Archives for posts with tag: stay on the path

This morning I woke gently, aware of what a good day yesterday was, in spite of its difficult beginning (which, honestly, “wasn’t all that”). I found myself musing briefly over how easily a day getting off to a good start can “go off the rails”, and how often a seemingly poor start nonetheless finds its way to a pleasant day. The beginnings do not determine the outcomes. There are so very many choices and opportunities along the way, it seems a poor practice to insist on an entire day being whatever some one moment happens to be.

The morning is off to a promising start. I don’t read anything into it, and refrain from setting myself up for failure by expecting all the moments ahead to be as this one pleasant moment happens to be. I’m also not looking for disappointment or anticipating chaos. It’s simply a moment and I am enjoying it as it is.

As I leave the house to head down the road to a favorite trail, I’m greeted by a peculiar piebald sky. Past daybreak, which comes quite early this time of year, the sky is pale, a faded blue-not-quite-white, and scattered patterns of small dark gray clouds that crowd the northern horizon. Stormy looking, off in the distance. As I drive, a pink and magenta sunrise peeks out from among the distant hills, and I delight in the boldness of the colors with each glimpse. It doesn’t last, and I never quite get a view of it that lasts long enough to snap a picture. Some experiences have to be enjoyed as they happen, and there is no opportunity to save these for later, outside our fleeting memory.

Perhaps rain later…?

I get to the trailhead, put on my boots, and step onto the trail with a smile and my thoughts and a promise to finish this later.

Nice morning for it.

The air is mild and the morning very quiet. I had the trail alone this morning – a pleasant luxury. I walked with my thoughts, which were mostly rather practical.

I began tidying up my studio yesterday, and there’s a bit more to do. Because I had the option of working from an office in the city over the past 8 months, (and with my Traveling Partner injured), necessity and convenience slowly turned my studio into something more like storage than a creative work space. lol It makes sense to get that sorted out, and my studio returned to a clean and tidy work space, now. No office to go to presently, and my partner’s son moving in soon (temporary and welcome), I need this space for artistic endeavors, but also for work (doubles as my office), and even as a “personal retreat”, when I just can’t deal with people and need some solitude. It isn’t intended to be storage space, aside from the closet, in which my stored artworks are kept until they sell or hang somewhere.

…Yesterday was a lovely productive day…

I walked and thought. Nice morning for it.  I saw nutria playing along the marsh, at the waters edge. The young ones born this year are exploring their world with playful curiosity. I walked past a small herd of deer, which quietly watched me back as I walked past. (They were gone when I returned down the trail heading for the car.) There were little birds everywhere, squirrels too. The meadow flowers made the air sweet with their scents. The lupines are done blooming and are going to seed. Other flowers take their turn blooming. The trees are all fully leafed out now, and signs of summer are everywhere. Seasons change. Change is.

I get back to the car too early to head right home. I’d like to let my Traveling Partner sleep awhile. I take time to finish my writing and to meditate.

Sitting with my thoughts.

I think ahead to what my next bit of away time might be? I sigh impatiently when I recall I’ve never yet spent even one night home alone in our home. I yearn for that small luxury, but it  hasn’t worked out any time my Traveling Partner has made plans to be away.  Four years of projects, business,  and camping trips cut short by inclement weather, or deferred by illness. Travel plans derailed by injury or circumstance. It just hasn’t worked out; I’ve never been home alone here for more than a few hours, and even then in steady contact with my Traveling Partner throughout. We may as well have been in the living room together. lol Sometimes frustrating. Sometimes disappointing. Mostly I just feel loved. I hold out hope that I may yet experience the luxury of solitude at home, here, eventually… I’m for sure not holding my fucking breath, though!

…I’m not even bitching, really, I’m fortunate to have other options to get the solitary time I need…

So… yeah… sometime in these upcoming summer weeks maybe another camping trip? Maybe a weekend on the coast in a favorite little hotel? Maybe a road trip to see distant friends, with the solitude being a nice interlude between visits? I know the busy-ness and chaos of getting my stepson moved in later this month will take a lot out of me, and potentially leave me scrambling for any kind of alone time at all, grateful perhaps to find even 10 minutes alone behind a closed bathroom door, or in my office during the work day during an uninterrupted hour. I know how such circumstances affect me. I also know to plan ahead in summer months.

…I think about late July and wonder…

…On the other hand, I don’t know that I will be free to travel, at all; my partner has surgery coming up, not yet scheduled  but expected to be scheduled soon for a date as early as available (not an emergency, but a high priority)… could be I will need to be home to care for him (and of course that needs to come first).

I sigh and catch myself grousing silently about the inconveniences and difficulties of adulthood… but I silence myself; I’m fortunate that these are the challenges I am facing. It could be ever so much worse. I take a moment for gratitude. Happy to be in the partnership I’m in, with a human being who lives me deeply, and looking ahead to enjoying the summer at home, puttering in my garden, and living my life gently. It’s enough.

I smile, breathe, exhale, and relax, watching the blue sky spread from horizon to horizon. I  look over my rather practical list of things to do today and add a reminder to cut back bolting greens in the garden and harvest peas for dinner. Looks like a lovely day ahead and it’s time to begin again.

In spite of my dreadful headache yesterday, and a brief moment of temper between my Traveling Partner and I, yesterday was quite  a good day. We enjoyed each other. Got some stuff done individually and together. Hung out. Shared meals. Laughed together. A good day.

Again today my allergies (tree pollen specific to the area) are vexing me, but I am grateful that the headache I had yesterday is gone. That’s a big deal for such a small thing.  Another work day, and already it feels as if I have been back awhile, although it’s only the second work shift since my camping trip. lol Funny how time (and our sense of it) works.

The sunrise had already gotten going by the time I left the house. Sunrise comes early this time of year. I happily hit the trail feeling comfortable and strong  which is a good feeling. I’m glad I remembered to shove some tissues into my pocket,  but aside from the minor inconvenience of seasonal allergies, it’s a lovely morning to be walking in the sunshine. It lights the leaves and blades of grass. The colors change as the sun rises. Earlier, a mist clung to low spots, now little birds hop and peck in the grass. I walk on, finally taking a seat on a bench at my halfway point to reflect and write a few words. My fingers feel the chill of morning, but the morning isn’t particularly chilly.

I sigh with a smile, enjoying the moment just as it is. I sit with my thoughts awhile.

I look over my calendar for the day. Routine.  One detail of working from home that I really value is the greater ease and convenience of getting things done. Running all the errands after a work day is insanely fatiguing. Working them into the day easily because I am near home is handy, and holds so much less potential to find that I have overextended myself! So, work and a couple errands? No problem. Easy.

I sit in the sunshine a little longer. It’s just about time to begin again…

This morning I am sipping my coffee by the warmth of the fire in my propane-fueled FireCan (linked, because I love this thing). It’s the titular can to which I referred. lol

Taking the chill off the morning.

The “can’t”, on the other hand is all the stuff either utterly outside my control (like the rain expected later today), or outside the limitations of my abilities, or prevented by some fundamental of reality itself. My thoughts are provoked simultaneously by the chilly morning and this warm fire, and the rangers who happened by talking about another recent hiker death caused by straying off a marked trail, and falling to their mortal end. (Not here, but elsewhere in Oregon.)

Stay on the path, people, stay on the path.

…There is something to be learned about living well in the mistakes people make that so easily send them to their doom over an out-of-reach desire… or a fucking selfie. Just saying, in life and on the trail, plan your journey with as much care as you can, tell your loved ones where you’re headed, prepare for the likely conditions, and stay on the fucking trail. It can still all go very wrong, but you’ll have done your best to prevent mishaps through bad decision making. Maybe.

My coffee this morning is very satisfying. I am drinking more than usual and until later in the day, while I’m camping. That’s not unusual for me. It doesn’t seem to affect my sleep out here. Noise definitely does. Last night was very quiet. I slept well and deeply waking once to pee, and later to the sound of creature wandering through camp, perhaps very close, perhaps some kind of cat. Depending on the specifics, I guess I am glad we didn’t meet on the trek to the restroom, earlier. lol

A beautiful moon rising after sunset.

The moon lit the night sky such that when I woke during the night and got up to walk to the restroom, I didn’t need my headlamp at all. The night was surreal and beautiful in my less than ideally awake state. I wondered at the beauty of it all. I gazed into the night sky, through the shapes of trees silhouetted against the starry sky. Night even smells quite different, some flowers are more fragrant at night. The quiet was so… quiet. I lingered long enough for the chill to catch up with me, before I returned to my cozy sleeping bag, still warm from my body heat.

A crow is cross with me this morning. I wonder what he thinks I should be doing differently? A massive RV pulls past, loud engines giving voice to the amount of power it takes to move an entire house up a narrow road. I chuckle to myself. There aren’t that many campers in my age group still tent camping, seems like; they mostly prefer a nice comfy house on wheels of some sort. I get it. I’m not criticizing at all. Tent camping is a bit of work. There’s manual labor in the set up and tear down (so much), especially for campers who enjoy being “well-equipped”. (I’m honestly more “glamping” than camping, but doing so is built on my own labor, and I enjoy the little luxuries.)

I make a bite of breakfast. Freshly scrambled eggs with some squash and mirepoix, and sourdough toast, toasted over the fire. Some time after breakfast dishes are done, I’ll hit the trail, striking out in some new direction, on a path I’ve yet to walk… but I’ll totally stay on the path.

…It’s time to begin again…

I’m waiting for the sunrise and for the park gate to open. It’s a quiet, pleasant Saturday morning. There’s nothing much unusual about these circumstances, although there are obvious differences,  and subtler ones too. One obvious difference; I drove the pickup instead of my Mazda this morning, at my Traveling Partner’s request (so it isn’t just parked for weeks at a time). Subtle differences include things like the changing timing of the dawn, and changes in my subjective experience resulting from recent changes in medication.

…I snap a couple pictures of the sunrise…

A picture barely captures the experience.

The gate clangs open. I move the truck into the parking lot. Time to set this aside for later and hit the trail…

…Some time later…

The mild Spring morning delights my senses. The air is fresh with only a hint of chill that I don’t feel at all after a couple minutes of walking. The trail crunches under my feet, and small twigs snap when I step on them. Canada geese overhead call to each other. I hear the sound of traffic on the highway, near but unseen. The sound of the river soon drowns out the sound of traffic. The flowering trees have me sneezing and stuffy pretty quickly, in spite of taking allergy medication this morning. I don’t really care about that, but I notice. I enjoy the scents of the various flowers mingling in the fresh morning air. The somewhat heavy cloying fragrance reaches me in spite of my stuffy-then-runny-then-stuffy nose. I manage to be delighted by the scent of Spring in spite of the allergic reaction.

I walk on. Small mammals scurry across the path. I see migrating birds, and a small herd of deer. I spot nutria playing along the edge of the marsh. I have the trail to myself this morning and I savor the experience as I walk. I breathe in the Spring air. I exhale, relax, and continue to walk. My tracker buzzes me when I hit one mile. Again when I reach the next quarter mile. I’m  pleased with my progress and head back toward the parking. 2.5 today. Nice. 90 minutes with occasional stops for views or pictures. I’ve been working on improving my pace and increasing my distance and I feel pretty good about the walk this morning.

…By the time I reach the truck my ankle is aching, and I am grateful for good boots with ankle support and a good quality trekking cane. I may pay for my progress with some discomfort but it’s a worthy tradeoff, I think.

I sit quietly with my thoughts for some little while. These solitary minutes are precious to me. I drink water and consider my shopping list and errands I need to run, later, and things I would like to do in the garden. Looks like a lovely day for it.

The blue sky overhead reminds me that it’s time to begin again.

I’m waiting. It’s quite early, before daybreak. I’m parked at a local trail near home. I’m waiting for enough daylight to walk. I’m waiting for the grocery store to open. I’m waiting for my Traveling Partner to wake and start his day. I’m waiting to begin my long weekend and short trip to the coast. It’s not a bad time for waiting. The world seems quiet and peaceful, and although that’s an illusion (the “peaceful” bit is very local), it’s a pleasant moment with which to begin the day.

My head aches ferociously. My neck, too, aches horribly. It’s more likely than not a byproduct of yesterday’s physical therapy, which isn’t unusual but is usually less intense. Progress? Hell, I don’t know.

Subjectively, I feel as if my range of motion is improving. The symptoms of occipital neuralgia seem reduced in frequency and intensity. Those are promising changes, but g’damn the pain persists, it’s just located differently. lol Learning to deal with pain emotionally has been as important as anything I’ve done to attempt to reduce it. I fully expect pain to continue to be a thing that is part of my day-to-day experience, and it’s no good letting it call the shots (anytime I have a choice to do otherwise). My results vary.

The ringing in my ears is… loud. I’m looking forward to being by the ocean. The sound of ocean waves and seaside breezes is one of the very few things that drowns out my tinnitus almost entirely. It’s a delightful break from the maddening din that no one else hears. For a couple days it’ll be rather as if there’s no tinnitus at all. This experience is one of the reasons I go to the coast when I need some time to myself, the chance to escape the noise of my tinnitus for a short time. Another is the feeling that being oceanside connects me more closely to my Granny and my recently departed dear friend,  both of whom felt a strong connection to the sea.

It won’t be long now until mountain and forest places are warm enough for camping and hiking, too. I enjoy the forest most of all,  myself, and that’s a lifelong love. I enjoy the seaside places. I enjoy the broad plains and vast expanses of high desert skies. I love the forest. My reluctance to camp in early Spring is to do with physical comfort, only. My arthritis makes sleeping on the ground in chilly weather uncomfortable, and the more frequent Spring rains make hiking muddy and more treacherous, so I just don’t. Choices.

…I sit quietly for some moments, feeling grateful to have the luxury and privilege of choices…

Daybreak comes. The morning sky stays pretty dark, and streaks of blue hint at daylight to come, through stormy clouds. It’s not raining though, and it looks like a good morning for a walk. I remind myself to check my paint box for blues and grays and colors I might use for stormy skies…

Soon there will be enough light to walk the trail. I grab my boots to make the change from sneakers, and get ready to head down the trail. It’s already time to begin again.

Walking my own path, I start where I am.