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.
The Central Oregon Coast
All is well here on the Oregon coast. We are so grateful to be in this cool climate, with clean air, the forest and the ocean, and lots of fresh seafood. We are enjoying our snowy plover docent job, though, after 9 weeks, it’s a bit repetitive telling people the same information about the plovers. But we’ve also had some delightful conversations with visitors, and I love giving out dog cookies to all of the dogs who are heading to the beach. And I wrote a song about the snowy plovers, which still delights me every time I sing it. (Click here to hear it.)
And we love the area, the campground, and being able to hear the ocean from our campsite. And we both so appreciate that we get to climb the dune and walk on the beach every day as part of our job. We work 5 hours a day, 5 days a week, which is a little more than we’d prefer, but it’s worth it.
Our dear friend Judy came to visit this past week, and we took some days off to play and tourist with her. We got up really early one morning and drove an hour and a half south to Bandon for the Circles in the Sand, where a group of people rake and draw in the sand, creating a walking path that disappears when the tide comes in.
We oohed and ahhed at the sculptures made from recycled trash at Washed Ashore, and sampled all kinds of cranberry treats and cheeses. And we went to the Sea Lion Caves, even though we knew there wouldn’t be any sea lions down there this time of year.
We went on a Giant Dune Buggy tour through the dunes (not as roller coastery as the sandrail tour), and we got a better idea of what all of the OHV (off highway vehicle) riders do once they leave our snowy plover beach parking lot. There are miles and acres of sand hills and trails to explore. Because it was midweek, we didn’t see many OHVs, but there was a pair of hotrodding motocross bikers jumping from one sand slope to the next.
We ate fish and chips, shrimp and chips, clam chowder and crab chowder, and one afternoon Judy and I cleaned 3 large crabs so that Marika could make her famous crab cakes.
There was face-hurting laughter, Snickers with almond butter, and nightly gin rummy. And Judy joined us for our volunteering shift over the weekend, climbing the dune, walking the beach, and sitting with us as we interacted with the public.
We’re back to work tomorrow, for four more weeks of snowy plover docent duty. After our assignment ends on September 15, we’ll spend a day or two in Coos Bay, for oil changes, and other pre-road trip prep, then we’ll take our time driving up the Oregon coast on the 101, over the very long bridge into WA. We’ll avoid Seattle and continue along the 101, to the Olympic Peninsula, and eventually to the Port Townsend, Sequim, Port Angeles area, to scope out possibilities for next summer.
While we’re there we may take the ferry and a shuttle to Butchart Gardens on Victoria Island in Canada. It’ll be fall, so not a lot of flowers, but still, a fun day trip. I haven’t done much research about the area, which is a bit unusual, and I like that. Because we’ll have to time to incorporate that kind of researching together, as we’re moving along. And that’s such a fun part of the journeying.
Eventually we’ll head south, the date and route will be dependent on the weather. We may enjoy a week in Morro Bay on the way down, and then, depending on how things are with my Dad, maybe spend some time in Southern AZ before coming up to Phoenix. We’ll see. I love that our plans can be loose and open, so that we can stay or move along at an unplanned pace. And traveling in the off-season allows me to not stress if we choose not to make reservations.
Until then, we’re still here and loving it. All of it. And tonight we’ll be enjoying the last of the crab cakes for dinner!
[ssba]The Snowy Plover Song
We spent a gorgeous summer on the central coast of Oregon volunteering with Fish and Game as snowy plover docents. Our job was to walk along the beach! and share information with visitors about the snowy plover, a threatened shorebird that nests in the soft sand during the summer.
I am delighted to share my Snowy Plover song with you. I loved writing, rewriting, and, of course, singing it.
Just click on the blue words THE SNOWY PLOVER SONG below to play the video.
If you’d like a copy of the words to learn and sing along, let me know! ENJOY!
[ssba]
From There to Here and Oh, What a Here
It’s been almost a month since we pulled out of Phoenix and headed west and north to the Oregon coast. It was an easy, wide open, 5-hour drive across the desert to our first overnight camp in Yucaipa, California. The county park has great camp sites tucked into high desert and trees. We leveled and did the usual unpacking, which includes putting out the slides. But the rear slide was stuck in the closed position. I got up on the roof to see if anything was stuck in the mechanism, but it looked fine. So we agreed to stop trying, in case we got it out, and then couldn’t get back in.
Without the back slide extended, we lost two and a half feet of floor space in the back half of the RV. We had to squeeze past the stove to get to the bathroom and the door only opened half way. And the bed was up against the drawers, with no walkway around, which meant Marika would have to climb over me to get in and out, and that didn’t sound good to either one of us. So she slept on the sofa that opens up into a full size, but lopsided bed, and I climbed into the bedroom bed. Which was a good thing, because we were having a little spat.
By the time we got to Sacramento, where we were camping on the Sacramento River for 3 nights, the worst was over. There were a few snarky remarks during breakfast with friends, but we held hands on the drive home. And our friend said, “You know, living this close together, for 3 years, you guys are doing great!”
It was good to rest there, in a small, quiet RV park along the river for a few days after 4 long driving days. Usually, we drive no more than 200 miles a day, and stay at least 2 nights. But because we were already a month late for our volunteer job, we were pushing to drive the 1200 miles in 7 days. In flat terrain, it usually takes us an hour longer to drive than the Garmin suggests. Our route took across the Arizona desert, past the Central California almond groves (to avoid LA), through the mountain forests near Mount Shasta, and over the mountains to the Oregon Coast, so it took us even longer. But it was beautiful.
Instead of driving directly to our volunteer campground as originally planned, we dry camped in Coos Bay overnight at a favorite casino so we could take the RV to a favorite mechanic to get the slide fixed. Of course, it rolled right out for them. They put it in and out again, no problem. They checked a few things, looked at a few more, then sent us on our way, no charge. We finally pulled into our campsite in the Oregon Dunes National Recreation Area on Thursday, June 6th, with a few days to acclimate before training the following Monday.
We have a double parking pad, full hookups and even propane, so we can run the heater and water heater without worrying about having to drive into town to refill our tank. Our spot is in a National Forest Service campground, surrounded by pine trees and Douglas fir, and a variety of flowering and non-flowering bushes. And even though we’re in the forest, we can still see a lot of sky. The ocean is just a mile down the road, and I can hear it roar when I’m in bed with the window open.
The campground is across the road from the Siltcoos River, and there are lakes and lagoons all over the area, and easy hiking trails throughout the park. Cody loves all of the smells of rabbits, foxes, and deer, and we all appreciate the cool, moist air.
The day after we got here, all of the stress, and the cottonwood blowing in Sacramento, and the pine pollen in Coos Bay, got to us, and we both got sick. Marika had itchy ears and a scratchy throat. I was coughing so deep it turned into bronchitis with a low grade fever. I went to the clinic in Florence for antibiotics, cough medicine with codeine, and a stronger inhaler for my asthma. And we postponed our training for a few more days.
Marika made chicken soup and we slept a lot. TV and cell reception is spotty, so we watched the TV shows we had downloaded onto our phones, and took very short walks around camp so that Cody could do his business. Finally, after a week, we were both ready to start work.
Our supervisor, Cindy, picked us up in her truck and we drove down the main road toward the beach. She is a wildlife biologist, so she shared lots of information about the native and invasive plants, trees and grasses in the area. She pulled over to let some air out of the truck tires, put it in four-wheel-drive, then turned onto the maintenance ‘road’ that cut through the brush, and sand, all the way down to the beach. When we got to the base of the fore dune, she revved the engine and accelerated us up and over.
The beach is big, open, wide, and clean, and we didn’t see a single person. We drove really slowly in the wet sand, but not in existing tire tracks, because sometimes a plover will nest in the depression. We passed a dozen harbor seals sunning themselves near the surf. We drove parallel to the rolling waves, scanning for tiny movements in the landscape.
Cindy explained that the snowy plovers lay their eggs in a scraped out bowl in the dry sand. It takes 4 weeks for the eggs to hatch. After they hatch, the female plover leaves the nest, and will sometimes mate a second time. The chicks self-feed immediately, and the male stays with the chicks and warms them for 4 weeks until they fledge. They are so vulnerable, out in the open, the eggs and chicks prey for crows, ravens, coyotes, foxes, and careless humans.
As we crept along in the sand, we saw 3 male plovers foraging at the tide line, but didn’t see any chicks nearby. A few hundred yards further south we saw 3 more males, and Marika even saw two chicks. They are as small as cotton balls with toothpick legs, and they blend into the colors of the sand, so I didn’t see them, couldn’t catch their movement through the binoculars.
We drove through the water where the Siltcoos River meets the ocean, and continued south, scanning for plovers. We met the students from Portland State who are the official plover monitors, counting nests and birds every morning. Then we drove back over the dune road, then chatted with the other plover docent who was sitting in her truck in the parking lot where we will be working. It’s a staging area for Off-Highway Vehicles and there is a 200 foot trail to the beach that goes over a very high sand dune.
The first time I climbed it, we’d been at camp for 3 days and I was getting stir-crazy because I hadn’t yet seen the ocean. Even though my head cold had moved into my chest, I drove down to the parking lot and forced myself to climb up. I had to stop every few steps to catch my breath. My legs felt strong, but I was coughing and wheezing, and I was glad I had brought my inhaler. But when I finally got to the top, the view was spectacular.
But I couldn’t believe we were going to have to climb this dune every day! I was worried it might be too hard for Marika’s ankle and knee. And Cody certainly couldn’t handle it. And then I thought, I’ll be in great shape by the end of our gig.
I didn’t climb the dune again until the day after our beach tour with our supervisor, a week later. Even though I was still coughing, I just couldn’t wait any longer. I hadn’t walked on the beach since we left the Texas coast in March, and I needed a fix. I took two big puffs on my inhaler before I even started up the incline. The sand was soft and loose, so it’s like climbing very steep, uneven steps that move when you step down. I stopped often, but I wasn’t hacking like the first time. And the view at the top was even more beautiful because there was no one on the beach.
I took my time walking down the other side, where the sand is even looser. You think you have a foothold, and then the sand collapses under your foot. So I slowed down, took smaller steps, and then, finally, I was on the beach.
I walked way out to the low tide line, and there was no trash on the beach at all. Just rocks and shells and driftwood. Finally, I could take my shoes off and walk barefoot without worrying about cutting my foot on a can or piece of plastic. I left my shoes at the edge of the dry sand, rolled up my pants to just below my knees, and walked toward the ocean.
And it was glorious. The water was cold as it rolled over my ankles, and the sand sucked out from under my feet as it rolled back out, and I almost lost my balance. I stepped back a few inches and found my footing, then practiced some modified sun salutations while the ocean roared in front of me.
I walked further south toward the river, then stood facing the ocean and breathed. I cupped my hands behind my ears to make the roar louder, and I felt all kinds of gratitude. How wonderful that we are living here, working here, and that walking on the beach is part of our job!
I walked back to get my shoes, then sat on the log to wipe my feet off with my socks, then slipped my shoes back on for the walk back up the dune. The climb up the loose sand was even more difficult that the other side. I stopped a lot and couldn’t believe how hard it was. A woman at the top told me that next time, I should approach from the side and walk up along the grassy edge until I got to the mid-section of the sand, and then head up.
She was right. And now, after our first full week of work, I still have to stop a few times to regulate my breathing, but the climb is getting easier. And using trekking poles helps a lot. Yes, Marika goes slow, but she’s got her ankle brace on and her walking stick, and she takes one step, and then another, until she’s all the way up and over. And the reward, after the quick slip and slide walk down, is the gorgeous, wild, solitary beach.
Our job is to talk with people, make sure they are obeying the temporarybeach restrictions, and teach them about the snowy plovers and how they can help protect them during nesting season. We work the morning shift, which includes walking the south beach to check that the ropes and signs are still up. I tend to walk much faster than Marika, but I’ve got some plantar fasciitis going on in my left heel, so we’ve been walking the same pace. And it’s nice. We scan the beach with our binoculars, looking for people, footprints in the dry sand, dog prints in any sand. And we look for signs of plovers.
Then, depending on the wind and the sun, we’ll either sit on a log on the beach, or on a portable stool at the top of the dune, or in a chair in the parking lot, or, if it’s too windy or cold, in the car, ready to talk with visitors.
Marika shows people the photographs of plover eggs in a nest in the sand, the newly hatched wet chicks, and the tiny fledglings, speckled and fluffy, running in the sand. I remind dog owners to stay north of the signs, and offer them a pooper bag and a dog cookie.
It’s an easy job, in a very beautiful place. And we like the actual work. But it is also hard to be out in the elements for five hours. We wear long sleeved shirts, long pants, our forest green volunteer windbreakers, and hats. And lots of sunscreen and lip balm.
For me, the biggest challenge of this job is to just hang out, waiting for people. I’m more task-oriented. Tell me what needs to get done and I’ll do it. Marika, on the other hand, loves sitting, and looking, listening, and watching the sky. I like it for an hour or two, and then I’m ready for something new. But there are few options. Cell reception is intermittent, both at camp and down at the parking lot. And it’s hard to read a book when I’m anticipating being interrupted. So we talk, read the brochures in our volunteer handbook, and enjoy the conversations with the public. And I practice sitting, and enjoying, and being grateful.
Yesterday was our first of two days off after our first full working week, and we were ready for it. I drove into town to do laundry, then took myself out for lunch at a new Chinese restaurant. When I got home, Marika thanked me for doing the laundry, gave me a quick update on Cody, who is doing so well with continued acupuncture and a daily anti-inflammatory. Then took a nap on the sofa. She had cleaned the kitchen and polished the cabinets while I was gone. Cody was sleeping in his bed under the dinette, and I was at my writing desk, writing, listening to the rain on the RV roof. And in that moment, I loved everything about my life.
And I remembered that little stream that ran behind our campground outside of Kerrville, Texas, how it was slow and easy flowing for several yards, and then the water jumbled over a clog of trees and rocks, causing the flow to slow and gurgle before coming out the other side. And I remember thinking, that’s how Phoenix is going to be, a lot of bumps and boulders, but we’ll get through it, and then be back in the flow.
Things will always shift and change, dissolve and resolve, and then repeat. I have to remember to just keep breathing and turning back to my own heart, and it will all be OK.
Our Month of May
I hope you are doing well wherever you are, noticing the changes in the seasons, the skies, your own energy. And I hope you are breathing often. I mean, really breathing. To ground yourself, to give yourself permission to pause, to slow it all down. It’s the only way to stay sane and centered when everything around you is a challenge.
Conscious, big belly breathing is how I’ve gotten through this full and challenging month here in the Big City. After several return trips to the RV repair place, a lot of hassle and arguing, everything is finally working. And we have a toilet that fits the space, that doesn’t leak.
We also have a new foam and mattress topper on the bed, stiffer foam in my writing space cushions, and a humidifier to add to our collection of temperature control items.
And since Marika’s insurance is only good in this county, she got a follow-up mammogram (all clear), and took care of a cancerous spot on her cheek. We also had my dad’s house treated for termites, and got him a new ID card, since he no longer has a valid driver’s license.
And Cody, who’s been moving with a little less grace than usual, and sometimes pooping without knowing it, went to see his regular vet. X-rays confirm that he has severe arthritis along his spine, causing the numbness in his back legs, which is why he doesn’t always have them under him, or realize he’s pooping in the house. So no more running ball games, to avoid the short stops that might do more damage.
And he now uses a ramp to go up and down the RV steps. He’s been on a short course of steroids, and he’s also had three acupuncture sessions. Between the two treatments, he’s moving with more confidence and stability, only pooped in the house once, and he’s even able to half-shake his body.
The first 100 decks of Heart Sparks cards are out in the world, doing their magic. There are even a few decks for sale in stores in Phoenix. And I just ordered the second 100 decks, so let me know if you’d like me to send you one!
And so, with everything taken care of, and no follow-up appointments needed, we finally have a departure date to head north to our volunteering job on the central Oregon coast.
We’ll take a week to drive the 1300 mile route, with a three-day stop in Sacramento to visit with friends. I’m looking forward to the wide open desert drive from here to our first stop in California. I can’t wait to be out on the road again, the Big City behind us, heading to our next adventure. I’m ready!
A Convenient Inconvenience
We were supposed to be on the road today, heading west and north to our summer volunteer job on the Oregon coast. But two Saturdays ago, after a delightful dinner out with friends, we came home, turned the AC down and lost electricity in the RV. And we smelled something burning.
We followed the smell to the 30 amp plug in the sewage compartment where you attach the power cord when traveling. The power cord that was plugged into the RV park’s electric post, was fine. The damage seemed to be contained inside our plug box, thank God. But without electricity or the use of the generator, we quickly packed up some things and arrived at my Dad’s house at 11:30 pm.
Fortunately, we’d been there the week before, when the RV was getting a new toilet. So we were all comfortable and familiar with the space and each other. On Monday we drove the RV back to the repair place. We knew their schedule was full, but they said they’d fit us in, and have it done by Friday. So we got a few more things out of the RV and settled into my Dad’s house for the week.
His girlfriend was out of town, so he was staying at his house for the duration. It was a great opportunity for us to observe him in his element, to see how capable he really is, living alone. He cooks, cleans, does his own laundry, and even trims the tree branches. Yes, he forgets things, but that’s to be expected for an 88 year old.
We all got along, him doing his thing, us doing ours. Sometimes we shared a meal, sometimes we ate on our own schedules. My dad is not a dog person, so he and Cody mostly ignored each other, but one morning, I did hear him say to Cody, “Hello. Good morning,” and it made me smile.
My dad is also not a reminiscer. He is a mathematician and an engineer. Life is about problems and solutions, and having things under control. Whenever I ask him, “Do you remember…?” He says, “No. It was a long time ago.” So I was tickled when he showed me the stack of Father’s Day cards I’d made for him over the years.
Staying with him at the house made it easier to take care of some big Dad projects: he now has a current Medical Power of Attorney, naming Marika as his person, he donated his car to KJZZ, and we met with his doctors so my Dad could hear the realities of his future with end stage kidney disease.
And I’ve been able to thank all of the nurses and neighbors who are my father’s village. One nurse, who genuinely enjoys taking care of my dad said, “You’re so nice. You must take after you mom.” Because he can also be abrupt and obstinate and rude.
In the midst of the RV and my Dad, we’ve also been doing a lot of hoop dancing with the medical insurance world. Marika’s application on my BCBS policy was declined, and she had some missing information in her ACA application, so we’ve been plowing through the paperwork for appeals and extensions. And, since we’re here, and Marika’s current insurance is only good in this county, she’s been making some medical appointments.
The RV is still at the repair place because the fridge keeps turning off. They first thought it was a propane issue, but when we went back last Friday to pick it up, the fridge was still shutting off. Now they think we need new batteries, so we’ll see. And so our departure date is still up in the air.
It’s been pretty stressful all around, for Marika, especially. So we’ve been trying to stay calm and present and grateful. In the past, I’d be go crazy, not knowing when we’re leaving, when we’re getting to Oregon, what’s up for the next few days. But instead, I’m flowing with the changes, doing a lot of deep belly breathing, and appreciating This. Here. Now.
And we are saying a lot of thank you’s. For a comfortable and welcoming house to stay in, for my Dad’s hospitality, great air conditioning, really fast internet, and a big fenced yard for Cody to play in. That the short in the RV plug didn’t turn into a huge electrical fire. And that we can extend our stay in town until we feel the RV is really fixed and ready for the road.
I’ve been using the Heart Sparks cards to ground myself these past few weeks, sometimes choosing a random card, and some days, pulling out the ones I know I need, like SURRENDER and FLOW and BE.
And getting the Heart Sparks cards out into the world has kept my heart light and open. Decks are now available at Storm Wisdom in Phoenix, and at SWIHA in Tempe. This means the first 100 decks are out in the world! And that makes me goosebumpy happy.
I’m now taking orders for the second bulk order, so if you’d like to purchase a deck, email me for the details!
From my very grateful, flowing heart to yours!
Southern Arizona
We’re in our last traveling days before pulling into Phoenix for the month of April. We’ve been mostly hop-skipping our way west, with shorter one and two night stop overs every two hundred miles between Galveston and southern Arizona, where we’re relaxing for this last week.
We spent a long weekend outside of Austin near the lower Colorado River, in the same park system where we were camp hosts last March. This time we stayed on the North Shore, with open grass areas and a lovely view of Lake Bastrop. We chose to return to the area so we could get together with friends who live in Austin, and also to eat at a really delicious Chinese restaurant. We were so disappointed to find out that the restaurant had closed the day we got there.
We stayed in Kerrville for three nights, in a private campground along the Guadalupe River. We celebrated my 60th birthday there with a drive into the small town, got a free cone from Dairy Queen, and scored some fun shirts at the thrift store. Marika wanted to take me out for a fancy dinner, but I just wanted to enjoy her homemade hummus and veggies at home. So we stopped at the supermarket for some wild salmon to add to the menu and But picked up two decadent slices of cake from a fancy bakery, that was served with candles, for dessert.
Most of the people at the park were seasonal, and I talked myself into saying YES to joining them for their weekly poker game. It was dealer’s choice with wild cards almost every game, so it was more about luck than skill, but it was fun. And I doubled my $5.00 buy in.
The roads across Texas were dappled with blue bonnets and Indian paintbrush. Once into New Mexico the terrain changed to high desert, with fields of sunshine as far as you could see.
While I loved the wide open space and the forever sky, the drive was long and quiet, since I can’t talk or sing. Ever since we left Georgia on March 1st, I’ve had all kinds of allergic sneezing and coughing, and it turned into laryngitis the second day we were on the Texas coast almost 3 weeks ago. I’ve been drinking lots, gargling with salt water, and drowning in slippery elm tea, but there’s really been no change. And the dry air also hasn’t helped.
And now that we’re in the desert, things are even drier, so we purchased a small humidifier to keep the air moister for my mucous membranes. And yes, I’ll be seeing someone when we get to Phoenix next week.
But for now, we’re enjoying the slow transition to the climate and the sun of the southwest. We are in Tubac, Arizona, about 25 miles north of the Mexican border at Nogales. We’re here for the migrating hawks. Instead of staying at an upscale RV resort, we found an offbeat campground that feels more like a junkyard with random spaces for RVs to hookup. But the people are great, it’s quiet with a groomed walking trail, and the birds are a plenty.
All day long we watch goldfinches, sparrows, hummers, orioles, phainopepla, cardinals, and gila woodpeckers feasting on Marika’s various feeders. We’ve seen quail and roadrunners, and this morning, Marika even saw three deer.
The owner is also a licensed masseuse, and she gave me one of the best massages I’ve ever had. And that same evening, she and her husband played music on the patio with one of the RV guests.
Cody and I love the walking path that skirts the property. It’s graded dirt, about six feel wide, bordered by tall, wild weeds full of scents, and smells, and bright yellow buds. I try to stay on the less dusty sections, keeping my eyes out for snakes, since it is that season. The path passes three backyards furnished with bright colored patio furniture and barbecue grills. It’s cool under the canopy of desert trees whose name I can’t remember.
We had only planned to stay two nights, and actually questioned that choice when we first pulled in, but we extended our stay for another three, to enjoy the quiet, and the space, and the birds. Marika has been going birding every morning and I have been enjoying the slow, easy, restorative pace.
Tomorrow we are going into town to experience some art. And we’ve been getting together with friends in the area, too. We’ll drive the last three hours north to Phoenix on Saturday, when the freeways are a little less crazy with traffic.
One of the big reasons we’re spending April in Phoenix is to take care of some Dad things. He’s 88, still living at home, and spending half his time at his girlfriend’s house in Sun City West. The intention is to clean out a few rooms in his house that he doesn’t use, assess how he’s really doing, and be his taxi service since he no longer has a driver’s license.
Usually we stay at a nearby RV park, but we couldn’t get a reservation, so I suggested we park the RV in my Dad’s driveway and live in the house since we wouldn’t be able to plug into electricity to run the air conditioner, which is a necessity in Phoenix in April. We’d save some money, be more available for my Dad, and Cody would have a yard.
But my father was concerned about the weight of the RV on the cracks in the driveway. He doesn’t relate to dogs, and would prefer Cody stayed outside. And it would be a tight fit maneuvering into the space.
The more I thought about it, the more I imagined the stress I would feel of living with my father in the house that I spent my teen years in. That my father now shares with his girlfriend. Where my mom’s office is still like she left it nine years ago.
I was anxious about not sleeping in my own bed, not having a place to retreat and restore, and the thought of all of the emotions of going through my mother’s things. And I worried about how Cody would feel when we had to leave him in the house to go for outings.
And then I had to stop myself and come back to the beauty and ease of where I was. I had to remind myself that I can feel the BEVY (my mom’s name) of emotions as they arise, when they arise. But I didn’t need to be feeling them right now, because it wasn’t happening right now.
Instead, I focused on what supports I might need when I’m there, and how I might cope when things got uncomfortable. And I shared all of these thoughts with Marika so she could understand what I might need from her, even if I was too far in to ask.
And I reminded myself that it will be like the waterfall in the river at the end of the campground in Kerrville. It may get a little bumpy, a bit exciting, and things might get churned up. But on the other side, a slow and steady, easy flow will be waiting for me.
And then I got an email from the RV Park woman in Phoenix, asking when we were coming, that she DID have a spot for us. And my whole being relaxed. Now I could have my own space, sleep in my own bed, even swim in the park’s pool, so that I am much better equipped and prepared and able to take care of whatever comes up.
We will be staying at my Dad’s house for the two or three days that the RV is in the shop for a new toilet next week. But then I’ll be home and free, and ready.
In addition to Dad things, we’ll be taking care of medical stuff, getting both vehicles re-registered, and, of course, enjoying our favorite foods and friends. This will be the first time I’m in Phoenix, NOT working with Mac clients. I can’t wait to see how that open space feels.
I will hold the first deck of Heart Sparks oracle cards in my hands this weekend. If they are as beautiful in real life as they are on the screen, I will be placing the first orders. Email me for details on pre-ordering your own deck.
From my heart to yours,
