Trying To Keep Up With Myself

 The challenge of my life has always been how to schedule enough doing to feel busy, healthy, creative and effective, and still have time to recollect the meaning of it all along the way.  Here we are at the end of November and I never finished my California trip in October.  I never mentioned walking in the redwoods which felt more like a cemetery than a refuge.  So many trees were chopped down for so little and now only a token is left.  The one part I appreciated were the plaques commemorating the selfless effort of a few conservationists to save each  grove from the chainsaw.  Even with the underlying sorrow, each tree is amazing.

That night we stayed at a little campground on the Klamath River and met the only other campers, a couple from Eugene.  We bonded over Robert’s interest in their teardrop camper, and the fact that the other woman was another tall Ellen.  It’s the little things that bring us together.

The next day we drove up the coast through a very foggy tip of California into sunny Oregon, right after Gold Beach.  We hiked out to Blacklock’s Point, and then up to the Oregon Dunes, staying in Eel Creek Campground.

Then we are back and life resumes, and now I am trying to write a novel in thirty days which is impossible, just in case you wondered.  But I am up to 27,000 words and I have to persevere simply because I said I would.  I am also helping to put together my neighborhood’s annual street tree planting next weekend and getting ready for several Christmas recorder gigs.  Going to work is mercifully nonthreatening for the moment.  No killer custody trials are looming.

I just returned from the place known as The Swamp for Thanksgiving.  A cabin set on the very northern edge of the Klamath Marsh, it is owned by Robert’s sister and husband, and is isolated and beautiful.

We had to leave early for fear of getting snowed in.  This didn’t seem like a bad fate, but I was overruled.  Goodby herd of chickadees, hello Willamette Valley skies.

Under the Sea Wind

I am writing a novel this month, with all the crazy folks of NaNoWri Mo, or National Novel Writing Month.   This little endeavor is getting in the way of my blog.  But I want to finish telling of my trip in California, before I forget it all.

From Point Reyes to Harbin Hot Springs we followed twisty roads through golden hills and then miles and miles of grape vines, in regimented lines.  Although you see a lot of wine in the grocery store, I didn’t have a mental picture of how many grapes it takes.  And we were only passing the elite wineries.   Finding Harbin was a little tricky, as it is tucked into the hills, but once there we entered a world of body and mind consciousness raising planted in the ‘60's and flourishing ever since.  Centered around several pools of various temperatures, visitors strip off their clothes in a unisex changing room, shower and partake of the waters in a hushed reverence.  We were hungry so we had to cut short the power of hot water to eat various heathy options in the restaurant.  Because it was the one night a week staff were served free, there was a big crowd in a great mood.  They were especially excited because the founder, was on the premises.

We stayed in a geodesic tent cabin with one side of clear plastic so we could look out on the woods.  It was a peaceful place.  Rob woke up in the night and went to the hot pools but I slept on.  In the morning I did a session of yoga in the temple which was hard and great.  Then we were on out way, to a place we really knew little about, Sinkyone Park.  This  is adjacent to the Lost Coast, a part of the coast that has no road next to it and is undeveloped.  Following directions both on the internet and by the person manning the nearest post office, we turned onto a dirt road so steep and narrow, we doubted it could be the right way.  I turned around after about a quarter mile and went back to the pavement and then saw that someone had actually drawn an arrow with the name of the campground, Usal, on the road.  So this was right.

 After about six miles of a very primitive road, where we were singing the Subaru song the whole way, we came to the campground, which was next to the beach.  There were a couple of people on the beach when we arrived and two vehicles parked in the campground, but we didn’t make contact with anyone once we got there.  Only a couple of elk.

 Up the coast the land fell straight into the sea.  The waves roared up the pebble beach.  It was beautiful and empty.  Back at the campground, we set up out tent in a grove of alder.  The moon rose as we cooked dinner.  We slept well.

In the morning the tide was lower and gave us room to walk down the beach less than a mile.  We slowly ambled, picking up souvenirs and listening to the restless sea.  Then we were gone, back on the scary road and heading north to the redwoods.