of the road, before heading home. It was glorious. Just like riding a bike.
The next morning, the back tire was flat, and I noticed that both tires were cracked. I felt some shame for not having looked at them before I bought the bike. I also understood it was a refurbished bike, but shouldn’t it have safe tires? I checked the price of two new tires, and realized I could get a new bike with new everything from Fred Meyer for about the same price.
So I drove into town and bought a purple bike at Fred Meyer, with the intention to returning the yellow bike to the community shop the next day. I got home, took it for a ride, and my whole body hurt. The next morning I measured the distances between the seat and the handlebars and the pedals on the perfectly fitting yellow bike, so that I could make the adjustments to the purple bike. But the numbers were the same. There were no adjustments to make.
I returned the purple bike and took the yellow bike back to the shop for two newer but not new tires. The guy also tuned up the gears and the brakes. I gave him an extra five dollars and I was happy.
In the past, my riding was all about building stamina, adding distance, getting in shape. This time it is all about freedom and exploring, and getting out of the RV. I have an app that tracks my miles, and another that even adds photos to the route.
I ride every morning, across the crosswalk, down Boat Basin Road, past Crabby Cakes Bakery and Beauty By the Sea. Sometimes I turn down Metcalf Drive, past the fish company office, the stacks of crab rings, an AirB&B and the Dockside Cafe. Sometimes I stay on Boat Basin and turn right at Captain John’s Motel, following the Scenic Tour Route signs to the marina.
Both routes take me past the Charleston Marina RV Park where we stayed for a whole month, three years ago, and the small tidal basin where we used to take the dogs for walks. The road continues past the Coast Guard housing and dock, to the commercial fishing boat marina where you can buy live crab, rockfish, and tuna right off the boats.
I ride past the bright orange Basin Tackle shop, the public boat ramp, and the public fishing station that is wrapped closed with yellow caution tape due to the virus. I pass the Lost At Sea Memorial Park, then follow along the edge of grass and Monterey pines, stopping at the corner picnic table where Cody and I sometimes sit and watch the boats in the marina.
One morning, there were big puddles in the parking lot from the previous night’s rain. I remembered how I used to love riding my bike in puddles, feet up and off the pedals, flying through, the water making one of my very favorite sounds.
But I told myself, no, you don’t have a fender, so your pants will get all wet. And I rode past. And then I thought, So what! And I turned around and headed toward the water. I hesitated slightly, and stayed on the outer edge as I pedaled. I barely got a woosh.
I circled back and tried again, this time, aiming for the very center of the puddle, the deepest part. The swoosh was full and long and delightful. But I forgot to pick my feet up, so my boots got splashed. But they’re waterproof, so who cares.
I turned around to ride through again. And then again. After five or six times, each one faster than the last, I was full up and happy. Yes my boots were wet and my pants had a line of muddy water up the butt, but I didn’t care. I rode through every puddle on my way home.
The morning that it was drizzly, I put on my rain jacket and rain pants and headed out, not even minding the water spots on my glasses. One afternoon, I was feeling lazy, but I heard my body say “Please!” And so I got on my bike for a second time and headed to the marina. And, of course, it felt so good.
Sometimes I’d go for a ride so I could cry about Cody. Without his regular acupuncture treatments, he was having trouble getting himself up and walking with stability, and he was mostly incontinent. Marika spread pee pads in his bed at night, and washed the area rugs every few days. By the fifth week without treatment, he was dragging his back legs in the morning, and she was talking about putting him down.
Instead, since we still couldn’t go in with him for acupuncture, I called a different vet in town who offered cold laser therapy, and they said we could go in with Cody for the treatments. He’d had good success with laser in the past, and it was better than no treatment. We signed up for six sessions, Monday, Wednesday and Friday, for two weeks.
I saw small improvements with each treatment. He was walking further, enjoying sitting in front of the screen door to watch the squirrels, and he was still coming over to me at my desk for neck massages. But Marika said he was suffering and, after the third treatment, she said enough, she wasn’t going to do it anymore. So I took him for his fourth treatment on Monday by myself.
A dear friend reminded me that we see what we’re used to seeing. Marika, with her twelve years of hospice nursing, saw how much Cody struggled, and how uncomfortable he was. I, the forever optimist, saw small improvements, and how much he enjoyed his walks in the grass at the marina, and smelling everything. And, even when he was panting, I saw him smiling.
But after that fourth treatment I could see that even small improvements weren’t going to make enough of a difference. He had a degenerative disk disease, and it was only going to get harder for him. And it was obvious that he was in pain. He flinched when I touched his back, so he no longer enjoyed being brushed, or even petted by people, one of his very favorite things.
I told Marika I agreed with her, and she made the calls. The vet came last Tuesday to put him down.
After he died, it was so wonderful to hug on him like I haven’t been able to for months, wrapping my arms around his very soft coat, rubbing him up and down, feeling all the feels. I stayed in the bedroom while Marika helped the transport man put Cody’s body in the van. Marika picked up his ashes yesterday.
We had an amazing five years together, spending almost all day, every day together. We traveled across the country twice, in two different motorhomes. He visited thirty states, and ran in both the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans. He lived at the beach, in the mountains, in the forest, and along rivers and lakes. His favorite things were running after a ball, meeting strangers to get pets, joining Marika in the kitchen for late night snacks, neck and chin rubs, (he’d touch you with his front paw if you stopped too soon), and sitting in front of the screen door, watching the world go by.
He was alert and engaged, with a healthy heart, and normal bloodwork. Even on his last day, after our walk at the marina, we gave him four valium, and he was still alert enough to sit up and bark when the vet arrived. It took two injections of the vet’s sedative to knock him out for the final injection, which he also needed a second dose of, for his heart to finally stop. His front half wanted to go and do and explore, but his back half just couldn’t keep up. He died eight days shy of his thirteenth birthday. Now, he is free, and he is running, running, running.
And every morning, I am riding. It gives me a new routine, it gets me outside, and it helps move the grief through my body.
Sometimes I ride directly to the marina. Sometimes I take the back roads, so I can check on the progress of the ice house being built at the end of the commercial pier. Sometimes I stop to watch people crabbing off the docks, putting their boats in the water, or fishing off the pier.
Lately, I’ve been spending a lot of time riding around the boat trailer parking lot, curving and coasting up and down the lanes. I feel like I am nine, biking around the blacktop at Fern Place School with Fran and Karen, pretending we are teenagers, driving cars.
Sometimes I ride wide circles around the lines of the parking spaces. Sometimes I ride across the lines, cutting angles with my front tire. Sometimes I ride parallel to the line, trying to keep my wheel as straight as possible. And sometimes I ride along the squiggly patched sections in the asphalt, imagining I am riding on a giant topographic map, following the lines of a river.
Sometimes I ride to collect my thoughts, sometimes to let go of them. Sometimes I think of Cody, lying in the grass in front of the corner picnic table, smelling the air. Sometimes it makes me teary, and other times I smile.
Sometimes Marika will drive to the jetty and I will meet her there so we can walk together. One day we walked to the end of the jetty, further than I go on my bike because the road turns rugged and too bumpy for comfort.
We found a trail down to a small, private beach that opens onto the bay. It smelled salty and fishy and healing. The sand was soft and the waves barely rolled. We sat on the rocks and watched the water. Cody would have loved it.
[ssba]Snug in the Harbor
We have always planned our routes and volunteering gigs based on where the birds are. Once we choose an area, we check out nearby food shopping, restaurant options, and proximity to things to explore. Now, we also consider where Cody can get his acupuncture treatments.
After we heard that our summer volunteering job was officially cancelled, we were excited to spend the summer in Florence, Oregon where Cody’s favorite vet is. But when we found out she is no longer in practice, panic set in. I extended my search beyond Florence and found two vets in Coos Bay, a coastal town an hour south of Florence. They offered acupuncture and cold laser therapy, and there was even a mobile vet who serviced the area.
We love the Coos Bay area. With a population of 16,000, there are several supermarkets and lots of restaurant choices, so I started looking online to see what might suit us. There are high end resorts and very low end RV parks in the area. I considered staying at the Charleston Marina, where we had spent a month three years ago, but it is essentially a big parking lot, and not a place Marika wanted to return to.
Then I found a small, 10 space park, also in Charleston, that butts up against the bay. I called and they had one spot available. I explained that we didn’t know how long we’d be staying, since our volunteering job had been cancelled, and they said, no problem, you can stay as long as you like.
Suddenly, I felt ease and calm again. We had a great place to stay, we could walk around town right from the park, and we’d be right on the water. And Cody had a vet. Now I could happily plan our journey from Phoenix to the coast.
We pulled out on Monday, May 18, the anniversary of when we began this life the road. We headed west on I-10 into our fifth year, and thirty miles out of town, we had a blowout. If you’ve ever had a blowout on a freeway, you know it’s pretty scary. Imagine being in a 32 foot motorhome, towing a car, when your back RV tire explodes. We managed to cross three lanes of traffic and pulled onto the shoulder.
We waited an hour on the side of the freeway for AAA to come to change the tire. Every passing car and truck shook the motorhome, but we stayed as calm as we could. We had lunch, watched some TV, finally the AAA arrived. He jacked up the tire, and then his jack broke. And then he saw that both tires on the back right were flat, so we’d need a tow. Four more hours later and the tow truck finally arrived. We had to carry Cody down the steps of the RV since there was no room for his ramp, and the three of us drove the car to Discount Tire to get four new back tires on the RV.
By the time we were done, it was almost four o’clock, so we stayed at an RV Resort in Buckeye for the night. And thank goodness they had a swimming pool, so I could let the whole day go.
We headed out in the morning, rested and ready, with all of our travel stops rescheduled for one night later. There were fewer cars on the freeway from Phoenix to our first stop outside of Banning, in California. We stayed at a KOA, a rarity for us, since they are usually family-focused and expensive. But this park was quiet, with trees, and situated against the mountains, so there were spectacular views. We sat outside with Cody and chatted with a woman, six feet apart, who had just bought a new RV to live in full time.
In the morning, we took the back roads to the I-5 to avoid the crazy LA interchanges, and headed north as far as Lost Hills. RV Parks along the I-5 are nondescript and hardly fancy. No pools, no grass, but they offer a safe place to park with hookups. And after our 260 mile driving day, that was all we needed.
On our third night, we pulled into the fairgrounds outside of Sacramento for the night, and the leveling jacks wouldn’t go down. And I noticed that all of the road vibration had once again, loosened the kitchen cabinets from the wall. And we had two more driving days. I was freaking out. We called our favorite RV mechanic in Coos Bay and made an appointment, but I was still worried.
I am usually the optimistic one, the encourager, the one who knows everything’s going to work out fine. But that night I imagined the worst scenarios, and woke up in a real panic. I was anxious about the levelers, the cabinets, and the fact that the day’s delay meant we’d be driving in big winds, which is not easy in an RV. I shared all of this with Marika and asked her to please help me through.
When I got behind the wheel I cried, and then I practiced some four/eight breathing, and I did fine. The winds were 18-25 mph, but they was coming at us, not from the sides, so it wasn’t bad at all. Marika took over in Redding and drove us up and over and through the Shasta Mountain range, to our final stop of the trip.
I had found an RV Resort on the Klamath River, just a few miles from the California-Oregon border. Even though it was the Friday of Memorial Day weekend, the park was quiet and clean. There were blue herons and ring billed gulls, even a white pelican floating on the river, the first water birds I’d seen in seven months. I was in heaven. Cody loved the grass and the smells, and Marika and I appreciated the level concrete since we weren’t trying out the jacks. We especially loved the cool air and having a day of no driving. And they even had ice cream novelties for sale at the office.
Marika spent the entire day on Saturday in bed, reading, Netflixing, napping, even eating her lunch in bed. I enjoyed walks with Cody, sitting outside, in the SUN, watching people float by on the fast moving river, and reading a book from the park’s lending library. I even did a load of laundry, because I could. We would have stayed a third night, but there was no availability, so on Sunday morning, we pulled out and headed to our destination-the south central Oregon coast.
Again, I was anxious, this time worried that the narrow, winding mountain road from the I-5 to Coos Bay would be full of holiday traffic, and it would take twice as long. But the drive was easy, it was two lanes most of the way, and there were hardly any cars on the road with us.
We pulled into Snug Harbor RV Park around two on Sunday afternoon. The park is behind the laundromat and gift shop, right off the Cape Arago Highway. Our spot backs up to the south slough of the bay, and the back window offers a panoramic view of the water, the forest of pine trees, the boat yard, and the drawbridge. It is cozy and snug, just like the name implies. It’s a double-wide spot, with thick shrubs between us and our neighbors to the right. In the space on our left side, the owner is building a dome house, but building has stopped for now.
There are only four other rigs here, two of them are permanent residents, Overalls Bill, who lives in a converted school bus, and Fishing Man, who lives in a 5th wheel and probably works at one of the nearby fish processing plants. The other two couples are just here for a while, like us. There are sections of grass in the RV park, and a great little city park across the street full of good smells. And, funny thing, the leveling jacks worked fine when we pulled in.
Cody had his first appointment with the new vet on Tuesday, but because of Covid, we weren’t allowed to go in with him. He was so anxious and skittish, and the uncarpeted floors were slippery, that he only got a partial acupuncture treatment. We asked if we could go in with him next time, or do it outside, but no, we’ll have to wait until policies change.
On Wednesday I woke up, ate my cereal and coffee, then puked. I spent the rest of the day in bed, mostly sleeping. I realized that I was freaking out because of Cody. He needs his treatments to maintain his back health and all I could see was that he couldn’t get them.
But then I looked at him and realized he’s doing really well right now. The cool air suits him, and the level ground is easier for walking. I have to trust that, when he needs another treatment, it will work out. Because I can only plan and control so much. And then I just have to let it go, and simply be grateful for what is.
And this place seems perfect for now for all of us. It is quiet and safe, with birds and water, and places to walk right from our front door. Some mornings we drive a half mile to the marina so Cody can enjoy a walk around some water. Some mornings we leave him home and drive to the beach, less than two miles away. And some mornings, like today, we are tucked in at home, listening to our first steady rain on the RV roof. The tide is going out and the gulls and egrets are scattered in the mudflats, fishing.
It’s the first time we don’t have a plan, or a job, or a list of places to explore. We’re just here. Taking our time to acclimate to the weather, the pace, the change in elevation, and to explore what we want this time to be.
And isn’t that what we’re all doing these days? Settling into a different pace, a different space, and exploring how we want to show up in this new world?
I would love to hear how and what you are adjusting, noticing, and shifting in your own life.
Stay cool. Stay healthy.
From my heart to yours,
Ruth
[ssba]Heading North
It has gotten too hot, too soon here in southeastern Arizona. It’s going to be 101 today, with 90’s for the next week, at least. And it’s just too warm for us. But we are here, waiting, sheltering in place, until our next volunteering gig happens.
And then I realized we have other choices. We could still go up to Oregon and PAY for a campsite.
I looked online to see what might be open and available, since all of the state parks and forest service campgrounds are closed. I found a great place, on a lake, for $550 the month of June, and there was one spot left.
Marika was out shopping, but I called her and asked her to consider this new idea. I studied the picture of the camp site, envisioning us there, and got excited about putting my kayak in the lake.
When Marika got home we unpacked the groceries, she had lunch, and finally, we discussed things. We can afford to pay for camping. We don’t need to wait until our gig opens up. It’ll be so much cooler for all of us. And Cody’s favorite acupuncturist was just up the road. Yes, it was happening fast, and we’d be leaving in two weeks, but we both agreed we were ready.
I went back online to reserve, and the spot was gone. I called the office and the woman said it was a mistake, there was no availability. I was bummed, but inspired. I called a few more private RV parks and found one, very close to the first place, that had room for us. I explained our situation and the woman was so accommodating. We have a spot for the month of June, and can stay the summer if things don’t open.
The RV park is just south of Florence, in the Oregon Dunes. The dunes and the beaches are still closed, so there won’t be much ATV activity. And if/when they do open, we’ll be able to head down to our gig. There’s laundry, and cable tv, and wifi, and I even know someone who lives there, that I met when I lived at the RV park in Cayucos.
The rent is a little pricey, $800/month plus electricity, but then, we volunteer for so many months with free rent, that a little higher priced monthly rent is in the budget. Marika is saying that the government is paying for it, with our stimulus checks.
So boom, just like that, we have a plan to head north. We’ll pull out on the 14th, so next week will be our last time with the donkeys. Many of them will also be leaving mid-month, heading to Colorado, for a cooler summer.
We have a few more camp hosting shifts, and then our exit interview, and we’ll be on the road. We’ll spend a few days in Phoenix for a quick check on my Dad, then head to California on the 10, then north on the 5, taking the freeways that we usually avoid because there is always so much traffic. It will be interesting this time, with so few cars on the road.
So after almost six months here in the desert, the longest we’ve ever stayed in one place, we are finally heading to cooler, moister, cloudier places. And we are ready!
[ssba]Moving in Place
It’s been a month since I last wrote, and I wonder how you are doing with the state of things. Are you enjoying your time at home? Feeling overwhelmed, stressed or anxious? Maybe you are experiencing some depression and immobility. Perhaps you are feeling all of these things and more.
There is no right way to move through these days. Only that we do move through them. One day, one hour, sometimes one moment at a time.
Here at Kartchner Caverns in southeastern Arizona, the days are starting to heat up into the 90’s. The cave tours are still closed, but the full park staff is working because the trails and campground are open. On weekends, every camp site is occupied. The winter camp hosts have returned to their summer homes, so last week, we moved down into the upper campground’s camp host site to fill in, since our summer gig on the Oregon Coast is still on hold.
Our new camp site is paved, more level, and offers an expansive east-facing vista of the mountains and basin. After four and a half months in the upper volunteer village, it is so nice to have a new view, new places to walk, and more people to see, watch, and interact with.
Our hosting job is very easy. We clean campsites, make reservation tags, welcome campers, and do drive arounds in the golf cart to be a presence in the campground. With all of the CDC requirements, we maintain minimal and safe contact with our campers, we don’t collect money or sell firewood, and we don’t have to clean the fire pits or bathrooms.
When we’ve been camp hosts in the past, I was always in a hurry to get the job done. This time, I’m enjoying the meditation of raking the gravel around each fire pit, and looking for birds on the many drives around the loop to check on things. And I don’t even mind that some campers wait until check out time to pull out.
We share the camp hosting duties with our friends Jayne and Paul, who we met at our very first volunteering job at Cape Blanco in 2016. We work three days, and then we have three days off and they work. This way we take turns covering the busy weekends.
We are still going to the donkey sanctuary once a week to brush the donkeys. I am so surprised by how much I connect with these beautiful animals, how comfortable I am being in the pen alone with them, despite the fact that they are so big and strong. It’s like we have a silent communication, a mutual curiosity and respect.
They say donkeys have incredible memories, that they remember people after just one encounter. I think it’s true, because, after four weeks, when I approach most of the donkeys, they come to me right away, which they didn’t do on the first visit. I’ve been learning their names as I brush them, but when they are out of their pens, wandering around the property with the other donkeys, I can only, for sure, recognize one or two.
It’s a fifty-mile round trip drive to the sanctuary, but it’s so worth it. And when we come home, Cody loves to sniff our pants and shoes. He’s doing pretty well, considering he’ll be thirteen in July. His bloodwork came back all in the good range, but his degenerative disk disease is causing weakness and a bit of paralysis in his back legs. He’s been doing well with regular acupuncture treatments, but if he moves too fast, or jerks in the wrong way, he has a setback.
Two weeks ago he fell hard on his back when he jumped down from the bed (that won’t happen again), and since then, he’s been having a really hard time getting up and walking without falling over. He had an acupuncture treatment last Thursday, but he was no better on Friday. And only slightly better on Saturday. He slept a lot in his back room bed, and wasn’t eager to go for walks. We started talking about end of life, because if a dog can’t enjoy a walk….
And then Sunday, he was walking stronger and steadier, only dropping once or twice, but able to get himself up. He was interested in carrying his ball, and sat in front of the screen door for his naps.
By Monday he was walking like his normal, old dog self. He’s still a little wobbly, but he’s able to turn without falling over, squat without dropping, and we’ve been walking a little further each day. He had another treatment this past Thursday, so we’re hoping for even more stability over the next few days.
Beyond that, life is the same as usual.
Full time RV living has always included isolation and social distancing, so we’re used to not seeing friends, going to gatherings, or having regular out-in-the-world lives.
But I imagine that this sudden stay at home situation is very challenging for most people.
When we first hit the road, I was so thrilled with the newness of everything, that I didn’t think about my old life. But it wasn’t long before I missed seeing friends, going to my weekly yoga class, eating at favorite restaurants. And it was even harder because everyone was still living their full and regular lives.
Now, we’re all experiencing this isolation and separation and loss.
I invite you to cry and feel and move though the sadness until you’re able to focus on gratitude for something in your present moment life.
Then come up with one new way to connect to yourself or someone else, so that you feel less lonely.
I saw this post on Facebook, author unknown. It’s a lovely reminder that we are all in this together, but we are not all having the same experiences.
I hope that you and your loved ones are healthy and comfortable, and that you have everything you need. If you are at home with other people, I hope you are finding ways to appreciate each other, and enjoy each other’s presence and company. Please hug each other more, for those who are alone with no one to hug. And, if you are home alone, may you have pillows to hug, amusements to keep you engaged, and virtual friends and family to connect with.
Be well. Breathe deep. Feel safe.
I’d love to hear from you!
Sheltered In Place
I hope this post finds you feeling safe, and calm, with everything you need. We’re still down in southeastern Arizona at Kartchner Caverns State Park. Last week, word came down from the main office that all cavern tours were cancelled, and last weekend the Discovery Center also closed. The campground and hiking trails are still open until further notice. All volunteers here, except camp hosts, have been officially relieved of all duties.
When we heard we were no longer working, I was excited about the two week vacation before our planned departure to Phoenix at the end of March, en route to our summer job on the southern Oregon coast that starts mid-May.
But as friends described the panic and hoarding that was happening in the big city, I had no desire to be there for the planned two weeks. Marika and I talked about bypassing Phoenix completely, but both of us agreed that we should spend at least a few days in Phoenix, to see my dad.
But then what? Should we continue on to Oregon by way of the Great Salt Lake for spring migration? Head to northern Arizona, in case this lasts through the summer? Or hang out to see what happens. We just didn’t have enough information to make any decisions.
Those few days of not knowing if and when and where we were going, made me edgy and unsettled. I distracted myself with planning possible travel routes, and I kept checking the Oregon Parks website.
It rained most of one of the days, so I couldn’t even walk it off. But every night before bed, I’d lie on my back, focusing on my breath, and relaxing every muscle in my body, from my toes to the crown of my head, so that I could at least get a good sleep. Marika, the minimalist, didn’t really understand my concerns, and was fine with whatever decisions we made.
And then we got news that Oregon State Parks were closed through at least May 8, and I finally knew we weren’t going anywhere. I hoped we could stay put, at least through the end of April. We checked with our supervisor and were told that we can stay as long as we need to.
Finally, I could relax. We’re in a perfect place with free rent and full hookups. It’s a small town, we have ample space between us and our neighbors, and there are lots of places to walk and go birding.
Two of our neighbor co-volunteers pulled out on Thursday, headed to their house and family in Missouri. The couple next to them left on Friday, heading home to Kansas. Most of the rest of us are full-timers with no house to return to. So we’re just sheltering in place, waiting to hear if our summer gigs are still a go.
We’re no longer allowed to gather in groups of more than ten, but we talk with our neighbors every day when we’re out walking. We also stay in contact via an app, and folks are picking up supplies for each other as needed.
And, now that we’re not working, Marika is going birding more often, and we’ll be driving out to the donkey sanctuary once a week to brush the donkeys.
Last night I looked up the summer temperatures here, just in case. We’re at 4500’, so it’s not nearly as hot as Phoenix. Still, it can get up to 100° at the height of the day. But we have air conditioning, and foil panels to insulate the windows, and it cools down to the 60’s at night. And, funny, thing, Marika has always wanted to spend a summer in southeastern Arizona, because it’s a mecca for so many rare birds. And I hear the summer monsoon storms are amazing. So we’ll see what happens.
But for now, it seems to be the perfect place for us to be, especially at this time of year. The days are sunny and mild, and evenings are still cool enough to sleep under flannel sheets. There are small green leaves on the mesquite branches, and pops of yellow and purple wildflowers are appearing on the trails. There are all kinds of new bird songs in the mornings, and I’ve spotted several varieties of butterflies and caterpillars along the road. After all of the recent rain, there is water flowing in the Guindani Wash. And the sky, as always, is so big and ever-changing. Just like everything.
I hope you are finding ways to flow with the changes, ride the uncertainties, and rest into some peaceful knowing that we are all in this together. I’d love to hear how you are staying grounded and centered, and what fun things you are discovering about life as you, too, shelter in place.
Be well. Breathe deep. Feel safe.
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7 Practices for Sheltering in Place
1. Breathe
Focus on your breath. Inhale slowly and consciously. Exhale deeply and fully. In and out. Breathing calms the nervous system. Following your breath takes you out of your head and into your body. Breathing brings you to the present moment, where you are safe, where you are healthy, where you have everything you need.
2. Feel your feelings, but don’t become them
It’s understandable that you will worry, feel anxious, spin out in fear. Don’t follow the stories you are hearing and telling yourself. Come back to where you are, right now. Focus on something near you that brings you comfort. Make a list of your favorite things. Allow yourself to exhale and let go, to be OK with not having control. Engage in an activity that requires presence and attention, perhaps something that you can control.
3. Give yourself permission to be lazy
So much has shifted and we are having to deal with so many new ways of living. Yes, there is a long list of things you could be doing with all of this stay at home time. Resting and slowing down are also important, to give yourself time and space to adjust to all of the changes. Binge watch Netflix. Go down a YouTube rabbit hole. Take a nap in the middle of the day. Enjoy a long phone call with a friend. Read an entire book in one sitting. Notice spring happening outside your windows. Turn all of those “should’s” into “could’s, with no obligations.”
4. Keep moving
Physical activity is good for the body and the mind. Shake your arms and shoulders loose when you’re feeling tense. Get up from your screen every two hours and stretch. If you miss going to the gym, find some online workouts and yoga classes. Turn up the music and dance. Create a fun obstacle course through your house. Go for a walk in your yard or neighborhood or a park. And be sure to say hello to everyone you see. From a safe distance, of course.
5. Learn stuff*
So many museums, zoos, aquariums, and national parks are offering free virtual tours, and video cams. Famous chefs are giving online cooking lessons. Folks are teaching online art classes. Even audible.com is offering some classics for free listening.
6. Create a new routine
Our minds and bodies love routine. Knowing what we’re going to be doing brings a sense of order, and order brings calm. Get out of bed at your usual time. Shower and get dressed. Eat regular meals. If you are working from home, show up on time, and take regular breaks. Reprioritize. Set small, manageable goals. Follow your energy, and be willing to do things differently.
7. Connect
Stay in touch with your neighbors, your family, your self. Ask for assistance. Share your gifts. Find new ways to support each other. Join an online gathering. Write an old fashioned letter. Find humor and delight and gratitude in the simple things.
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* I’ve made all of my old Mac training e-books available for no charge. (Donations accepted). www.sparktheheart.com/mac
Feel free to share!
[ssba]What I’m Learning
There’s always something new to learn and experience at our volunteer jobs. Usually the learning is obvious: we have to know facts and stories about the place, or the people, or the natural areas. We have to study, review, maybe take some training tests, so that we can share our new knowledge.
But this job is none of that for me.
Because I’m not going into the caves, I haven’t needed to learn about stalactites and stalagmites. Instead, this job is all about learning to work with people, with schedules, with changes in the schedule. And being flexible, and understanding, and going with the flow.
Marika says it’s my Welcome to the Real World class.
And in so many ways, she’s right. For thirty two years I worked for, and with, and by myself as a private computer trainer. So everything was done my way, on my time line, and it was always well executed. And even when I had a conflict, I found ways to work it out.
But now, I’m working with different personalities, different levels of abilities and skills, and all kinds of communication skills and non-skills.
For me, engaging with people is the best part of these gigs. And, while I really enjoy driving the tram, my favorite job is working at the gatehouse, greeting people, chatting, sharing some great eye contact and good mojo.
But for the first few weeks, the woman I had to work with completely ruined the experience for me. We butted heads on everything, each of us thinking we were right. She had a lot of senior moments, was bossy and a complainer, and a blatant bigot.
At first I tried to be compassionate, to understand that she needed to do SOMETHING, because her husband drives the tram. And if she doesn’t have this, what does she have.
But then we’d have another confrontation, and I’d have to take a walk around the gatehouse to let it go and not let her get the best of me. Marika said the woman just likes to stir it up with me, but I’m not interested in that kind of engagement.
I talked with my supervisor about working with her, and said I could work one day a week with her if I have to, but two is too much, and he said he understood.
Meanwhile, I kept wondering why she was in my life. Was it about true radical compassion? Was it something about my Dad, who is the same age?
Or maybe it wasn’t about me at all. Maybe I was there to show her a different way. Because the next day, I heard her talking with some visitors, and she had changed up her usual monotone ramble with a little lighter tone, and even laughed with them! And she offered someone a dog cookie, after telling me how much she hates dogs because they pee on her rocks.
I haven’t had to work with her since then. I do say hello when I see her in the break room, but we don’t make small talk, and I’m fine with that. Because there are other co-workers here who I do enjoy talking with.
We’ve gone out to dinner with our next door neighbors several times, and we were invited to another couple’s RV for dinner a few weeks ago. We enjoyed a fun night of dominoes with our friends from Cape Blanco who are also volunteering here, and Marika went to a Super Bowl party with many of the park rangers. And I’m going out for lunch with a neighbor next week.
And our dear friends from Phoenix came for a visit. They stayed in one of the heated cabins in the campground, so we had room to hang out and play games. We all took a day trip to St. David for a walk around, and explored the ghost town of Fairbank, where the original school building is now a museum.
And we visited the nearby Forever Home Donkey Sanctuary where more than two dozen donkeys have a safe and nurturing home. We fed them timothy seed pellets as we heard their stories, then mingled with them out in the yard. My favorite was a mammoth donkey who was as tall as a moose.
It’s been colder here than we expected it to be, because we are at 4600′ elevation. Last month we had a dusting of snow, and last week it went down to 21° at night and our water line froze. The heated hose worked, but we neglected to wrap the actual valve, so the exposed pipes did freeze. Once the sun came up, I stood outside with the blow dryer aimed at the pipes and everything thawed. We wrapped the pipes the next night and we did have water in the morning.
I am still loving the ever changing clouds in the sky. This part of Arizona is called the Sky Islands, and, when the clouds hang below the tops of the surrounding mountain ranges, it really does look like islands the sky.
But as beautiful as the landscape is, as fun as the volunteering jobs are, and as nice as our co-workers are, I still miss a deeper level of community. I miss my weekly yoga class. I miss dinners and conversations with my dear friends. And I miss making art, and going thrift storing and yard sale-ing to find cool materials, and having shelves and spaces to display and enjoy my finds.
When I shared this with Marika, she suggested I work in miniature. What a great idea! Because I do have ziploc bags filled with small things that I have collected since we began this journey. So yesterday, I gathered all of my trinkets and objects, found the smaller bag with single earrings, and added the fishing bobbers and odd bottle caps from my catch-all shelf. Now I can begin looking for small, interesting containers at the local thrift stores and begin to tell some new stories.
It’s a way to shift my attention from what I’m missing, back to what I DO have, what IS working, what I CAN change. And, at the same time, maintain the balance between here and what’s next.
I forgot how dry the Arizona desert is in the winter. Last week we had several days of eleven percent humidity. With wind. I’ve been using a nasal spray and staying indoors as much as possible with the humidifier on to protect my sinuses, but the insides of my nose are raw. My hands are rough, and my skin is dry, no matter how much water I drink, or how many times I apply lotion.
So I’ve been looking at pictures of the campground and the beach on the Oregon Coast where we’ll be volunteering this summer, reminding my body that we’ll be in that moist, green, healing climate soon.
And then I look up from my computer screen, to the vista out the window where I am, right here, right now. I revel in the shades of grays against a peek of blue, and the spaceship clouds flying by. And I am content.
Winter in the Desert
If you know me at all, you know that my standard line has always been “I hate the desert.” And yet, here we are, volunteering at Kartchner Caverns State Park in the high desert of southern Arizona for the next four months. We are surrounded by mesquite trees and century plants and prickly pear cactus, and I am truly and deeply loving the landscape.
In some ways I have surprised myself. But in others, not at all. Because I chose to be here. Because Marika really wanted to spend a winter in the desert for the birds. Because I know it’s not forever.
Instead of focusing on the things in the desert that are not my thing (the dryness, the lack of water), I’m appreciating the gorgeous expanse of sky, the intense quiet, and the ring of mountains all around. They are just far enough away that there is an openness, but it’s not infinite, offering a kind of sheltering, spacious comfort.
We arrived on the first Tuesday of December and began orientation and training the next day. One of our jobs is trailing the cave tours, assisting visitors, tagging where people touch the cave, and keeping the group together. On our training tour, I had to leave the cave after 10 minutes because I was having trouble breathing. Unlike other caves, Kartchner Caverns is a wet cave, also called a living cave, so it’s 100% humidity and a constant 71 degrees. Couple the humidity with the 4700′ elevation, and my asthmatic, pot smoking lungs weren’t happy. So I won’t be doing that job. But Marika is liking it.
She is learning about the two men who discovered the cave in 1974, but kept it a secret until they were sure it would be protected. She tells me about the different formations in the caves, one that looks like a strawberry, another, named Kubla Kahn, that is more than fifty eight feet tall, and is the tallest, most massive column in an Arizona cave. And she shows me all of the paperwork she has to fill out after each tour, documenting where people have touched the cave. After each day’s tours, a group goes into the cave to clean those touches.
The other jobs are answering questions and distributing tickets at the Discovery Center desk, greeting visitors and handling day use fees at the entrance gate, and working at the portal of the cave, taking folks who have to suddenly leave the tour, back down to the Discovery Center. I think I could still do that because I wouldn’t have to be in the cave for very long, but it’s not my first choice.
I’m also training to drive the tram that takes visitors from the Discovery Center up to the cave entrance. It’s a bucket list job for me, and it’s not as easy as it sounds. The actual tram driving is pretty straightforward, but the big challenge is coordinating with the other tram driver, and pulling the tram into the loading zone just right, so that the wheelchair ramp has enough clearance.
Last week, I didn’t sleep well most nights, reviewing procedures, rehearsing the list of what people cannot bring into the cave, wondering if I could even go into the cave for a short time. I wasn’t concerned about the computer entry or making change, but I did worry about raising the flags properly at the gatehouse, something I’ve never done before.
Of course, it all went smoothly, and I was reminded by several of the other volunteers that, whatever happens, if nobody gets hurt, it’s all good.
And I have to remember that it’s only our third week here. That, with a couple more weeks under our belts, this will all be easy and comfortable. And I just have to be patient and gentle and compassionate with myself as I learn.
It’s also been a new challenge to work with a changing schedule. Marika and I both work the same shifts, but different jobs, and they start and end at different times. And each day, we are working a different job. So coordinating with Marika’s schedule has been interesting, since we only have one car to get to work. I’m hoping this coming week will be easier, especially now that I have snacks to bring if I have to wait for her. And, if it’s going to be more than an hour, I can ask one of the other volunteers to drive me home.
Unlike all of our other assignments, where there were never more than one or two other volunteer couples, there are fifteen volunteers couples here for the winter. And everyone is very social. With the holidays and a few Park Rangers leaving for other assignments, there have been several potlucks and get togethers, and next week there will be two more, including a white elephant exchange, an ugly sweater contest and a cookie bake-off. Everyone is very nice, and friendly, and helpful, but I’m not a big party person, so this has also been an interesting opportunity for me.
I’m grateful that there are two separate Volunteer Villages, one with eleven spaces near the Discovery Center, and ours, with only five spaces, about a mile up the road, against the mountain. We have full hookups, a double wide space, and a view that stretches to Mexico. And our neighbors are friendly but not chatty.
There’s a great hiking trail at the edge of our Volunteer Village and Cody and I have been enjoying lots of short walks, exploring the group campground at the end of our road, and getting our daily steps in. He’s even been playing with the neighbor dog, a fourteen-month old Scottie who likes to stand on Cody’s back and head, which Cody doesn’t mind.
We found a mobile acupuncturist who drives right by Kartchner on her way home from her Tucson practice, and, after two treatments of electro-acupuncture, which is like a tens unit attached to the needles, Cody has been showing great improvement. He’s able to get himself up from sitting again, and has very few spasms in his back legs. And some mornings, Marika has to jog to keep up with him.
It’s great that we only work four days a week, so that we have time to relax, run errands, and also do some exploring on our days off. One afternoon we drove into Benson, just ten miles down the road, and stopped at the Visitor’s Center for maps and a video about Cochise County. We discovered a delicious Mexican restaurant, and had ice cream at the Old Benson Ice Cream Stop while we watched a train go by. And on the drive home, we had to pull over to see the full double rainbow over the desert.
We invited some friends to see the electric light parade in Benson, and Marika went birding down at the San Pedro house. And last weekend, we drove to Tucson, about an hour away, to check out the Mini Time Machine Museum of Miniatures. We oohed and aaahed over the tiny scenes and the details in the work. One of my favorite things was the entrance.
I’ve been taking longer, solo walks, since Cody can only walk short distances. About a quarter of a mile up the trail is a usually dry wash that is now flowing with water from all of the recent rain. There are two large stone steps that lead down to the water and create the perfect sitting spot. Sometimes I write in my journal, sometimes I meditate. Sometimes I just watch and listen to the water rushing over the rocks, and say a huge thank you for this water in the desert, for this place, and even for the new challenges of being here.
Last week I bought myself a radio controlled truck. Years ago we found one at a campground, and I loved driving it through obstacle courses, over rocks, and around the yard. But it drove the dogs crazy, so I gave it away.
I’ve been wanting a new hobby, something new to learn, to practice, to get better at, and I remembered how much fun that truck was. After much research, I chose a four-wheel drive off-road monster truck. When I took it out of the box, I was immediately frustrated. This is not a kid’s toy. It’s intended for RC enthusiasts, has replaceable parts, and can go up to thirty miles an hour.
I was expecting a more plug and play experience. Instead, I had to remove four cotter pins to get to the electronics, and two more to get the battery. The directions for “binding” the truck to the controller were vague, but I figured it out. I charged up the battery, left Cody inside, and took it for a spin.
The controller is shaped like a gun, and the steering is a knob on the side, and not at all intuitive, so it took a while to figure out which way to turn while the truck zipped over the gravel and into the patchy desert. While I was practicing forward and reverse, the truck zoomed under the car, out of view. I brought it back out, but too fast, and it crashed into a cactus. But the four-wheel drive enabled me to get it unstuck. I took it for a few more laps up and down the dirt, then took it inside, convinced that I’d be able to handle this more powerful truck.
It’s going to take a while to get used to the trigger controls and understand the technicalities of trueing the steering, but that’s going to be part of the fun. And next time, I’ll invite Cody out to see how he reacts. Maybe, like me, he’ll just need a little time to get used to it.
Gratitudes From Paradise
It’s been a lovely two months of leisure and travel as we’ve slowly made our way south from our plover job in central Oregon. We traveled north up the Oregon coast with stops in Tillamook and Nehalem Beach State Park, enjoying the windy beaches and small artsy towns. Then we finally left the coast and drove inland to Sauvie Island, just north of Portland.
Sauvie Island is part wildlife refuge and part farmland, no gas stations or laundry, but there is an RV park, right along the Columbia River. We stayed for a week, enjoying the quiet of the off season, and the birds flying through, even though that meant hunting season. On several different days we drove halfway to Portland, then Ubered to the art museum and the Japanese Gardens. Another day we found a decent bagel and lox spread, and enjoyed the exhibit about Leonard Bernstein at the Portland Jewish Museum.
And we got together with my most influential and inspiring writing teacher, Tracy Trefethen, who I haven’t talked to in 20 years, who lives in Portland. She came over with a pizza and we had a lovely visit. Of course, I gave her a copy of Heart Sparks, and it was such a thrill to hear her say she was so proud of me.
From Portland, we headed south on the 5 and spent two nights in a quiet county park near Albany, Oregon, where we met up with a new friend we had met at our plover gig. Together, we visited the Historical Carousel Museum and watched volunteers hand carving random pieces of wood that would later be part of one of the commissioned carousel animals.
And of course, we rode the historic carousel.
In Medford, we went on the tour of the Harry and David packing center, and bought local apples and produce at their farm store. We spent a quick overnight in Sacramento and had delicious Thai food with a friend.
And in Fresno we took a tour of the Underground Gardens, a many roomed grotto carved out of the very dry earth, with all kinds of citrus trees, grape vines and other plants growing up though openings in the ceilings.
We also had a blowout on the highway, about ten miles from camp. Miraculously, there was a Les Schwab Tire right off the exit, and they had our replacement tire size in stock.
At the beginning of November, we pulled into Paradise Park, across the street from the ocean in Central California for a three-week stay. This is the same park where I lived, on and off, after I left Phoenix in 2012. I spent several months here every year, walking on the beach, re-creating my Mac business, focusing on my writing, redefining my relationship with Marika. I came here with Laddy, who died in 2013. And I adopted Cody here in November 2014. I co-taught yoga and writing workshops, and appeared as a local author at the independent bookstore in town before I left with Marika in December, 2015.
Being back at this place of respite and retreat has been wonderful. After a month of travel, it feels so good to simply be here, to unwind, get some things done, and just live a bit. It’s been great to hug my old neighbors and catch up. One even remembered me as “the writer.” We’ve been getting together with friends, eating at some favorite restaurants, reveling in the fresh produce at the farmer’s market, and, of course, walking on the beach. And there are shorebirds, so Marika is also very happy here.
Last week she said that the last time she was here, in 2015, she was very worried about money. She had just quit her job, the floors were being removed in her house, and we thought we were going back to Phoenix to rent out her house and move to California together.
And now, here we are, four years later, living a very different life than either of us imagined. In fact, right now there is a mobile home for rent here in Paradise Park. Four years ago I would have jumped at the opportunity to live here full-time, across the street from the beach. Today, I am surprised that only about 10% of me is even curious about the place, that the other 90% is excited to continue living this life, exploring what else is out there.
The only challenging thing has been Cody’s arthritis. While we were in Oregon, he received regular acupuncture treatments that increased his mobility and stability. Now, after two months without, his back legs are less steady, and walking up and down the big hills at the park aren’t helping. Walking in sand is work, too, so he’s only been to the beach a couple of times, and we drive there so he has more energy to romp.
And last night he had a seizure. It was scary for all of us, but after it was over, we were able to finally calm him down with some Benadryl and CBD oil. And this morning he is his normal, happy self. We’ve got a prescription, in case in happens again, and he’ll have another acupuncture treatment when we’re in Phoenix next week.
Unlike our previous visits to Phoenix, where we’ve stayed a full month or two, this time we’ll only be there for a few days, to check on my dad, take care of a few errands, and enjoy some favorite foods. Then we’ll be heading down to southeastern Arizona for our winter volunteering job at Kartchner Caverns State Park.
We’ll be working in several areas of Visitor Services, educating people about this very special living cave. I may even be a tram driver, one of my dream jobs. There are fifteen other volunteers, and we’ll be camping in one of the two volunteer villages. Rumor has it that it’s very social, with weekly breakfasts and evening camp fires, and I think it will be good for both of us. And instead of doing the same job every day for the four months, we’ll be rotating our duties, sometimes working together, sometimes separately. And that is exciting too.
But today we are still here. I’m sitting outside in the shade of the RV, facing the dry winter hill next door to the park. The red winged blackbirds are poking the dirt for seeds, and a single hawk is circling high in the sky. Cody is lying in the shade on the patio concrete, and Marika is inside, talking with a friend on the phone. I can hear the ocean rolling, out of view.
And I am here. Simply here. Not reminiscing about my times here before, or dreaming of living here in the future.
Just being here. Be-ing. Here.
And saying thank you for it all.
Tillicum: Full Circle
Twenty one years ago, Marika, our eleven-year old lab mix, Zasu, and I were on our longest RV trip in our 24 foot motorhome – six weeks along the Oregon coast. We had come for a birding festival in Charleston, near Coos Bay, at the beginning of September, and then we spent the next five weeks inching our way up the map. We spent time in Florence and Newport, then hopped and skipped up to Astoria, over the long, long bridge into Washington, then back down the coast as far as Bandon, before finally heading home to Phoenix. It was so fun to stay in a place for a few days, do laundry in small towns, and drive no more than a hundred miles in a day, if we drove at all. It was the first time we talked about someday, living in an RV full-time.
According to the Oregon campgrounds book that we were using back then to find campsites, Tillicum Campground had ocean view sites. They didn’t take reservations, so we decided to put up a prayer to the universe, and drive through on the chance that a spot would be available. We turned in and drove past the sites tucked into the dark trees, down to the ocean loop. Just as we turned the corner, an RV pulled out of spot 18, right on the bluff, overlooking the waves. There was a patch of grass with a picnic table and fire pit, and a fence of wooden posts running along the edge of the bluff. We parallel parked and leveled, and settled in just as it began to rain.
It was late September, and very windy most of the time, but we walked on the beach every day. This is where Marika took that ultimate photo of me, standing on the beach with a wide-leg stance and my arms outstretched, my head tilted back into the big wind. It is my go-to photo of pure joy, inside and out.
And now, twenty one years later, we again, spent some time in Coos Bay, and are slowing making our way up the Oregon coast. And I wanted to camp at Tillicum again.
We knew ahead of time, via their website, that most of the spaces that are big enough for our 32 foot RV and the car, were already reserved. But there was one 38 foot spot that we could fit in, if we could park the car in day use. And so we agreed to check it out.
We left a little after ten, to get there a little after noon, that perfect time between people departing and arriving, and put up a prayer for an open, overview spot. It was an easy drive north, but when we drove through the campground, that one spot mentioned online was not open. We considered looking for two smaller spots next to each other, since it was only thirteen dollars a night with Marika’s National Parks Senior Pass. Marika said she’d even be willing to stay in a shaded spot up on the hill.
On our drive through the loops again, we stopped at the entrance and talked with the camp host, who was just coming out of his trailer. He pointed to the bulletin board, noting which spots were open for the next few nights, and handed me a map that also listed the length of each site. None of the available sites was oceanfront. And then he pointed to a second column on the board that I hadn’t noticed, listing spaces that were available for the next 14 days, and not listed on the reservation system. And one of them, space 44, was 40 feet, long enough for us to be able to parallel park the RV. And he said, yes, we could park the car in the day use lot.
We unhooked the car, then easily parallel parked the RV since there was no one yet in the smaller reserved spaces in front or behind. It took a few tries to get far enough into the space so that the driver’s side slide would be within the lines, and still leave enough room next to the bushes on the passenger side for the opposite slide to open. And we had to adjust a few more times, leveling up and down, so that Cody’s ramp over the steps wasn’t at too sharp an angle.
In the process of the maneuvering, Marika forgot to raise the leveling jacks before backing up, and they flipped forward, in the opposite direction that they are intended to flip. I screamed and she stopped moving. We both looked under the rig and the jacks looked like bird legs, angled backwards into the asphalt. She wanted to try knocking them back into place. I thought she should roll forward a little and see if they would go into place on their own. And they did. Thank God. Because it is hard to find folks who work on these jacks. And it is never cheap.
Finally, we were settled in. I opened all of the windows to let the ocean in, and unpacked the insides while Marika took Cody to park the car in day use and pay for three nights. It was after one and I was hungry, so I had lunch, enjoyed a smoke, and, after they returned with some good check-in stories, I changed into my sneakers and took myself for a walk to find the steps to the beach.
It was glorious. Blue sky. Big ocean. The tide rolling in. And behind me, the rocks and the cliffs and the campground. Many of the fence posts along the cliffs were now exposed, some were hanging in mid-air, the soil and sand that they used to stand in just gone. The bushes were thicker and taller, obscuring the view of the trailers and vans parked in their campsites.
I walked south until I saw the white roof vents on top of our RV. And I thought back to that first time we were here, how we rode our bikes up the road on the other side of the 101 and found the hatchery, flew our kite on the beach in the wind, and sat around the campfire until after the sun went down. All kinds of things that we never do anymore.
A few weeks ago when we were still camped at our plover campsite, I had a huge meltdown, where I was seriously considering leaving Marika and this lifestyle. I was only focusing on what wasn’t working, how Marika wasn’t helping plan our next route, how little we have in common, and how alone I felt. I was drowning in self-pity and envy, anger and blame.
I screamed. I cried. I considered all kinds of exit options. And in that space of feeling that I do have a way out, I realized that, once again, this is not about Marika, or RVing, or trip planning. It’s about me being my own best friend.
It’s my life lesson, it seems. To fill the hole left by the death of my brother and best friend when I was six years old.
That I am responsible for my own happiness. That I can’t expect another person to fulfill my needs. That I need to connect more with others. And that I do love Marika. And this lifestyle. And I’m going to have to work with these issues, no matter where I am.
I looked at all of the goodness of this life, and who Marika is, and I claimed responsibility for my actions and inactions. I started listening to music again. And dancing. And encouraging myself to walk further than the days before. And I called some friends, which always lightens my heart.
Marika and I have found our way back to talking and being kind and grateful. Together, we planned this next leg of our journey. And together, we put the prayer up to the universe for this oceanfront spot in the campground.
Yes, we are absolute opposites in many ways. But there is so much power in that, like magnets, if we are bringing the best of our differences together for the bigger One Love.
Last night, we invited our camping neighbor to join us for dinner at the local Chinese restaurant. She’s 70, lives in Yachats, but is between living situations, so she’s camping in a tent and driving a rental car. She is looking for a room to rent, and also trying to sell her car that’s not working. Marika thought it would be nice for her to get out of the cold, enjoy some good food, and we like to hear people’s stories.
We had a nice time, the food was delicious, and I was glad she joined us. This morning, she thanked us again, and said she woke up feeling really good for the first time in a long time, even though she had locked her keys in the car for the third time. And later, she left a note on our windshield, wishing us safe travels, and asking for a photo of Cody so she could do a painting for us.
Yesterday afternoon, I asked Marika to bring her camera down to the beach to take a photo like the one from twenty years ago. We studied the original and argued over how my feet were positioned. Then, on the beach, I stood facing the water with the cliffs and the campground behind me, and we took several shots at various angles to recreate the original. But the sun casted shadows in each one.
“You know what?” I said. “It doesn’t have to be the same. That was then. This is now. How about if I have the ocean behind me?” You’ll be all in shadow,” she said. “That’s OK. Let’s try it.” I spread my arms and smiled.
