POOP, Bears, and a Sleepwalking Blind Woman

  Last night was my Friday night.  I get one day off a week with which I must decide, "Do I cram it full of events, or use it as a day of relaxation and rejuvenation?"  Today is still up in the air as to what will come to pass, but last night I opted for immediate relaxation.  I took a shower, I locked myself away in my tiny cabin, and I refused an invitation to play POOP.  That is correct, you read it right.   Recently the game of choice on the island has become POOP.  It's very similar to the basketball game you probably played as a child called HORSE, but in this case the ball has been replaced with a BB gun, the court replaced with a hillside obstacle course, the hoop replaced with beer cans, and the stationary free-throw position was replaced with a lot of downhill log-rolls, somersaults, standing spins, and fast action firing.  Calamity and hilarity run amok, hand-in-hand on this crazy island.
 
  The perfumery of my room was mystical, smelling of home-mixed essential oils, and a recently lit stick of incense.  I decided, against every Aries trait I possess, to brush aside my "to-do" list.  I placed it on a shelf full of writings, letters, and art projects, right next to my "to-write" list.  I began to listen to a lecture series by Alan Watts.  Sitting in thermal leggings and a tank top, I huddled on the floor next to Eden, my space heater, (her brand name is Eden Pure, but I recognize her as a life-giving force, so she has reached the nomenclature of an animate being).  I strapped on my headlamp, and began to take notes in my sketchbook, reminiscing of those old college lecture hall days.  Only this time my professor was Allen freaking Watts!!!

 Sneaking off into the night like a meagerly tip-toeing bank robber, masked, superbly cautious, slow-going, and heavy laden with a bag full of light, the sun had finally set and the night was dark.  Picture a mole in their cavern trying to read a bedtime story.  This is me.  With contacts removed I would say I am as blind as a bat, but this is still too sensorily equipped.  I, unlike those beautiful winged mammalian creatures, don't have sonar.  Therefor,  I would more accurately say, I can't see shit if it's farther than 20 inches away from my face.  Even then the edges blur, leaving me like a small newborn child, seeing the world defined only by colors.  A basket full of curiosities.  Hidden away in the dark places are where the monsters live.

  In Allen Watts' lecture Out of Your Mind he begins, "When one speaks of awakening it means de-hypnotization.  Coming to your senses. But of course to do that, you have to go out of your mind."  Little did I know, I was in for quite an awakening.

  I listened to the first 4 sounds bits of Watts' lecture, with my sketchbook mere inches from my face while I scribbled down barely legible notes.  As if the act of writing down Watts' key points would scribe them deeper into my psyche, and perhaps at the end of his series I would mirror the knowledge of the philosophical sage himself.  Unlikely, but no matter, I enjoy learning, and although I wouldn't say I "enjoy" being humbled, I would say it is necessary toward growth.  To become smarter, we must challenge ourselves, and surround ourselves with challenging people.  Knowledge is power...thus ends my educational plug for this post, and the story goes on.

  A blind bat in a dark cave.  I moved on from philosophical lectures to the mad metaphorical wanderings of Tom Robbins, one of my favorite authors.  I had recently acquired his book Villa Incognito.  Based on all the previous Robbins novels I have I was not caught off guard when this story began with Tanuki, a shape-shifting, other worldly, transcending, East Asian dog, often mistaken for a badger, with an incredibly shockingly sized scrotum.  If you want to know more about Tanuki's far fetched story I suggest you read the book yourself.  In the meantime, lets get back to the point of this story, shall we?

  I read for about half an hour, then went to sleep.  Well, I tried to go to sleep, but wouldn't you know it, just as I decided to finally retire for the evening that persistently timed urge to have to urinate right before slumbering struck a chord, and the debate began.

  In a typical household setting this is already annoying enough.  Having to decide if the urge to pee outweighs the confused tiredness and need for sleep, or if it can wait and be dealt with in the morning.  You know there is a slim chance you will go to sleep, comfortably dream the night away, and wake revitalized, before getting up to use the restroom.  Very seldom in our lives does there exist the phantom pee.  Presenting itself, then quietly disappearing, only to reappear hours later, patiently tapping you gently on the shoulder politely reminding you it is ready for your attention, please, now that the timing is more convenient for you.

  It's best to just get up, take care of the issue, and return to bed, fully equipped for slumber.   Generally the need to pee is cruelly unrelenting.  Similar to a small child whose parent is stuck in the vortex of an adult conversation.  Tugging frantically at their mother's arm, trying to save her from the clutches of boredom she doesn't seem to know she has even fallen into.  All the while concerned she has suddenly gone deaf because she doesn't seem to hear their cries at all.  The tugging becomes more frantic, and the pleas become loud beckoning panicked shouts. "Mom can we go? Mom I'm bored....mom...mom...mom...MOM!?"  Stupid impatient pee.

  The biggest problem in this situation is that I don't reside in a typical housing arrangement.  I don't have lights in my cabin, and although some of the other employee cabins are equipped with fanciful features, like a cold water sink, none of them have toiletries.  In my particular case, I have to walk down a hill and two flights of stairs, to get to the bathroom.  Or down a hill, down the boardwalk, past the woodpile, and to the outhouses.  It's not a quick fix situation.  The debate between my brain, and my bladder raged.  Tiredness won, I laid down, knowing I would have to get up in the middle of the night to go to the restroom, but I was too tired now.  Judge me all you want but in moments such as this we all become zen masters of mindfulness, where the "now" is all that matters, and what will be, will be,...etc, etc...whatever it takes to convince yourself its okay to go to sleep.  That moment our pillows become gods, and our comforters, their arms.  Embrace me, sweet bed, for I am tired and in need of rest.

  I was dancing beneath the moonlit window pane which stands between the world of sleep, and the world of wakefulness.  That place where rules exist, but become bent and mangled.  Where gravity is a choice and sometimes we can fly.  I was in the state of dreaming, where you are still aware of the outside world and suddenly THUMP!  What was that?  I shot straight up in bed, senses heightened and called to the front lines of war in a millisecond.  My blindness shifting the focus of my senses toward sound and touch.  My brain firing thoughts off so fast, none of them were formed in words, but rather ideas in instants.

  Multiple happenings from earlier this week played out, as my brain became the Sherlock Holmes of Halibut Cove, and I was going to get to the bottom of that noise!

A list of considerations, and the thoughts of a sleepwalking, panicked, person, with a strong urge to pee go as follows:

• What could make a noise that big?  Movement from something large....a bear!
• Bears don't live on the island, but they do swim across from the mainland on occasion. 

*** It should be noted there, that my immediate direction of thoughts traveling toward the idea of a bear come from the washed up bear on the shore of the island earlier in the week as well as the fact that a mystery poop was found near my house on one of the water lines.  We couldn't identify it based on any of the animals here and it became a lunchtime game called "Name that scat," where we passed a photo of it around and hypothesized its origin.

Harvesting the paws of the washed up bear for the claws.  Don't be mad guys, he was long gone from living before I got to him.  I wasn't his demise.  I just figured I could make something beautiful from his remains, and we all know what my artwork is like. Bones, rawhide, talons.  Don't act surprised.

•   I could look out the window, but I didn't have my contacts in, so even if I did see something, I wouldn't really see it, and whatever movement took place for me to see would result in a series of monsters and possibilities of death, which were already playing themselves out in my mind anyway.
• How should I look out the window?  If I put my headlamp on, whatever was outside would see the light and be attracted to it.  We all learned that just because you close your eyes, shut tight, doesn't mean they can't see you when you get scared.
• What if it is a bear?  My phone doesn't work here, it's not like I can call anyone for assistance.

What I thought for sure I was going to see outside my cabin.

• What if it's a bear, and it ATTACKS!? What is my escape route?  Let's see, my cabin is the size of a closet, so I would have to wait for the bear to pretty much be half-way inside my house, before I could crawl out a window, otherwise he could just see where I was going, side step one footing, and be there quicker than I could get there myself. 
• My windows don't open. How fast can I break out a window?
• On two sides of my cabin are trees, making a window escape very hard, and on the third side a 40 foot cliff, making this option not much better than being eaten by a bear.
• Holy shit, I can't see ANYTHING. I should put my contacts in.

 
  At this point, I clamber out of bed and try to put my contacts in, without the use of light, which also means without the use of a mirror, and bear in mind (hahaha, bear in mind, that's funny!), I am pretty much half-awake, I would say almost sleep walking at this point.

  Somehow, I got the contact case open, but couldn't tell if I had grabbed one of the contacts out, or not.  So in a panic, because thumping sounds, and now heavy breathing, were still happening outside my cabin, I just moved on to trying to get the second contact out of the case, thinking that even if I could just see clearly out of one eye, I would drastically increase my chances of survival.  I got the second contact out of the case, and into my palm.  Apparently, in my sleep I had mastered the art of magicianry because there was now not one, but two contacts in my palm. Contact wearers, know two things.  Rarely is your prescription for one eye identical to that of the other, (in my case they are not the same), and contacts are easily turned inside out.  In the next few seconds that followed, and in world record time I put them in my eyes.  Again crediting my new found glory as a magician, I actually got them in right side out, and right way round.

  The moment of truth was upon me.
  What was outside my cabin?
  I peered out the windows and saw only darkness, but the noise persisted.

• Was it a visiting bear?  Perhaps somber and not at all hungry.  Perhaps stark raving mad and feverishly famished.
• Bear
• Bear
• Angry bear?
• Hungry bear?
• Bear
• Bear
• Kayaker?
• Was it the guy on the kayak who had been seen around the cove the last 4 days without ever stepping foot on land, which had been rumored of being homeless, and pirating a place to sleep on the shores of Ismailof Island here in Halibut Cove?
• Was it Cosgood Creeps and Mr. Crawls who would have gotten away with it too, if it weren't for those pesky kids and that pesky dog of theirs, Scooby Doo?

  I had to investigate further.  I quietly opened my door and stepped out into the moonlight, my wits more about me, the sleep wearing off, the crisp edges of both my vision and reality returning.

  That noise I heard.   Was one of the horses, who had been let out of the corral to overnight graze.

Sneaky horses!!!

   And so there you have it.  I dream more vividly here, and more consistently than I ever have anywhere in my life.  I have been known to sleep walk from time to time and have quite the collection of silly stories, but this week takes the cake.  I won't even go into the episode that happened earlier this week.  In a nut shell, that was one of the most memorable sleep walking episodes I have had.  Usually I know when one has happened, because I have a certain feeling, when I finally become fully awake, and I can sometimes remember snippets of them.  But this was about as lucid as I have ever experienced.

  And to answer the lingering question, yes, since I was up, I did finally make the long trek to the bathroom.  Stupid impatient pee.

Halibut Cove, Alaska. My summer frontier.

A view front the top of Ismailof Island, Halibut Cove, Alaska.

  They say Alaska is the last frontier.  It's a place people have flocked to in hopes of never being found.  Fresh starts after displacing those slates we've been carrying around on our backs, whose weight has slowly brought us closer and closer to the ground.  Closer and closer to the grave.  Heavy hearts, burdened backs, and buckling knees be damned!  This is a place for release, and I am going to find some answers here.

 The truth is, we can find answers anywhere, we just forget in the day-to-day to listen for them.  Familiar settings dulling our intuitions because we have expectations of what will be just around the corner.  When living in one place, people never ask you "What's next".  When you are stationary people simply accept the status you currently hold, in profession, education, living quarters, etc.  In being anchored to a place, we allow ourselves to be anchored to expectations.  There are some who forget to let go of their anchor as they cast it overboard, and sink in a flailing panic, forgetting themselves as they disappear into an abyss.  Some cast anchors, yet forget to take down their sails, leaving themselves pulled in two directions.  Others drift along, letting the ocean take them where it will.

  Why am I using so many nautical references?  It probably has something to do with my current locale.  I have recently taken up residence in Halibut Cove, Alaska where I have acquired a summer job.  I live on a very small island, just off the mainland, eastward, across the bay from Homer.

 As it happens, I have had a very great run of finding adventure in my life. This time adventure was disguised as an old acquaintance who called me on the phone and offered me a job in Alaska. This is an atypical occurrence.  How many times are we sitting at home when someone calls and offers us jobs without even searching them out? Let alone one as adventurous as this one?  I thought it best to oblige the offering.  I have noticed the mannerisms of universal hands at play.  They speak with silence through delicate gestures, guiding us onward, and scooping us up into white crested currents of excitement, delivering us to the doorstep of opportunities and rare lifetime happenings.  What insignificant, ungrateful mortal would I be, if I were to ignore such an invitation?

  I turned in my notice at work.  I informed my family and friends that I would once again be on the move, and none of them seemed surprised in the slightest, which was ironic, because I think of all the people shocked at my leaving, I was the most caught off guard.  Wasn't I suppose to have found the answers to all my wandering questions in my last venture?  Shouldn't I have found myself in a zen-like trance, engulfed within the nesting space I was to have created for myself after months of finding out "who I was", while hiking the bush of New Zealand the year prior?  Wasn't I suppose to be on my way toward a steady relationship, marriage, a white picket fence, kids, a dog, and a lifetime of pre-answered queries?

  I do hope to find stability in my life at some point again.  I do miss it, but as it stands now a stationary life hasn't worked out quite yet.  At this moment I have no reason to be anywhere particular.  Perhaps some day there will be a shift, and I will find a reason to stay put.  An anchor to hold me a bit more still through the tumultuous waters of life.  In the meantime...Alaska.

The first view of my new home as we crossed the bay.

  I met up with a few co-workers on the last flight from Anchorage to Homer.  Our flight attendant was the funniest attendant I have ever seen.  As soon as I took a seat, the gentlemen next to me, gestured toward her and said "Oh good, she's the funny one!"  Boy was he right!!! She started off, what I will refer to as her "set," because she used the 45 minute flight as a platform from which to crack jokes to a captive audience, by introducing herself.  "My name is Diana Ross, but I'm not a very good singer, so I do this instead.".  I have never been to a comedy show where the comedian not only provides an ab workout and tears from laughter slit eyes, but also provides cookies, and refreshments.  She is renowned through the area.  Anyone within 200 miles of here knows of her hilarity.  What a great introduction to Homer. 

  We stopped at a grocery, stocked up on a few items, and drove out to the edge of the Homer spit to catch our ride across the bay.  The 4.5 mile spit features the longest road into ocean waters, in the entire world, taking up to 15 minutes to travel by car.  Pretty cool! We transferred supplies, boarded a boat by the name of the Creel, and made our way to Ismailof Island in Halibut Cove.  My new home.

 Above pictured on the left are four of the employee cabins.  One room cabins with a loft and a cold water sink.

  The building on the left pictured above here, is Dave's shop, above which resides Marian's studio.  (Dave and Marian are the owners of The Saltry.)  Adjacent to the studio is one more employee room.  The middle building is dry storage for the restaurant, the shower and the laundry room.  Above is another employee quarters.  Just above that center building on the hill is a tiny white cabin.  This is where I live.  The final building on the right is The Saltry, the wonderful restaurant I am working at this summer.  The structure to the right of the Saltry is a covered deck with fireplace, built into the edge of a rock cliff.  If you follow the boardwalk further down past the restaurant it will take you to several other properties, a horse coral, 2 galleries, a small coffee shop that I hear will be opening shortly for the season, and you can also find a small post office which is open on Tuesdays and Saturdays at 9, but then promptly leaves for Homer after opening.  You are welcome to catch a ride into town aboard the Stormbird on post days if you need to re-supply.  I have already had the pleasure of doing just that!  She leaves at 10, arrives into Homer by 11, and departs again at 2 for the voyage home.

My cabin is the old wheelhouse on the Danny J, which is the ship our patrons ride upon from Homer for their dining experience.

  6 horses live here, Piko the dog who sticks out his tongue often after having lost his top teeth to a horse kick a few years prior, and two bunnies.  Carrots and Celery.  Aside from that, bald eagles are a very regular sight.  Just yesterday I helped process cod at a fish processing station they have situated on the deck.  The unusable scraps were thrown into the ocean, and when the tide went out later it was a feeding frenzy between the eagles and the gulls.  It's a constant battle between them, one I never tire of watching.

Carrots

  On the spit is Homer's famous Salty Dawg Saloon.

  You expect it to be like any other dive bar, full of regulars, slouching over a cold brew and having hum-drum ignorable conversations about what so-n-so did or said, and blah-di-blah blah blah. Then you open the door to this!!!!!!

  Every square inch of wall and ceiling surface is covered with bills.  I of course had to know why.  Apparently, sailors and fishermen use to go in and buy drinks, but if someone whom they wanted to buy a drink for wasn't in their immediate company, they would write that person's name on the bill and tack it to the wall, so when they eventually did make it into the saloon, they would be greeted by a pre-paid drink.  Since then it has just taken off as a sort of good luck charm.  Now people have a tendency to write their own name on the bills and tack them to the walls.  An item I plan to cross off my list before I leave here this year.

  Our official season doesn't actually begin until next Saturday, so up until now, we have been slowly prepping the Saltry for summer business.  Dusting off the winter cobwebs, sometimes quite literally.  So there has been a bit of down time, in which we play a lot of cribbage, sit by the fireplace, have an occasional drink, dine on king salmon caught that very morning, or even last night we had muscles harvested right here in Halibut Cove, and a wildcrafted salad of fiddlehead ferns and various hearty greens. Last week, after dinner it began to rain.  I happened to go outside and catch sight of the most beautiful rainbow, so we all hopped up, donned a life-vest, boarded the skiff and went rainbow hunting!

Double rainbow chasing, an excellent after-dinner activity!

  One afternoon Marian dropped us off at a beach on the mainland and we hiked into a glacier.

  Apparently, it's also on my to-do list to enjoy an old fashioned, with a glacial ice cube before the season is over.  My to-do lists rock.  My to-do list is on the rocks!! Hahaha!!

  For our final big pre-season excursion we hiked out to a little mainland lakeside cabin used by the family and friends of Dave and Marian.

Look at that sultry Saltry crew!!!  Buncha' wonderful riff-raffian rabble rousers if you ask me!

Leisure Lake

Compass photos have become a staple for my travels.

  And that pretty much brings us up to date. The work days are about to get very long.  We have divided up our days off as well as they days we take turns making everyone breakfast. Thursdays will be my day off, or in other words my studio day :)  Let the season begin!!!

One Year Home...Home?

  It's a very awakening moment to hold still and ponder the happenings of my life these last years.  The gradual change of self as I shift between adventures on the other side of the planet, and betwixt the boring days when you hold secret hopes of adventure knocking unexpectedly upon your door to carry you away, just as the Grim Reaper would visit you in a furious flash changing everything you know in one instant.  Life, instantly altered, never to be the same.

  Daydreaming of an adventurous rescue is about as useful as pouring over all your past lives in a photo album and thinking to yourself "I wish I had..." or, "if only I had known."  It's pointless, and before you know it, you have fabricated an entire scene of unreality, and wasted minutes of your time imagining something that will never exist, then those moments are gone, leaving you exactly where you were before the self-derprecating flood took over your mind, but you are now also missing moments of your life, where you could have been doing something with yourself.

  The last year of my life has been golden.  I spent last summer working for my fifth season for Peaceful belly Farm, a 60+ acre organic farm, to which I owe much thanks, gratitude, and health.  My bosses and co-workers are close friends with which I endured many hours of sweat, blood, tears, sunburns, and miles and miles of outstretched smiles.

  I perfected my crafting of pepper ristras and other artistic food based endeavors as I spent my days picking flowers for a living.  Think about that for a moment.  I go to work, pick flowers all day long, make beautiful arrangements for weddings, and bouquets for local markets and stores. I had the wonderful opportunity to create the dining ambiance for one of our Farm to Fork dinners in which a 5 course meal is paired with a local wine and served at a banquet table positioned in the center of the flower field.  Nature displayed her beauty as the sun set beyond the foothills, candles were lit, and Josie, my boss, sang an aria to the dining patrons.

Carrying the main course from the barn to the flower field during the Farm to Fork dinner.

A garlic braid incorporating sage, lavender, zinnias, poppies, safflowers, and blak-eyed susans.

My amaranth and mushroom habaneros chandelier and gourd candle holders.

I made these wooden flower boxes and included peppers, eggplant, basil, and fennel into the arrangements.

 During the summer I had the blessing of teaching canning to a few friends and had the most wonderful afternoon of canning peaches with my sister, mom, and grandmother.  This was truly a memorable bonding experience I cannot put into words.

  I attended two weddings in the rugged mountainous glory that makes Idaho a place people find, and never let go of.

  

  During the fall I travelled to Kentucky, Tennessee, and New Mexico, crossing off three states I had never previously been to.  The hollers and forests of Kentucky are earthy smelling caverns I would love my body to be swallowed up by, after passing on from this life.  It seems like if you laid down long enough, mother earth would welcome you back to her roots and embrace you back into the soil, enveloping you in mossy arms and blanketing you in a quilt of leaves.

Trying my best not to fall

Becoming closer with nature everyday.

 While in New Mexico my Step-sister and brother in law took us on quite the adventures, spelunking in caves, to my first live away football game, (which I have to admit was actually quite a great time), to giving us a private tour of the mammal collection at UNM.  A privilege indeed!

  During Christmas I took my grandmother to see Santa, which, without going into personal details, was clarifying for my soul, and hers as well.

  I spent Christmas visiting my dad in Howe, where I grew up.  This is the scene I get from the living room window.  Up one of those canyons I broke my tailbone in a freak sledding accident, which is still proving to be quite painful 3 months later.  Note to self, watch for rocks!!!

  This brings us fairly up to date.  Since winter isn't a time for farming, at the end of every season there is a mad dash to find a job and I am lucky to have found the perfect fit at a restaurant whose practice centers around locally and ethically source food.  I took over co-managing the worm composting bins in the basement and have had a wonderful time feeding what would be food waste, to 60 pounds of red wigglers, collecting their castings, and last weekend when the Boise Farmers Market opened up, brought it full circle as I sold worm casting to local gardeners, returning composted food waste back to the earth.

Teaching my niece the wonders of worms! And probably getting a few cool auntie points in the process.

  So, last year, I was on the polar opposite end of the earth, changing everything about the way I perceive life.  This year I tried my hardest to find my niche while being here at "home", and just about the time I started to feel as if I were myself again, while still carrying the lessons and memories of what I have learned these last years, I was approached with an opportunity, that happens to reside in Alaska.  I was torn.  I keep wondering when I will start to feel "settled" or better yet, when I will feel content "settling down", which is a concept I struggle with, and often don't understand.  After much deliberation, I have decided it isn't often that adventure approaches you and beckons your company.  More often than not, you have to go looking for it.  In the meantime I keep waiting for something that clearly hasn't come, so in the meantime I will wander.  Perhaps one day amidst the wandering I will find a reason to throw down roots, and say "Adventure has taken my company along many journeys and roads, and I thank him for that, but this is my new adventure, here in rooting down, to somewhere or someone, and I will be content staying for a while."

 So, I wander, with eyes and heart wide open, excited for what happens next.  Alaska, lets dance.

Confessions of a Stranded Nomad

  Returning home from a long trip, particularly one as dramatic as my last venture, will leave any person in a state of “coping,” turning what they once thought was solid into a contortionists game, trying to make all the pieces fit into the box again. Some pieces were lost. Some thrown to the wayside once it was realized they were unnecessary baggage, just extra weight dangling from that backpack of life. Some pieces acquired, new, not wrapped in cellophane, but generally in the form of beautiful skin, disguised as a person, a friend, who has been traveling the globe, their whole life, your whole life, and then you meet...never having known how less your life had been without them initially in it. Other parts grow, and trying to fit them into the same categorical box you built yourself over a lifetime, is like trying to fit the ocean into a paper cup. Ludicrous.

  I think its often a romanticized misconception that when someone leaves behind their possessions, fit their life into a bag, and wander about the world, unsupervised by curious familiar eyes, that they will return a wise sage. All answers wrapped in perfect forms of calm poetic prose. But what would this classroom we call “the world” be, without a class clown wearing a dunce cap in the corner?

  I did not come back with all the answers. I came back with a few realizations, a selection of epiphanies, and a multitude of more questions than I held before I ever left. And finally a definite knowledge of just how strong, and weak, I can be on my own. I also increased my want to observe people. Weirdos, all of them. If you already know the problems I have with staring at people, well, then you can probably see how this will increase the frequency of my initiating awkward moments in public settings :)

  I will openly admit I have been toiling in the depths of a depression since my return, and the face of depression shifts shapes like the ripples on water in stormy seas. I am glad of it. At times I wore it well. At times I hid it. At times I hid FROM it, refusing to feel weak, and not understanding the root of the problem. But here’s the thing. Feeling, is not a problem. We are creatures made to feel. And roots, do not travel in straight lines. They meander, reaching in many directions, looking for nutrients to feed us. I think I needed those feelings, to find further strengths, and with any luck, will continue to find them so that I might continue to feed myself.

Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget the perfect offering
There’s a crack in everything
That’s how the light gets in
-Leonard Cohen

  The week I returned home we found out my grandfather was ill. Last Thursday we put him to rest in the Veteran’s cemetery overlooking the city of Boise, where I grew up, and currently live. It was not my first rodeo with death’s dealings, and certainly not my last. I learned so much from him in his passing. Ever the teacher, he demonstrated how to maintain a beautiful level of grace and optimism, even through the roughest of times, and I am thankful for his final lesson. Freud says, death is the goal of all living creatures, and in turn, to my grandfather I say “congratulations on your success.” I could not be more proud of the man he was, and the memories we share.

  When things started getting rough for my grandfather, my mom, who has been living with both of my grandparents to help them keep their independent life-styles of living in their home, had to approach conversations that were essential, although probably uncomfortable. My grandparents have owned funeral plots for a very long time, and Mom asked Grandpa if he was sure he didn’t want to be buried in the Veteran’s Cemetery where he had been volunteering for the past decade. He said he already applied for a spot and that he left the prior funeral plots to my mother and myself. When my mom told me this, I was honored and confused, and I just started laughing, because I knew what it meant. Mom, asked him, “You don’t think Sara’s going to get married and have a family of her own someday that she might want to be buried next to?” to which he very honestly replied “Well, we just don’t know at this point.” I exploded into honest laughter, as did my mom. I was sad and offended to be seen as basically a lost cause...but then I thought about it, and why should I be offended at a statement that could very well be the truth? I don’t exactly follow conventional lifestyle paths, now do I? There are some who think I am downright confusing, which is fine, because I often confuse myself. This conversation spun me down a rabbit-hole of self-deprecation. Total mental vertigo. Floundering around the tidal pool it donned on me. “What better person to be buried alongside than the one person who has loved me unconditionally my entire life?” I wouldn’t mind a bit. Hahaha!!! My family cracks me up with their un-adultered honesty. Curt is a word often used to describe our way of life. Our words are never intended to hurt, but we never expect to have to coddle each other through truths. Which brings me to the next subject…

  I am in fact a 32 year old single female, which I don’t think is terribly crazy. However, if you happen to be a 32 year old single female who lives in Boise Idaho, people treat you like you have recently found out you are the carrier of a terminal disease. Not to fear people!!! It’s not contagious, and although diseased with singledom, I am much happier now than I have been in certain points of relationships. I often have to explain to people, that there is a magnanimously monumental difference between being alone, and being lonely. Allow me to be honest, there are times when I do cross over to lonesome-town, but it’s not a place I care to stay, and I find myself retreating from its wreckage like a fumigated cockroach scattering for safety.

  I have been the focus of several interesting conversations, highlights of my favorite lines include “Well, you’re 32...do you WANT to have kids someday?” or “ You know that after the age of 36, it’s considered a geriatric pregnancy, right?” While it would be easy to take these words as jabs or insults, I know that they have been granted with the utmost intentions of love. People who love you, would like to see you happy. I had a great conversation with my friend Nick, about being single, he so graciously said “I don’t get it, you’re one of the nicest, smartest most talented women I know, and here you are, single. How does that happen?” I have officially been single for 2 years this month. I have made so many questionable choices in that time, one of which included me attempting to hike 1800 miles, and only succeeding in about 600 of them :) I have cried so hard sound refused my company and only silence escaped my quivering lips. I have laughed myself to tears through joy squinted eyes. I have been more confused in social settings than I have since junior high, I’ve even been responsible for creating a few of them, if in doubt just ask me about a couple of my recent dates. So to answer the question, I guess I can say, I am pretty much living a life, and a good one at that.

  Moving on to the next quandary. How to fill my time. 5 days a week I work at Peaceful Belly Farm. This is my 5th year working for a wonderful company which has reshaped my life in so many ways, it’s difficult and perhaps even scary to think of where I would be, or what on earth I would find acceptable to eat, if i hadn’t been a part of it. The rest of the time...what the hell do I do? I feel like I just bounce around aimlessly most of the time. I hide in my room a lot, having turned into a semi-professional hermit. On occasion I frequent a bluegrass or metal show at a local venue. I have found that I have shed a few friends in the manner that I love them, but have decided it’s okay to love people from afar. Sometimes, you grow apart. Sometimes you realize you were never in sync. Sometimes you question whether they were true friends or just applying you as a tool to climb or maintain a plateau in the social constructs in which you reside. And sometimes, none of the above happen, but you found you have let someone go without prompting, and that’s okay too. I have found some of my friendships rekindled and strengthened, either through silent stealth, or screaming from the rooftops of angst and companionship. For all of which I am thankful.

  I long for the toddler days of the playground where making new friends was as simple as asking, “Do you want to be my friend?” A moment of reflection, followed by immediate rejection or acceptance. Rarely found as an adult. Replaced by a contemporary dance of wooing. When I was a child I tried taking dance...I just didn’t get it. I didn’t care to learn a routine, I just wanted to listen to music, in a room, with other kids, and move my body around to the sound of the drums. I had no clue what I was signing up for, and in the metaphorical dance of life I would say I am still confused by all the created rules, but I refuse to stop moving to the beat! My friend Todd will tell you, I can mosh to anything. What I can’t do is change the cadence. When did asking a person of the opposite sex if they wanted to hang out, become an immediate implication of romantic intentions? I just do not understand social constructs sometimes. I’ll let you imagine how many uncomfortable situations I have been privy to, because of my complete lack of social awareness. Let the list of blunders and hilarious stories collect.

  I recently found out I am neurotic. I don’t remember the day exactly, but I imagine finding this out is similar to the day you realize colors have names. It’s not so much that you didn’t know they existed, it’s more that you never thought to differentiate them. The perceptions of others will project onto your own. I fought the idea of neurosis. I even had my friends who pointed it out to me look up the term immediately, which is perhaps a neurotic response, only to find most of the “symptoms” hit home, or at least stole third.

  So, what is this socially inept, single 32 year old wandering woman’s point? Nothing really. I think sometimes I just have to write things out to understand myself a bit better. Sometimes my life feels hard. Sometimes my life feels incomplete. Sometimes I forget to feel lucky, but I’m smart enough to try.

  Here are a couple photos, as proof that I do actually leave my house sometimes.

Clear Lake in Mount Hood National Forest

I mean really, are you surprised?

Milford Sound: Breathtaking Fjord Land, and Home Again

  Remember all the bleating sheep I mentioned missing since I had begun traveling by car rather than foot? Yep, I'm talking about these guys and gals right here.  I know this photo looks photo-shopped, but really, getting the attention of an entire field of sheep for the perfectly captured photo op is quite easy. Honk your car horn :)  All bleating ceases while they pose for the camera.

  We were now making our way up the west coast toward Milford Sound, which every Kiwi or tourist you meet on the south island, as well as many parts of the north, will tell you is a place "you have to see!"  All directions to visit the fjordland are accentuated with raised expressive eyebrows and flailing exaggerated arm gestures to emphasize the importance of their suggestive urgency.  But to be fair, after having actually seen it, if you ever make it to the south island YOU HAVE TO GO SEE IT!!! (Insert rapid arm movements and raised expressive eyebrows here ---> !! )  You will soon see why it's a must.

  What isn't the most glamorous thing about traveling the beached areas of the islands, and particularly the west coast of the south island is the number of ferocious sandflies.  Think mosquito bites that itch more intensely and for weeks rather than days. Think waking up in the middle of the night having unconsciously scratched yourself into a bleeding frenzy.  Think tiny scars across your body, reminiscent of childhood chicken pox.  I'm fairly certain if there is a tortured place in the afterlife, then sandflies reside there, and are well fed.

   A beautiful creek for a lunchtime stop, and an even better creek, Jeff found out, to soothe the bites of the sandflies.

  We drove along the west coast heading north toward Te Anau which is basically the last town with options for road deviation.  From here you can only travel SH94 north to Milford Sound, east toward the center of the island, or back south toward Invercargill.  There is only this one road to Milford Sound and your timing must be precise to get the best photo ops since the tour buses start making their way towards the mountain passes very shortly following the sunrise in a procession reminiscent of a circus parade.  So unless you want a bus load of tourists gaggled in your photos, a collection of wondered travelers ill-equipped with appropriate clothing for the weather and overly burdened with cameras and impatience, you had better get a move on with the rising sun.

  We decided to camp in one of the DOC campsites very near the sound so the next day would be visually stimulating to its maximum potential.  We were NOT disappointed!

A road section of State Highway 94

I'm certain faeries and other magical creatures of the earth gather here under moonlight for festivals and dance.

    We posted up at DOC campsite Kiosk Creek and after having satisfied our bellies with dinner, went for a walk along the Eglinton River, marveling at the clarity of the glacial runoff as the cold air descended upon us and the shadows cast by the setting sun devoured the valley whole.  

Crystal

Dusk and flora

  As quickly as the harsh cold descended upon the valley the night before, it lifted in a blanket of light, steam rising from the morning dew.

Daylight's ascension

    With the day's drive underway we stopped along the road for a grand view of the surroundings and were greeted by two Kea parrots.  Found in the forested and alpine regions of the South Island the Kea is the world's only alpine parrot.  They are known for their intelligence and curiosity, their ability to solve logic puzzles and their cooperative efforts in working together to achieve objectives…but they happen to also be very well known for chewing on any rubber part of cars they can get their beaks on.  Tires, windshield wipers, door trim…whatever they can get their beaks on! And boy did they stay true to their description.

  It was proving difficult to stay in the van, just a spectator to the beauty around, so we did clamber around some rocks and falls.  How could you not want to be a part of this!?

Falling Clarity

   
You drive for a bit up the highway already impressed with the sights and you come to a stop sign in the side of the mountain and wait your turn to travel through the pass.

It takes a couple minutes to drive through the dark, dank, wet tunnel.

And when you emerge these mountains greet you.  Glorious breath-takers of old.

So finely displaying the steepness of their magnitude.  

  Welcome to Milford Sound

Cloud hat!

 
    It was time to begin the journey back toward Christchurch, toward an airport, toward planes that would carry us home…which is strange to think of.  After being a part of a place for so long, this was my home…but when it is time, I suppose it is time. Forward and onward, the journey continues.

  We stopped to marvel at Mirror Lakes, but as our timing for optimal viewing wasn't quite right, it was just a lake amid the mountains.  And I stupidly responded to this sign by saying, "Man they need to go out there and fix that sign!"  My stupidity quickly pointed out to me, that once reflected on the water, it would probably read quite clearly…haha!!!

  One night of freedom camping in Fairlight, hidden among a nearby grouping of trees, resting along-side an old railway station.

    We had driven to Queenstown, land of outdoor adventures and tourist traps!  Jeff had described it perfectly as follows.  "It's a beautiful well manicured lakeside ski town, but during the summer there will be mountain bike trails full of people, a gondola that you can ride to the top of the city, paragliders, parasailors, bungee jumpers, jet boaters, trampers, and just about any other outdoor sportsman you can imagine."  He was right, and when the sun came out, the tourists and adventurers also came out in full force.

  Our time there was mostly spent eating, and people watching.  We camped at the largest DOC site I had seen yet, Twelve Mile Delta, which had enough space for 100 sites.  We nestled the van down into a gravel pit, which sounds awful, but it kept the neighbors at bay.  In the morning I woke to this beautiful sunrise. Look at it!!!

  I am not a fan of tourist towns and we had places to be, so, onward in a north east direction we drove.

Am I in Idaho?

  Across Lake Tekapo, a gorgeous view of Mount Cook which is New Zealand's tallest mountain.  Standing at 3,724 meters (12,218 feet).

  Regal countryside scenes at sunset.

  Idaho saddles the 44th northern parallel, so I was more than excited when we passed by this 44th southern parallel marker. And more than anything it made me want a 44 North collins.  44 North is an Idaho distilled vodka. Yum!!!  I felt as I was approaching my departure, signs were literally pointing toward home.

  One last night was spent in Christchurch.  We "napped" for a few hours and caught a shuttle to the airport at 4:15AM.  We were both flying into Sydney, but on separate flights.  After I got to Sydney I had the pleasure of being at the mercy of flying home internationally on the standby list for an airline a friend of mine works for.  This game takes a lot of patience, but it's worth it.  Let the game begin!

  With only two available flights leaving Sydney on this particular airline per day, it took me two days to get out of there, and I was the very last person accepted on the flight, and I was so thankful for it!  All I experienced of Sydney was the airport to and from New Zealand.  It's everything you would expect a huge international airport to be…minus the fact that it isn't a 24 hour airport.  So when I found out I wouldn't be able to board the last flight out, I had to make a game plan for sleeping arrangements between the hours of 11PM and 3:30AM.  They have a small room outside of departures where all the stuck travelers are corralled into for the night.  Cold hard seats lined the walls, each with a metal armrest partition, which is handy if you plan on sitting in the seats for a while, but interfering if you plan to try and sleep in them.  A collection of bodies gathered in this side room, for a sleepless night, surrounded by cleaning crews, shop vacs, mops, and luggage.  I was more than glad to have made it on the last flight out the second day and totally impressed with the amount of effort the counter agents offered all the standby travelers.  Kind people make every situation better.

  While I was in Sydney I called home to check in with my sister, who was the only person I told of my return, and she had been sworn to secrecy so that I might get one of life's rare chances at the art of surprise.  I had called my mom, and dad to tell them I had safely made it to Sydney, but had decided to stay a while with some friends I had met on my journey.  I justified this little fib by convincing myself that if I could make a friend while in the airport, then technically I wasn't lying :) Sneaky sneaky!!  After one very sleepless night I met two wonderful people on the flight to LA who were both kind and hilarious!  They made the 15 hour flight a piece of wonderfully delicious cake.  Thanks guys!!!

  I was in LA.  I was so close to being home, but was delayed one more night and was ever so thankful that LA is a 24 hour airport with partitionless seats.  Now if they could just figure out how to keep the temperature at night at least somewhere near above freezing they would have it made!  I paced to keep warm and in the morning watched a classic musical on Netflix, because when computers are on, they generally produce a small amount of heat.  Spooning electronics…maybe that will be the title of this chapter in my book.

  I got on the first flight out the next morning, again the last standby allowed on board.  The emotions were rising!!! How had I already gone around the world on my grand adventure?  It seemed a dream…or maybe I was just obsessed with the idea of sleep somewhere in my near future.  I made it off the flight and was greeted at the arrivals doors by my sister, brother in law and 3 year old niece, whom I hugged and immediately began a game of "chase" with after having set her down.  She hadn't forgotten her Aunt Sara!!!  We stomped in all the puddles we could find as we made out way through the airport parking lot.  What are aunts for?

They call me ante instead of auntie, because when it comes to playing I always up the stakes :)

  I concocted a plan with the help of my sister to surprise both my mom and grandparents, which is a priceless feat I wouldn't trade for the world.  I wasn't ready to be back.  I felt stronger than ever emotionally, but some things you just cannot prep yourself for.

  Take a look at these amazing goof balls and tell me you wouldn't have missed them dearly while being away.  Buncha' beautiful weirdos!!!

  Two weeks after being back, and still none of my friends knew, my sister helped me again.  I managed to gather my favorite ladies at a bar to surprise them as well.  They were more radiant, funny, talented and beautiful than before I had left.  I did not know this was possible.

  

  The month after my return I retreated to my mom's house out in Sweet where I could gather my composure and thoughts and better prepare myself for my re-submersion into Boise.  The countryside, a fire-side birthday party, and a trip to my favorite hot springs were all the medicine a homesick girl could  take to realize she was once again where she was suppose to be.  Life…could it be more beautiful?

   A special thanks to every single person who helped make this possible.  The yay-sayers and the nay-sayers alike, for pushing me harder than I would have pushed on my own.  I am consumed with gratitude…now I just have to write a book about it!!