Heading North
It has gotten too hot, too soon here in southeastern Arizona. It’s going to be 101 today, with 90’s for the next week, at least. And it’s just too warm for us. But we are here, waiting, sheltering in place, until our next volunteering gig happens.
And then I realized we have other choices. We could still go up to Oregon and PAY for a campsite.
I looked online to see what might be open and available, since all of the state parks and forest service campgrounds are closed. I found a great place, on a lake, for $550 the month of June, and there was one spot left.
Marika was out shopping, but I called her and asked her to consider this new idea. I studied the picture of the camp site, envisioning us there, and got excited about putting my kayak in the lake.
When Marika got home we unpacked the groceries, she had lunch, and finally, we discussed things. We can afford to pay for camping. We don’t need to wait until our gig opens up. It’ll be so much cooler for all of us. And Cody’s favorite acupuncturist was just up the road. Yes, it was happening fast, and we’d be leaving in two weeks, but we both agreed we were ready.
I went back online to reserve, and the spot was gone. I called the office and the woman said it was a mistake, there was no availability. I was bummed, but inspired. I called a few more private RV parks and found one, very close to the first place, that had room for us. I explained our situation and the woman was so accommodating. We have a spot for the month of June, and can stay the summer if things don’t open.
The RV park is just south of Florence, in the Oregon Dunes. The dunes and the beaches are still closed, so there won’t be much ATV activity. And if/when they do open, we’ll be able to head down to our gig. There’s laundry, and cable tv, and wifi, and I even know someone who lives there, that I met when I lived at the RV park in Cayucos.
The rent is a little pricey, $800/month plus electricity, but then, we volunteer for so many months with free rent, that a little higher priced monthly rent is in the budget. Marika is saying that the government is paying for it, with our stimulus checks.
So boom, just like that, we have a plan to head north. We’ll pull out on the 14th, so next week will be our last time with the donkeys. Many of them will also be leaving mid-month, heading to Colorado, for a cooler summer.
We have a few more camp hosting shifts, and then our exit interview, and we’ll be on the road. We’ll spend a few days in Phoenix for a quick check on my Dad, then head to California on the 10, then north on the 5, taking the freeways that we usually avoid because there is always so much traffic. It will be interesting this time, with so few cars on the road.
So after almost six months here in the desert, the longest we’ve ever stayed in one place, we are finally heading to cooler, moister, cloudier places. And we are ready!
Moving in Place
It’s been a month since I last wrote, and I wonder how you are doing with the state of things. Are you enjoying your time at home? Feeling overwhelmed, stressed or anxious? Maybe you are experiencing some depression and immobility. Perhaps you are feeling all of these things and more.
There is no right way to move through these days. Only that we do move through them. One day, one hour, sometimes one moment at a time.
Here at Kartchner Caverns in southeastern Arizona, the days are starting to heat up into the 90’s. The cave tours are still closed, but the full park staff is working because the trails and campground are open. On weekends, every camp site is occupied. The winter camp hosts have returned to their summer homes, so last week, we moved down into the upper campground’s camp host site to fill in, since our summer gig on the Oregon Coast is still on hold.
Our new camp site is paved, more level, and offers an expansive east-facing vista of the mountains and basin. After four and a half months in the upper volunteer village, it is so nice to have a new view, new places to walk, and more people to see, watch, and interact with.
Our hosting job is very easy. We clean campsites, make reservation tags, welcome campers, and do drive arounds in the golf cart to be a presence in the campground. With all of the CDC requirements, we maintain minimal and safe contact with our campers, we don’t collect money or sell firewood, and we don’t have to clean the fire pits or bathrooms.
When we’ve been camp hosts in the past, I was always in a hurry to get the job done. This time, I’m enjoying the meditation of raking the gravel around each fire pit, and looking for birds on the many drives around the loop to check on things. And I don’t even mind that some campers wait until check out time to pull out.
We share the camp hosting duties with our friends Jayne and Paul, who we met at our very first volunteering job at Cape Blanco in 2016. We work three days, and then we have three days off and they work. This way we take turns covering the busy weekends.
We are still going to the donkey sanctuary once a week to brush the donkeys. I am so surprised by how much I connect with these beautiful animals, how comfortable I am being in the pen alone with them, despite the fact that they are so big and strong. It’s like we have a silent communication, a mutual curiosity and respect.
They say donkeys have incredible memories, that they remember people after just one encounter. I think it’s true, because, after four weeks, when I approach most of the donkeys, they come to me right away, which they didn’t do on the first visit. I’ve been learning their names as I brush them, but when they are out of their pens, wandering around the property with the other donkeys, I can only, for sure, recognize one or two.
It’s a fifty-mile round trip drive to the sanctuary, but it’s so worth it. And when we come home, Cody loves to sniff our pants and shoes. He’s doing pretty well, considering he’ll be thirteen in July. His bloodwork came back all in the good range, but his degenerative disk disease is causing weakness and a bit of paralysis in his back legs. He’s been doing well with regular acupuncture treatments, but if he moves too fast, or jerks in the wrong way, he has a setback.
Two weeks ago he fell hard on his back when he jumped down from the bed (that won’t happen again), and since then, he’s been having a really hard time getting up and walking without falling over. He had an acupuncture treatment last Thursday, but he was no better on Friday. And only slightly better on Saturday. He slept a lot in his back room bed, and wasn’t eager to go for walks. We started talking about end of life, because if a dog can’t enjoy a walk….
And then Sunday, he was walking stronger and steadier, only dropping once or twice, but able to get himself up. He was interested in carrying his ball, and sat in front of the screen door for his naps.
By Monday he was walking like his normal, old dog self. He’s still a little wobbly, but he’s able to turn without falling over, squat without dropping, and we’ve been walking a little further each day. He had another treatment this past Thursday, so we’re hoping for even more stability over the next few days.
Beyond that, life is the same as usual.
Full time RV living has always included isolation and social distancing, so we’re used to not seeing friends, going to gatherings, or having regular out-in-the-world lives.
But I imagine that this sudden stay at home situation is very challenging for most people.
When we first hit the road, I was so thrilled with the newness of everything, that I didn’t think about my old life. But it wasn’t long before I missed seeing friends, going to my weekly yoga class, eating at favorite restaurants. And it was even harder because everyone was still living their full and regular lives.
Now, we’re all experiencing this isolation and separation and loss.
I invite you to cry and feel and move though the sadness until you’re able to focus on gratitude for something in your present moment life.
Then come up with one new way to connect to yourself or someone else, so that you feel less lonely.
I saw this post on Facebook, author unknown. It’s a lovely reminder that we are all in this together, but we are not all having the same experiences.
I hope that you and your loved ones are healthy and comfortable, and that you have everything you need. If you are at home with other people, I hope you are finding ways to appreciate each other, and enjoy each other’s presence and company. Please hug each other more, for those who are alone with no one to hug. And, if you are home alone, may you have pillows to hug, amusements to keep you engaged, and virtual friends and family to connect with.
Be well. Breathe deep. Feel safe.
I’d love to hear from you!
Sheltered In Place
I hope this post finds you feeling safe, and calm, with everything you need. We’re still down in southeastern Arizona at Kartchner Caverns State Park. Last week, word came down from the main office that all cavern tours were cancelled, and last weekend the Discovery Center also closed. The campground and hiking trails are still open until further notice. All volunteers here, except camp hosts, have been officially relieved of all duties.
When we heard we were no longer working, I was excited about the two week vacation before our planned departure to Phoenix at the end of March, en route to our summer job on the southern Oregon coast that starts mid-May.
But as friends described the panic and hoarding that was happening in the big city, I had no desire to be there for the planned two weeks. Marika and I talked about bypassing Phoenix completely, but both of us agreed that we should spend at least a few days in Phoenix, to see my dad.
But then what? Should we continue on to Oregon by way of the Great Salt Lake for spring migration? Head to northern Arizona, in case this lasts through the summer? Or hang out to see what happens. We just didn’t have enough information to make any decisions.
Those few days of not knowing if and when and where we were going, made me edgy and unsettled. I distracted myself with planning possible travel routes, and I kept checking the Oregon Parks website.
It rained most of one of the days, so I couldn’t even walk it off. But every night before bed, I’d lie on my back, focusing on my breath, and relaxing every muscle in my body, from my toes to the crown of my head, so that I could at least get a good sleep. Marika, the minimalist, didn’t really understand my concerns, and was fine with whatever decisions we made.
And then we got news that Oregon State Parks were closed through at least May 8, and I finally knew we weren’t going anywhere. I hoped we could stay put, at least through the end of April. We checked with our supervisor and were told that we can stay as long as we need to.
Finally, I could relax. We’re in a perfect place with free rent and full hookups. It’s a small town, we have ample space between us and our neighbors, and there are lots of places to walk and go birding.
Two of our neighbor co-volunteers pulled out on Thursday, headed to their house and family in Missouri. The couple next to them left on Friday, heading home to Kansas. Most of the rest of us are full-timers with no house to return to. So we’re just sheltering in place, waiting to hear if our summer gigs are still a go.
We’re no longer allowed to gather in groups of more than ten, but we talk with our neighbors every day when we’re out walking. We also stay in contact via an app, and folks are picking up supplies for each other as needed.
And, now that we’re not working, Marika is going birding more often, and we’ll be driving out to the donkey sanctuary once a week to brush the donkeys.
Last night I looked up the summer temperatures here, just in case. We’re at 4500’, so it’s not nearly as hot as Phoenix. Still, it can get up to 100° at the height of the day. But we have air conditioning, and foil panels to insulate the windows, and it cools down to the 60’s at night. And, funny, thing, Marika has always wanted to spend a summer in southeastern Arizona, because it’s a mecca for so many rare birds. And I hear the summer monsoon storms are amazing. So we’ll see what happens.
But for now, it seems to be the perfect place for us to be, especially at this time of year. The days are sunny and mild, and evenings are still cool enough to sleep under flannel sheets. There are small green leaves on the mesquite branches, and pops of yellow and purple wildflowers are appearing on the trails. There are all kinds of new bird songs in the mornings, and I’ve spotted several varieties of butterflies and caterpillars along the road. After all of the recent rain, there is water flowing in the Guindani Wash. And the sky, as always, is so big and ever-changing. Just like everything.
I hope you are finding ways to flow with the changes, ride the uncertainties, and rest into some peaceful knowing that we are all in this together. I’d love to hear how you are staying grounded and centered, and what fun things you are discovering about life as you, too, shelter in place.
Be well. Breathe deep. Feel safe.
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7 Practices for Sheltering in Place
1. Breathe
Focus on your breath. Inhale slowly and consciously. Exhale deeply and fully. In and out. Breathing calms the nervous system. Following your breath takes you out of your head and into your body. Breathing brings you to the present moment, where you are safe, where you are healthy, where you have everything you need.
2. Feel your feelings, but don’t become them
It’s understandable that you will worry, feel anxious, spin out in fear. Don’t follow the stories you are hearing and telling yourself. Come back to where you are, right now. Focus on something near you that brings you comfort. Make a list of your favorite things. Allow yourself to exhale and let go, to be OK with not having control. Engage in an activity that requires presence and attention, perhaps something that you can control.
3. Give yourself permission to be lazy
So much has shifted and we are having to deal with so many new ways of living. Yes, there is a long list of things you could be doing with all of this stay at home time. Resting and slowing down are also important, to give yourself time and space to adjust to all of the changes. Binge watch Netflix. Go down a YouTube rabbit hole. Take a nap in the middle of the day. Enjoy a long phone call with a friend. Read an entire book in one sitting. Notice spring happening outside your windows. Turn all of those “should’s” into “could’s, with no obligations.”
4. Keep moving
Physical activity is good for the body and the mind. Shake your arms and shoulders loose when you’re feeling tense. Get up from your screen every two hours and stretch. If you miss going to the gym, find some online workouts and yoga classes. Turn up the music and dance. Create a fun obstacle course through your house. Go for a walk in your yard or neighborhood or a park. And be sure to say hello to everyone you see. From a safe distance, of course.
5. Learn stuff*
So many museums, zoos, aquariums, and national parks are offering free virtual tours, and video cams. Famous chefs are giving online cooking lessons. Folks are teaching online art classes. Even audible.com is offering some classics for free listening.
6. Create a new routine
Our minds and bodies love routine. Knowing what we’re going to be doing brings a sense of order, and order brings calm. Get out of bed at your usual time. Shower and get dressed. Eat regular meals. If you are working from home, show up on time, and take regular breaks. Reprioritize. Set small, manageable goals. Follow your energy, and be willing to do things differently.
7. Connect
Stay in touch with your neighbors, your family, your self. Ask for assistance. Share your gifts. Find new ways to support each other. Join an online gathering. Write an old fashioned letter. Find humor and delight and gratitude in the simple things.
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* I’ve made all of my old Mac training e-books available for no charge. (Donations accepted). www.sparktheheart.com/mac
Feel free to share!
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!
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!
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.
