ball of wishes

Each summer as a child, our field would fill with dandelions, polka-dotting the green with bright yellow spots (I am sure it still does, but my Dad always mows the field before we get there.  You know, tidying up and such!).  We would collect them by the arm-load and string them together for floral crowns, necklaces and bracelets.  Sometimes we strung them as garlands across our pine-branch forts as a sort of decoration.

As summer edged toward it's end, the blackberries ripened and the dandelions turned to balls of wishes.  I would often get down on my tummy to get a good angle, fill up my lungs, and wish with all my might as a blew the seeds and their little parachutes across the browning field.   I don't recall what I wished for, all those summers.  Perhaps it was for the latest New Kids on the Block backpack or more neon pink scrunchies.

Now, when I see a dandelion, perfectly orbed in seeds, I am often struck by it's power of optimism:  I could wish for anything.  Anything at all.  What will you wish for?

mountain streams

Three weekends in a row have been spent in the mountains, a place my heart feels most at home.  Chirping birds and cool morning air greets us when we wake.  The smell of pine trees and dirt accompany us on our bike rides and trail runs or even on our trips to the market.  The local barista asks what we are up to with our day and is truly interested (and not at all surprised by our ambitious response).  The stars come out at dusk and sparkle in the black night sky all night long.  The next day, it all repeats.

I know that you are aware of how I feel about city life, with its traffic and lack of trees;   so it probably comes as no surprise to you that the mountains are so special to me.

How did I fall so deeply in love with the mountains?  I wasn't raised in them, per se, but they were always there (5 are visible from my parents' house, when they are "out," anyway).  In fact, my hometown was named for one of those nearby mountains, visible from nearly everywhere in town. 

My family tends to be more water-people, than mountain, though.  Each Wednesday, my parents raced their sailboat on the Columbia River, while my sister and I cheered from our grandparents' river-front deck.  We ventured across the bar and into Canada on "The Pixie" (a small wooden yacht/ fishing vessel my grandpa helped build) and learned to row a small aluminum dingy while out fishing and watching for bears in the sloughs.  Summers were spent picnicking on Sand Island and being pulled around the river in inner-tubes.  Being on the water was a way of life for us.

 

But really, mountains and rivers are not very different at all, especially when you consider the mountain rivers, streams, and lakes available to play among.   They both provide that sense of happiness and freedom, sweet aromas and sounds of nature, and a chance to truly play. 

However, my outdoor activities have evolved from inner-tubing to hiking, sailing to kayaking, fishing to, well, fishing (but now it is with a fly rod in a mountain stream as opposed to a trolling the river in an aluminum boat!)

With any luck, I will be back in the mountains again this weekend. 

act like a two-year-old

I had the wonderful opportunity to spend my birthday weekend with my family, which includes my nearly-two-year-old niece.

Perhaps I am feeling extra reflective as I celebrate growing another year older, but I feel there is a lot I can learn from her: She is so very happy; walking about, simply smiling to herself.  Celebrating in accomplishments big and small.  Incredibly curious and observant of all around her.  Taking pleasure in sitting to read.  Finding so much to be incredibly entertaining.  Laughing just to laugh.  Learning so many new things, every day.  Knowing when she is hungry and when she is not - and not eating things that aren't delicious just because they are on her plate (and in fact, not even wanting the "yuckies" on her plate!). 

She inspires me.  I think we could all benefit from "acting like a two-year-old" once in awhile.

Now if you will please excuse me, I'm off to find a puddle to splash in.

into the woods

My sister and I grew up in the woods.

Maybe I should clarify.  It's not like we were raised by wolves.  We had a loving, comfortable home that happened to sit in the crook of forested land.  Building forts and making adventures in those woods filled much of our play-time.  I am not sure we appreciated it at the time though, as it was simply childhood as we knew it.  Besides, most of our classmates at our tiny country school had similar backyards.  Shoot, some of them even had 4-wheelers and horses!  How could we compete with that?!

When we went to look at college campuses, our mom would often say, "I like this school, they have nice trees."  We couldn't understand her logic;  Surely we should explore the strength of our desired academic program,  not the way in which they have landscaped!   Years later, I understood what my mom was trying to convey:  you don't just go to college, you live there too.  And you will be happiest if you enjoy where you live.

I have picked many homes with that lesson in mind (and disregarded it while picking others).   My current home has sweet proximity to a large city park and an ocean beach, but there are no trees in the neighborhood.   In fact, the concrete surroundings and tall buildings can make it feel gloomy and overcast, even when the sun is shining.  Sometimes this, combined with the other challenges of living in a city, really gets to me.  A near-daily trek to the park or weekend trips to far-away mountains always helps to clear my mind and my lungs.

But ultimately, I long to live in the woods.   Where adventures (and forts!) are once again in my backyard.

once a runner

I ran today.

Ok, so it was not very long, and it was on a treadmill, and it was broken up by walking. But I will take it;  This is the closest I have been to a run since July.

See, running is in my blood.  It's an addiction that started 20 years ago with a painful 1-mile loop around a canyon with my junior high track team.  In the time since, I have rarely taken more than a week off.  Sure, over-use injuries and time commitments have kept me away for short bouts, but this time, it was different.

credit: St. Helens Chronicle

One night last summer, I decided to do a little beach bouldering instead of my standard evening run and ended up pulling a hand-hold down to the crash pads with me.  The remainder of the year has been a haze of squeaky crutches, brightly colored casts, and rehabilitation.  And no running.

At first, this was really tough.  It is very hard to suddenly shift from the routines of a working, running, "strong and independent!" (complete with fist pump) woman, to being weak and dependent, unable to work or run.

But then I started to learn a few things.   I learned how to ask for help.  I learned how to be pretty darned self-sufficient, from crutching down the sidewalk with my giant, laundry-stuffed pack, to navigating the Muni on one foot.   I learned how to be alone with myself.  The biggest thing I learned is this:  I don't have to run every day.  I won't fall over and die without running.  This was a pretty big revelation for me.

credit: Tim Guffin

Even so,  I still consider myself a "runner," and I have used the ability to run as a gauge for my rehabilitation.  When I can run again, free of any limps or hitches, I will be healed.  Of course there have been many forms of healing in this process, and my run today simply signifies the strength I have gained throughout.