I’m waiting for the sun before I head down the road on today’s adventure. I don’t have a serious aversion to driving in the dark, I just like seeing the sights when I go somewhere new. I’m also having some gastrointestinal distress this morning, and prefer not to rush away from a relatively nearby restroom quite yet. Just in case. lol Being a human primate is occasionally rather inconvenient, and very biological. So, I wait for the sun, and I wait for my guts to settle down.
Today is my last vacation day. I definitely needed this downtime. I’ve definitely enjoyed it. The choice to see new places and hike new trails was a good one. I filled my senses with new experiences, new sights, and filled my soul with new inspiration. It’s been lovely. It rained (a lot) but that’s part of life (and Spring) in the Pacific Northwest. I’m okay with it.
Today I’ll visit a place I’ve been, but from a very different perspective on life, and also visit a state park I’ve wanted to go to for a long time (I hear the trails are great) but simply haven’t made the time. Along the way, I’ll also check out a business resource for my Traveling Partner’s business (still manages to feel like an adventure). It’s planned to be a good day. I wonder what I will think looking back on it, later? Will I remember this moment of somewhat uncomfortable waiting?
Whatever the day holds, it’s mine and I’ll live it with presence and enthusiasm. Why not? The time, the timing, and the itinerary are my own. I chose my path, and I will walk it. I’m certain to be having my own experience. There’s quite a lot of freedom in that. Feels good. Joyful.
Begin where you are.
I watch the sky as daybreak begins to show through the clouds. Soon it will be time to begin. It’s another new day, full of promise and potential.
Yesterday afternoon the sun came out. I got out into the garden to check on seedlings and pull some weeds. I’d purchased a couple of French tarragon plants to replace those that died during the winter (they don’t care for the cold). I planned to get those planted.
On my morning walk I had continued to consider solutions to “the deer problem”. I enjoy seeing them in the yard, and don’t at all mind them passing through, but I’d definitely like to prevent them from eating my roses! After much thought I’ve decided to plant lavender here and there, hoping it discourages the deer. I planted seeds in starters and my waiting began, but… Lavender is slow to sprout and some of the apparently more temptingly tasty roses (to the deer) need their fragrant companions sooner.
A nice day for it
The afternoon sunshine tempted me to make the trip to the local nursery, and I was delighted to find several pleasing varieties of lavender, well-rooted, in 4″ pots. With a careful eye on my budget, I picked out a nice assortment and headed back to the garden.
I planted the tarragon, and the lavender. I positioned it so that deer approaching a tasty rose would necessarily happen upon the lavender first, and hopefully find that not to their liking. I guess I’ll find out soon. lol I spent time enjoying the new plantings and meandering around the garden for awhile, pulling weeds. It’s not enough to have a garden. There’s work to be done to produce a harvest, and to make it a beautiful welcoming space. Even the most informal cottage garden benefits greatly from a bit of planning and care. I thought about flowers, and herbs. I considered extending the primroses down all along the walkway between the driveway and front door; they do very well here. I thought about dahlias and chives, and wondered whether I can fit another rose in somewhere. I smiled as I worked, feeling satisfied and uplifted.
I keep a map of my garden and make notes about the plan, and the results.
This morning, my thoughts are still in the garden as I wait for the sun. Later in the Spring as it heads towards summer, there will be lupines here on the sunny hillside above the marsh trail. I have a few in my garden, grown from seeds. They take awhile to get going, but so beautiful once they do!
I sit with my thoughts and my coffee. My garden is a haven from the cares of the world, and it is a metaphor for what it takes to live well, and reminder of the value in making the effort. So many verbs involved! So much effort and planning and thoughtful attention required! Totally worth it.
Daybreak arrives. Dawn follows. It’s a gray misty morning, and today the park is almost crowded (or so it seems; I’m not alone). I lace up my boots and prepare to walk my own path. It’s time to begin again. Later? I’ll be in the garden.
I’m watching the sunrise, preparing for my walk, boots on, between moments, when I am struck by an interesting coincidence in timing. It is Lent for many Christian observers. It is also the time of year many gardeners know as “the hungry gap”, that time between the last of the winter crops, and before the earliest Spring crops are ready, and during which there is little fresh produce available. (I pause to appreciate what an amazing thing a global supply chain and supermarket produce actually is for humanity.) It’s interesting timing that Lent happens to occur – with its ritual fasting – right at the time when the food supply is likely to be at its least plentiful. I don’t have anything to say about that. I just think it’s interesting.
Sunrise
I set off down the trail, walking with my thoughts. There’s work to do in the garden. The neighborhood feral cat that menaced my garden for the past four years died during the winter. My Spring garden (so far) is undisturbed by constant digging and cat shit, for which I am grateful. It vexed me having to deal with that. It bodes well for the flower beds, too. I proposed putting in a second raised bed this year and my Traveling Partner seems open to the idea. I mentally calculate the cost of the lumber, and the soil to fill it… These are times when there is profound benefit to growing as much of our own food as we can. I’m grateful to have that option.
I sit with my garden thoughts at the halfway point of my walk, enjoying the chill of a Spring morning and the solitary luxury of having the trail to myself. A small herd of deer step past me quietly. I pretend I don’t see them, and avoid sudden movements. This is a lovely moment and I savor it. I’m not in any hurry. The overcast morning sky is streaked with blue-gray clouds. It’s doesn’t feel like rain, it’s just a rather gray morning, now. Geese and ducks drift quietly on the marsh ponds. Nutria go about their business at the edges.
I walk on.
I stop later, it’s a longish walk, and sit for a little while on a fallen oak. It’s a nice spot to rest. Not much of a view; scrub grass cluttered with sparse oaks, horizon obscured by nearby trees and brambles. I’m near the river, but I don’t hear it as it flows by quietly. I only hear the geese overhead, and the sound of distant traffic on the highway at the edge of the park. Robins ignore me, as they pick through the leaves left behind by autumn, looking for a bit of breakfast.
I sit quiet, aware, observing. Sometimes it’s enough to simply be, here, now. I don’t really need more. This is enough. I sigh quietly, contentedly. I enjoy the moment, the birdsong, the soft breeze, and the feeling of contentment and joy. I linger here awhile, understanding that moments are fleeting, and this one will pass. That’s okay. Still worth being here for it.
I’ve got a list of things to do, later. I get up, stretch, and brush off my jeans. It’s time to walk on. It’s time to begin again.
I’ve taken the day off work. I’m not really fit for working, today. The loss of my Dear Friend one year ago weighs heavily on my heart today. I slept poorly, plagued by sorrowful restless dreams. I left the house early and headed to the seashore, a place both my Dear Friend and my Granny loved. I feel closer to them any time I am at the seashore.
I arrived just before daybreak, too early for breakfast. I parked at a favorite beachfront spot and waited with my thoughts and the coffee I bought for the drive (but barely touched). It is a foggy, misty morning, well-suited to grieving and thinking thoughts.
Sand and sea, and solitude.
I sit on the sea wall, in the morning chill, listening to the gulls overhead and watching daybreak become dawn. Cloud cover obscures any hint of sunrise. I’m okay with that. Slow tears fall. I miss my friend as I sit here watching, listening, waiting… What am I waiting for? Grief to fade? It’s an unrealistic expectation. She was too dear to me, and too much a part of the woman I have become over the years of our friendship. More so even than the son who was my partner for a time, which makes me laugh somewhat inappropriately as my tears fall. Grief is funny like that; it makes its own rules.
The year that has passed since my Dear Friend’s death has been mostly too busy for grieving, beyond the most minimal momentary sorrows that overcame me unexpectedly now and then. I immersed myself in the busy-ness of life, work, and caregiving of my injured Traveling Partner. There was so much I would have shared with my Dear Friend, and I have felt her absence deeply. So… I’m here, now, taking time to feel my feelings, and to grieve honestly, without reservation. No holding back. No excuses. Just me, her, and the seashore, alone with my thoughts and memories, my cherished joys, and my moments of regret. Were there things I wish I had said? Definitely. Do I wish I had visited more often and sooner? Yes. Could I have been a better friend? A better person? More helpful and present in times of need? Yeah. Still though, in spite of those very human regrets, I’m also celebrating the joy and wonder that was our close friendship of almost 30 years. The things we did say, the moments we shared, the wise counsel we exchanged over the years, however geographically distant our residences happened to be at a given time.
… She helped me get past my conviction that I couldn’t do math, and taught me basic algebra (in my 30s), and showed me that math was just another sort of language – one that I could learn. I’ve benefited greatly from that teaching, too, subsequently going on to make my living (for a long time) in a field of endeavor reliant on relatively complicated math. Over the years we enjoyed many conversations about math, numbers, and various number theories. Good times.
… I miss her…
A hint of an idea for a bite of breakfast develops, but it’s too early still. I drive down the coast a bit further to another spot I like. I walk on the beach, listening to the sea birds, and the crash of the waves. Tide coming in? Going out? I watch for a little while, hands jammed into my pockets for warmth. I make a mark on the beach with my foot and watch the waves crashing in awhile longer. The tide is coming in. I smile to myself and walk on. The fog begins to thicken down on the beach. I walk back to the car thinking about breakfast and hot coffee.
Some time later on a foggy morning.
Breakfast was pleasant and relaxed. I had a cozy seat by a warm fire. I enjoyed the hot coffee, properly made and freshly brewed. The meal was well prepared, a half portion of biscuits and gravy. Instead of pork sausage gravy, it was crab , unexpected, but quite delicious. After breakfast I returned to my wandering and my thoughts. I would have loved to have had my Dear Friend’s company at breakfast; I think she would have enjoyed that place. (I know I always do, and it is my favorite breakfast spot in the area.)
I sit awhile in this particular beachside location, watching the tide come in, and taking occasional pictures as the light changes, changing the view. I am listening to the gulls. I sit with my recollections of the many times on similar trips I have sent my Dear Friend pictures of this or that – some view, or a snapshot of wildlife, or a flower – and shared my thoughts on how I might paint that scene. I don’t consider her to have been my “muse”, but she was deeply appreciative, and a fond fan of my art. Being an artist herself, she understood what moved me, and how to share her thoughts with me in ways that were reliably encouraging and thought-provoking. She often understood things about what I had communicated in colors, on paper or canvas, that I hadn’t explicitly acknowledged myself. I miss those things.
Time passes, the fog begins to dissipate.
Siletz Bay slowly refills, seawater covering the mud flats inch by inch. I sit quietly, enjoying the solitude, and the sound of gulls enjoying the morning their own way. I watch flocks of sea birds, some drifting over the calm water of the bay, others lifting as a group, taking flight and passing by overhead. Sunshine begins to break through, here and there.
My Traveling Partner pings me a greeting, and checks that I made the trip safely. I wish him good morning, and confirm that I arrived safely. I feel loved. Tears spill over again. I don’t have any reason why, but I don’t do anything to stop them, or trouble myself with overthinking the moment. I just feel the feelings as they come, and let them pass when they will. I needed this time for feeling feelings, that’s clear to me.
I decide to make my way further down the coast… This spot is becoming a bit crowded.
Boiler Bay
I take my time walking the muddy path around the edge of the small state park at Boiler Bay. There’s a lot to see here, for someone into rocks and waves and sea birds. The crashing and booming of the waves bringing in the tide are intense and the spray reaches the fence where it is closest to the rocky edge of the cliff.
Some waves strike the rocks so hard it sounds like gunfire.
I linger a long while in this place. Often crowded in summer months, it is almost deserted today, except for a small assortment of photographers, decked out with very serious camera gear. We pass each other on the path, each of us pausing here and there for some particular view. Each having our own version of this peculiarly shared experience. There is a common purpose, demonstrated by the unusual lack of conversation, even in groups; no one wants to ruin someone’s pictures or videos.
There is a crow checking out the goings on. He has no reluctance about making a racket when someone is filming. lol I sit nearby on a picnic table, watching him watching me for some little while.
The cold begins to stiffen my fingers and I return to the car to warm up. I think about all the beachfront places my Dear Friend and I had talked about seeing together, rather long ago when she was still up for traveling. After a few minutes of thought, I decide to head back up the coast to “Road’s End”, and begin again.
The path isn’t always easy.
The path down to the beach from the pull-off at Road’s End is steep and treacherous, unpaved and pocked with loose rocks… unless of course I go a few steps further on, to the proper paved path, which is much less treacherous but still ankle twistingly steep. I’m grateful to have my cane with me. I slowly take the walk down to the beach, insisting to myself that I not give up on this sort of thing. “Use it or lose it”, I mutter to myself, thinking of my Dear Friend and those last couple years, by which point she had lost most of her ability to walk more than the few painful steps the length of her small home. Long before then, she had encouraged me to keep walking, and extracted from me a commitment to avoid “losing my legs” for as long as I am able. I keep walking. At the base of the path down to the beach I look back grimly. It’s going to be a hell of a trudge back up that steep path. “Good for you, though, ya lazy bitch,” I comment to myself, more amused than annoyed.
The sun has finally come out. Midday approaches as I return to the car. Another pause to breathe the sea air. I sit with my thoughts awhile, before I make my way to the next beach, and another moment of reflection.
A bench in the sun and the sound of the sea.
The day feels warmer now. I’ve got a seat on a quiet bench in the sunshine. The fog has receded, appearing now as a cloud bank on the distant horizon. The sky is blue and my tears have dried. It’s a new day, a nice one. I sigh to myself, and smile at the little brown bird that took a seat next to me quite fearlessly. She’s having her own experience, and eyes me curiously. I want to ask her “are you my Dear Friend joining me for a moment?”, but I’m not sure I believe that sort of thing at all (I’m also not sure I don’t). I know my Dear Friend would have been quite delighted to make an appearance as a small brown bird. She sings me a bit of her song, then flies away.
My Traveling Partner interrupts my moment, reaching out about a bill that wants paying. Real life. I do the needful. Then, I breathe exhale and relax and gaze out over the sea, thinking thoughts of love, and art, and cherished dear friends who are never truly gone, after a lifetime of close friendship. Friendships of such depth don’t end with death. Death is just another change of address.
I needed to take this time for myself, to grieve, and to celebrate. To savor a friendship that has meant so much to me that it endures beyond the end of one finite mortal lifetime. We are mortal creatures. Change is. It’s only another time to begin again… There are more beaches to see, and more paths to walk.
What delights and excites you? There’s a lot of variety in human experience. Me? I like walking. Trails, sidewalks, new paths: I like to walk with my thoughts, seeing things along the way.
Today is Superbowl Sunday. I only know this because I’m interested in the halftime performer this year. I don’t watch (or care about) football. Lots of people do, though. My Dad did. My Mom reliably watched with him, but I don’t know whether she really enjoyed the game the way he did.
Some people like other sports, and there are many. Some people enjoy a sport enough to watch “the big game”, or some playoff or particular matchup between specific teams, but nothing more. Some people enjoy the ferocity of competition and shit-talking, and take things pretty personally, while others are more interested in some human interest details. Some people enjoy gathering together to party and share the excitement, and it’s not really about the game at all.
There are people who passionately follow a team or particular players, and people who memorize all the stats. There are people who collect collectibles and memorabilia, and eagerly hope to hold a signed game ball in their hands or add a particular numbered item to their collection one day.
I’m not especially into sports, myself, in spite of there being so many to choose from, and that’s okay too. There’s room for everyone to live free. I’ve got an on/off appreciation for MMA and boxing, but I don’t care for the hype or the shit-talk, and I’m dismayed when competitors turn out to be terrible human beings. I find myself ethically conflicted by the damage so many sports do to the players, and how little care sporting organizations actually provide to those injured human beings long term. Those details matter to me personally.
…But… Here it is Superbowl Sunday, and I’m not here to stomp on your joy, if football is your thing, or even if you gather for the day to enjoy snacks and cameraderie. Not at all; enjoy your joy! These are difficult times and you could probably use a fun diversion from the stress of watching the world burn.
I’m not particularly competitive, personally. I’m okay with that, too. Just another variety of human experience, eh? I’m walking my own path.
… One thing about sports, though; cheating ruins the game. True in life as well. Don’t cheat. It’s poor form, and aren’t you better than that? (You could be. It’s a choice.) Be an ethical player. Everyone wins when the game is played fairly.
Here’s hoping that the playing field is always level, the referees are honest, and that the rules are always fair, whatever sport you prefer, and in your life, too. Win or lose, I hope you find the game well-played, and that you find joy in the moment. Don’t forget to make room for others to find joy. You may love football, but someone else finds their joy in dressage, cricket, women’s rowing, regatta, kickboxing, MMORPG, esports, or… fishing. There are so many ways to play the game of life. So many ways to find a moment of joy. So many varieties of human experience. Enjoy your joy. Make room for other people to enjoy theirs, too.
I finish lacing up my boots as daybreak becomes dawn. It’s a beautiful foggy morning on the trail along the marsh, and I’m eager to walk it. I’ve got the trail to myself this morning. A crane flies by. It’s time to begin again.
Evening Light 