A Missive From the Road

This past week we shared our salt-watered, forested neighborhood with a pair of nesting bald eagles, a barred owl, an American mink, a gray squirrel, a Douglas squirrel, large red slugs, garden slugs, a chatty frog and a wide array of birds (for the sake of my own personal record-keeping they were: pacific wren, brown creeper, dark-eyed junco, gulls, Brandt’s and double-breasted cormorants, and possibly a great blue heron which was scared off by an incoming dog).

We’ve heard the squirrels chatter, the eagles chirp, the frog croak, and the owl hoot and we watched the birds flit about, the squirrels fuss and the slugs munch. We’ve enjoyed the company of our neighbors.

We’ve stayed warmer this week than last since we’re close to the water and away from the mountains. But it’s been cloudy and rainy much of the time. Although it’s been no trouble and is just what we expected, we are longing to head south and savor the sunshine we know is coming!

In addition to all this loveliness, just to keep it real and paint a full picture, here’s the other side.

Based on some inquiries we’ve received, I think some expect that this whole ‘getting back to nature thing’ is one big vacation. But the truth is that it was a tremendous amount of work to prepare for (both practically and emotionally) and it takes work to maintain daily (where will we sleep each night? Where will we buy our next round of groceries or find a bathroom?) because basic activities of daily living are always changing with the weather and as we move from one place to the next.

On top of that, there’s the baggage. My beloved pieces of furniture, books and mementos? I put those in storage for some hoped-for future time. But my brain? I can’t put that in storage. It comes with me and it brings all its baggage.

I’ve been losing sleep due to worry and stress about a matter yet to be resolved back in the city that keeps me preoccupied. I’ve also had vivid and strange dreams every single night since we left. Nothing in my life is actually calamitous, these are just things my brain does when something is worrying it.

So rather than a vacation, it’s better described as a lifestyle change. We’ve traded human neighbors for animal ones, and just like our old neighbors, our new ones are sometimes funny, sometimes stressed, and sometimes shocking (I’m looking at you, slugs!). We’ve traded one kind of survival for another. In the city we earned money to have food and shelter. Now we conserve money and find shelter (or rather a new place to set up camp) and cook as the weather permits.

We still don’t find as much time as we’d like for creative pursuits (although we do find more than we did before) and we still putter around doing chores as a means of procrastinating and avoiding the difficulty of sitting down and beginning creative work. We still struggle with motivation and mental blocks and mental stress.

So, we’re working hard to maintain our routines from before and adapt them to our new life. We’re establishing new routines and holding each other accountable to taking care of ourselves and each other. There’s still plenty of additional self-care routines that I could be doing that I haven’t made space for yet. So it’s all a work in progress.

Sometimes I have to remind myself that a move is a move, whether you move to a new apartment or move into your vehicle. Sure, there’s less stuff that needs to be sorted or arranged, but it still must all be stored and organized and it takes a while to figure out what systems work and which ones don’t, just like in any new home.

So there it is in a nutshell. Overall, I can say that I am less stressed. Just being closer to trees and water has helped with that. It’s also helped to be distracted with the daily survival routine. Things that I might let slide at home (hello dishes!) are essential now. Dishes must be washed after each meal. Food must be made before it spoils in the cooler. I’m eating more regularly and healthfully and snacking less and doing chores regularly because there’s no other option. This infusion of discipline is so good for me because it keeps my mental chatter at bay. But the chatter is still there and I’m working on it. You can put your stuff in storage, but you can’t leave your brain behind. All of that stuff comes with you. 💛

Natural Movement

Yes, that's right folks, I was once a bonafide all-city tennis champion. 1996 was also the last time in my life that I had any form of regular movement in it.

Here's how I feel about exercise: I truly hate it. I associate it with pain and punishment and lack of agency. I'm not athletic, nor do I care to be. I hated conditioning in junior high sports. I can't see why making myself suffer through regimented sequences of difficult exercises should be prioritized. The thought of going to a gym or having a trainer telling me what I have to do makes me feel angry and stubborn. So suffice it to say: I've never been an exerciser, a runner, or much of a sports player.

But, I do like hiking and riding my bike and walking through the city for hours. I like things that get me outside and don't involve complicated machinery or the right equipment or a decoder-ring to understand work-out-speak. I like things that are fun and take me places and let me explore the world. So I don't mind movement, I just need it to make sense and have a softness about it and to integrate my heart and spirit. Exercise always felt rough and hard and like the anthesis of softness and spirituality.

In my early 20s, I started having lower back pain, which I finally figured out (10 years later) was actually due to a chronic hip problem. For years I've had chronic pain in my hip, which radiates up into my lower back and down my left leg. I also routinely have persistent pain in my neck and shoulders.

By the end of my 20s I noticed that I'd lost not only strength and flexibility but (most frighteningly) I'd lost trust in my body to do what I asked of it. I wouldn't try things (like jumping, climbing, hanging, etc.) that as a kid I wouldn't have even thought twice about. This made me afraid for my future. I don't want to be a brittle, stiff, frail older woman like my great grandmother was. I don't want the pain and disease that my mother and grandmother struggle with. I want my body to be able to do more for me when I'm 40-50-60-70-80 than I've seen my family members be able to do.

Because of the loss of trust in my body combined with chronic pain I've coped by decreasing my movement, trying not to exacerbate pain or suffer any additional harm. Thirty-four is way too young to be feeling this way, if you ask me. Fortuitously, I learned about "natural movement" on Instagram, and after quietly observing some amazing leaders in the community for a while, I became curious enough to give it a try. I saw it as potentially the biggest hope I could have towards achieving my goal of aging more ably than previous generations in my family, and signed up for a one-day Movnat workshop.

I brought all of these complex feelings and experiences with me to the workshop yesterday and was unsure what to expect. It was my first time in a private gym and I admit I was fearful that I wouldn't be up to the challenge. But our instructor was amazing. There were no rules, no 'have-to's', no yelling, no shame, no wrong bodies, and no one single right-way to do anything. I wasn't a body full of liabilities to overcome. I wasn't broken or in need of modifying before I could begin. I was just me, and I was accepted. ME was everything I needed to be there to learn. That was it.

It was hard work (it's hard work to exercise for 6 hours when your last championship performance was in 1996) but it was so rewarding and lots of fun. I never once felt even a tiny bit angry or stubborn and felt like I was in complete control over my experience at all times. I never felt pressured to do anything that I was afraid of or incapable of and was always able to decide how I felt I could best participate without feeling ashamed or weak. It was okay to sit out when I needed to rest or stretch and I also overcame some major mental fears and grew in confidence thanks to gentle and positive encouragement.

Throughout the day, I learned practical and playful movement that I can use to strengthen my body and increase flexibility. I learned things like how to lift and carry properly, how to jump up and down off of things, how to get up and down off of the floor, all sorts of things that will serve me well and keep me safe from injury for the rest of my life! But even more wonderfully, I learned that my physical body is trustworthy and capable of way more than I realized or give it credit for. I learned that I can integrate play, creativity, and attentiveness, appreciation, and compassion for nature into my movement practice.

Today of course my body hurts all over (ALL OVER) from so much movement that it's not used to. But I've decided I'd way rather be in pain like this because I DID something than in my usual pain because I didn't. This pain at least has purpose and hope and faith behind it.

I'm sharing this here now for a couple of reasons. Firstly, because I am helluh proud of myself. I reclaimed so much faith and confidence in myself yesterday. I also made a big move in declaring that I will put in the work to age differently than my foremothers. I am now stronger in both my confidence and my resolve.

I also wanted to share this with any of you who, like me, felt like exercise isn't for you because it's insufferable, angering, and awful. Don't give up. Maybe you just haven't found the right thing yet. Maybe you need movement that is integrated into your spiritual love of nature and gets you outdoors or that feels spritely and creative and fun. I get it! Me too! I hope this gives you hope and agency for crafting your own aging process so that it can be one of health and vibrancy and supple movement. I'm going to be working on it too, so definitely hit me up if you want to talk more about natural movement (or if you want to go out adventuring and wiggling and playing with me too!)

Observations from my Bicycle

It's the first ride of the season. It's Spring! The sun's bright and water wildly bumps against parking lots. City and lake meet with no shore to transition between them. The wind makes choppy waves and tosses me about on my bike. Parking lots are full of deep puddles from the rain making vast lakes upon the pavement.

A sun dappled trail. The smell of damp earth. A squirrel digs in the dark brown soil, then startles and scampers off as I cycle by. Wild daisies and dandelions grow in the tall green grass beside the trail.

Cyclists pass, straight faced and unseeing of one another. Are they missing all that is around them? I see each one, their solemn faces, but they don't seem to see me. Perhaps I, too, appear solemn to them in their quickly stolen glances of me, catching me in contemplation of these and other things. But the truth is, it is spring and I feel like skipping, crying out, and dancing with glee!

Traffic moves slowly on the interstate beyond. High in the sky, vehicles crawl across the bridge as if one. A long caterpillar with shiny sunlight glints reflecting off its back.

The clouds are gray and cover the eastern sky, moving quickly in the breeze. The sunlight is bright beside me. Hidden by clouds only briefly then shining warmth in a chill wind.

Coming under the bridge now, the caterpillar above me roars. I cannot hear my thoughts. Thunk-thunk. Thunk-thunk. Rhythmically it passes overhead as I dart by unnoticed beneath its belly.

Coming around a hairpin curve, I'm greeted by a small boy in galoshes & a brightly colored raincoat splashing in puddles on the lawn, grinning.

Turning a corner, I'm suddenly enveloped by a cotton-candy cloud of cherry blossoms a whole block long. Left side, right side, above. Backlit by the low-hanging sun and glowing bright pink and gold. I wonder if this is what a unicorn feels like prancing in celestial fields of fluffy pink clouds.

Speeding down a hill at full throttle now, pell-mell, the wind whipping at my face. It's gusty and threatens to blow me off my course, but my downhill momentum holds steady and I outpace the wind and arrive safely at the bottom.

A speckled, long-legged puppy: pointy ears, smiling mouth. Passing from behind on my left: dark blonde curls spill out from under your helmet. Hairy, muscular legs. Mismatched socks.

A golden retriever smiles at me as we pass each other. A smile ever-present and worn for everyone, but no less lovely to receive.

A couple stands kissing in the park. The setting sun illuminates them from behind and sets them all aglow, as if they're poised and ready for a camera that isn't there.

An alarm sounds and the drawbridge slowly stirs, rising up into the sky. It briefly provides my eyes with respite from the fiery sun on its descent to the horizon.

Puddles of all sizes dot the sidewalks, roadways and parking lots. Mirrors of glowing sunset color and telephone wire stripes.

The path before me curves sharply and only for a moment. Just long enough to carry me safely over the abandoned train tracks. Keeping me perpendicular so as not to be caught in them and thrown from my seat.

Coming into my neighborhood the sustained squeal of the train is carried to my ears as it moves slowly over the bridge along the tracks beyond the trees. The Locks are also just beyond the trees and I wonder about the tugboat that I passed earlier as my route carried me along the channel. Has it reached the Locks yet? If I crossed through the trees and waited would I later see it pass? Or has it already gone on to larger waters?

I am home and there is birdsong. The sun is no longer high enough to gleam and glint off the surroundings but the sky is still bright with ambient light. The songbird is close and sings loudly.

I am learning to be fearless to not be ruled by fear and self-doubt. Today I readied my bike for her first ride after her long winter slumber. I dusted her. I filled her tires. I did it all myself. I am practicing self-reliance and it leaves me feeling powerful.

I am living life more fully than I have ever known. I am learning that the purpose of life is to find one's way back to oneself. It's a journey of self-responsibility. No one can do it for you.

Water Portraits

It was a hot day, the kind of day that is way too sultry to happily stay in the city. Without a plan for where we would end up, and with our cameras in tow, a friend and I headed east along the interstate out into the mountains. When we found an exit that seemed good to us, we pulled off and entered the back gravel roads of the National Forest. Happily we found ourselves on a wide river cutting through the mountains that rose above. We parked and made our way down a steep, inhospitable slope with our cameras and proceeded to spend the day there. At first, we snapped some photos, but mostly we draped ourselves over the fallen trees, smoothed with weathering since their descent. We soaked our feet, legs, arms and anything else we could submerge in the clear, cold water, kept our clothes mostly dry and wished we'd brought our swimsuits.

I wasn’t expecting to enjoy a day of water, and left my lens filters at home. When shooting water, I’ve always used polarizing filters to reduce glare and reveal more of what lies beneath the surface. But, feeling drawn to be in and near the water, as I always am, I decided to see what I came up with without my usual filters. The sun was high so the lighting was good, but the water was moving at a steady pace and I wasn’t sure how it would translate into still images. However, I found that I was having immense fun enjoying the challenge of the ever-changing water and light, so I tried a few different approaches for a while before taking up residence on the aforementioned fallen tree.

In the time it took to snap those few photos, I managed to unearth a desire in me that I hadn’t before known existed. I knew that I wanted to photograph water, to commit to it, to create a body of work, and to see what came of it. I left that day feeling inspired and eager to get home and look at what I’d captured from the day’s brief shoot of the river.

As the photos uploaded to my computer and I saw them in full screen for the first time, I was astounded at some of the incredible images I was looking at. The colors, patterns, texture, movement and lighting were unlike anything I’d imagined. I knew more than ever that I absolutely wanted to focus on creating a body of work centered on all that water has to offer.

Twenty-three days ago I went to the river not knowing how it would change me and spark my passion and creativity. Since then, I’ve had opportunities to travel with friends and photograph water on the Pacific coast, at a pristine glacier lake in the Olympic Mountains, and in and around Puget Sound. I’ve discovered color and texture and playful light that I’ve never seen before, some of it unearthly and mind-boggling to me.

While all of the travel to gorgeous bodies of water was amazing, and the photography was absolutely rewarding, it was also a challenging process. Water and light are so fickle in their movement and in their relationship with one another that I shot countless photos in hopes of coming away with a handful of solid pieces. That meant there were so. many. photos to weed through and consider. There was a period of about a week when I was just completely overwhelmed and definitely couldn’t see that there was any hope of coming away with a solid body of work ready to show. But I kept walking away and coming back to my collection day after day after day. Every day I saw them new and differently. I was able to better discern what I liked and what I didn’t, which ones communicated to me or didn’t, and was able to delete a few more each day. It was an incredible boost to my skills as a photo editor to have to weed through so many shots to find the very best.

I’m also proud to say that all of the fantastical colors and textures featured in this collection have only received basic edits or none at all (and certainly no filters!). I loved so much of what the camera was capturing on its own that few of them needed much post-processing work. I feel that’s important to say because even as I was snapping the photos I was astounded by the bizarre and beautiful images staring back at me, so I know others will have a hard time believing them as well!

This is the first time I’ve ever had a body of work to showcase. I dabble here and there with a variety of creative endeavors that I enjoy, but I’ve never committed over a period of time, having a goal in mind, to create a portfolio of art. Doing so feels surreal and exciting and humbling all at the same time. I know these photos won’t appeal to everyone, but I hope they’ll appeal to some like-minded folk who know and love water like I do. I hope it helps others to look at water differently and to notice patterns and textures and the play of light across its surface and that doing so adds some extra sparkle to life. ♥︎

Photo of the artist at work by Katie at seekwelfare.com

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This series was born out of my deep love for water. I've always been drawn to water. Sprinklers, water hoses and swimming pools, mountain streams, waterfalls, lakes, oceans, rivers, all of it. I most want to be in water, but if I can't be in it, then get me out on it or right next to it (although, if I'm next to it, it's safe to bet that at the very least my feet and legs are going in!). I decided to marry my love of water with my interest in photography and see what happened. For three weeks in late Summer of 2016, I traveled to a mountain river, a rocky Pacific coastline, a pristine glacier lake, and in and around Puget Sound.

I shot with a manual focus lens so that I could control how the light was reflected and translated through the camera. Believe it or not, these photos haven't been highly processed. In fact, the stranger any given photo seems to look, the less I messed with it. No photo-editing could come up with some of the strange beauty revealed to me during my photographic adventures! What I enjoyed the most in working with this series was discovering what's hiding in plain sight. Water is fleeting and moving and ever-changing. Constant movement paired with ever-changing lighting conditions makes for so much color, light, reflection, and movement to capture. The challenge of an always-changing subject makes for a most rewarding experience. My efforts were not only rewarded with a collection of photos that I love, but with a heightened ability to see water differently with the naked eye. I now notice details, textures, patterns, and colors that I missed before. It's most rewarding, like uncovering mysteries again and again.

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Strawberry Summer Solstice

I'm writing this on the other side of the longest day of this year. It's gusty and dark now and the sky is intermittently afire with flashes of lightning. Another Summer Solstice has come and gone. Here in the Pacific Northwest, we enjoyed 16 glorious hours of daylight today. The day started off cloudy but gave way to clear and sunny skies in the afternoon. A relief to me, as today was also the Full Strawberry Moon. It's not a very common occurrence for the two events to fall on the same day (it's been 49 years since the last occurrence) and I was dearly hoping to catch a glimpse of the moon this evening.

We took our dinner down to the park near our home and enjoyed the waning sunlight, hoping to see the moon. As clouds hung low below the bright sky above, we decided it was improbable that we would catch the moonrise, so we headed home where a strawberry pie awaited us.

I've never made a strawberry pie, but I wanted so much to do something to honor the Strawberry Moon. I think it has the very loveliest and most poetic of names, and it seemed to me that in this place, where winter feels extra long with its short days and long nights, that a Solstice Sun and a Strawberry Moon deserved celebration indeed.

Learning to understand the changing seasons, observing the broad and subtle changes they bring, and celebrating it all helps us find meaning and purpose in the long dark winters. Growing up in the south, I never needed a reason to celebrate the radiant sun; it was an ever-present companion. But here, I've learned to savor the sunlight, to bask in it and soak it up, and also to find meaning in the dark, cold months.

The Strawberry Moon is so named because it comes in the height of the strawberry season, a bright, sweet gift brought to us each summer. While the Summer Solstice marks the first day of summer, it also acknowledges autumn, then winter, as days begin to wane: imperceptibly at first, and then with increasingly less discretion. So now, as the sun begins its turn south, so too do we remember that darker days will come. But for now, there are strawberries and sunshine and these experiences sustain us. This is why we celebrate.

Rewilding

“I always thought she was a little wild.”

I think it was during a podcast that I heard a woman describe another in this way. It was not a disparaging remark, but a description without judgement. It resonated with me deeply. My heart spoke up: “This! This is who I want to be!” Adventurous and playful in spirit. Engaged, exploring, learning, growing. WILD.

Our cities with their paved sidewalks and streets, with parks and gardens landscaped into lawns, playgrounds and flowerbeds. We forget what it means to dig, to walk barefoot, to get down on ground-level, to get dirty. We forget what it feels like to run and chase, to hop, to lay in the grass. We are turning to stone like the urban environments that surround us. Repetitive motions, behaviors and routines confine us and make our bodies and hearts contract. Under-use and limited range of motion in our physical movements and in our dreams renders our muscles tight and our hearts dull.

When I think back on my childhood, I have fond memories of wildness: riding my bike all over the place to explore hidden neighborhood treasures, running around barefoot all summer long, playing in sand and mud and water, building treasures and forts and play-things out of other people’s junk, eating lunch and dinner outside because I hadn’t been inside all day. My feet were tough and calloused and could take me anywhere. My muscles were supple and limber and could bend me in all manner of directions. I was more creative and open, less censored, tired and anxious.

The message that has been speaking to my heart most prominently in these last months, is one of chasing wildness. It means behavioral changes, like sitting in the grass, going barefoot, and paying attention to the shifting seasons and engaging with the flora and fauna. It also means mental and spiritual changes, like seeking new learning and knowledge and letting my behavioral and intellectual experiences shape my soul.

I am returning to my truest self. Following my heart to a natural, grounded state.

I am rewilding.

Raindrops & Stormy Skies

The last week has held many rainy days, including a couple of particularly stormy ones. While misty drizzle is the norm here for much of the year, the presence of real, solidly plopping raindrops is a more rare occurrence. A blustering windstorm to drive the rain is even less likely.

My insides feel fortified by the weather. Rain is my very favorite kind of weather, the more melodic the better, and a safely powerful storm (I wouldn't enjoy a dangerous one) can make me feel awake and alive much in the way that the mightiness of the ocean does as it rolls over the sandy shore. Whether being tossed about the sky or moving across the varied landscape, water is my lifeline; it stirs my soul and keeps me grounded.