Roll Out to Stub Stewart St. Park

On the rails-to-trails

Spence here: I set out last Thursday on another bike adventure, thankful the weather was a calm, 60 degree sunny day in November. (Sometimes the West Coast wins!) I told myself I was going to go on this bike trip no matter what the weather. I sure was glad it wasn’t raining and 40 degrees, or I would have had to eat my hat.

I left Portland–taking the Max train out to the suburbs, all the way to the end of the line in Hillsboro. From there, an amazing scenic bike route on mostly wide open farm roads took me to the town of Banks where the Banks-Vernonia Rail-to-Trail started. I had read varying reports on the internet about how far it was from Hillsboro to Banks, however, since I took most of a scenic bikeway loop, i.e., the long way, I am pretty sure it was about 20 miles just to reach the trailhead. Without a fancy gadget to tell me, it is hard to say. Although, this trip I did take a map of the area and it came in handy!

Stub Stewart State Park is located about midpoint of the Banks-Vernonia Trail. Click here to see the brochure and map!  The park has a neat set of mountain bike trails and a rather large, well-organized, quiet, private hiker/biker campground. I rode that first day to my hiker camp in the woods, luckily located above the creeks and valleys, (hilltops are somewhat warmer if not windy). It was a beautiful evening. By the time I got my tarp set up and dinner on the stove it was dark. I forgot camping in the winter months is a funny time warp, with darkness falling about 5:30pm. I finished my dinner with a headlamp and sat out on the picnic table for quite sometime. I watched the light fade from the hills, read a little of my book (Woman of the Boundary Waters, by Justine Kerfoot), and wrote in my journal. I was leery of all the rustling in the bushes, but it turns out the noises were only a few mice. The owls soon took over with their calls as the stars came out. I was the only one in the campground.

I had not yet used my new bivy sack and tarp set up, so I was a little nervous about how warm I would or wouldn’t be, and also, not having that perceived protection in the form of a cozy tent. I lamented at first about it… and missed my adventure captain, Billy. Once I settled down in my little ‘home’ however, I was pleasantly surprised at how comfortable I was. It felt good knowing I could camp like this anywhere if I had to, and I had shaved a few pounds off of my overall packing weight. With food and water and some winter clothes, my total pack weight was only 18 lbs–much less than the trip I took this summer even. I found the biking with less weight much more enjoyable. Of course, not packing a six-pack of beer helped lighten the load.

In the morning I got up at first light–eager to make a warm beverage and finish the trail to Vernonia. I arrived by 9:30am and thought about going to a little cafe for breakfast. Vernonia, as well as Banks, is super accommodating to bikers since the rail-to-trail went in and there are plenty of cute cafes and breakfast nooks, as well as craft breweries. I was having such a nice morning though, just enjoying the sunshine, the riding and the scenery, once I made it to Vernonia, I just turned right around and kept riding. I took some breaks along the way, to see the chickens in the fields, the pigs with their baby piglets, nodding to numerous cows and stopping once to pet a horse. The riding was easy on the way back, mostly flat and/or downhill-ish and I made it back to the Hillsboro train station by 2pm.

The people in the small towns of Banks and Vernonia were so kind, as were the people driving (moving way over on the road and even slowing down!) People on the trail were commenting about the great weather, the autumn colors and in general seemed at ease. In the wake of this presidential election, I was happy to see so many people out enjoying the natural areas, getting exercise, running their farms, waving greetings and smiling gently. It reminded me not to lose hope as I gaze over the political map of the United States and see abundant red states. It left me to remember that kindness, especially during this time period is the best thing I can offer. It doesn’t take that much more energy to try and smile and wave and be friendly. I’m not naive; I know of terrible political upheavals, unfair laws in practice, hatred, environmental and humanitarian degradation–most recently hearing about the unjust ways First Peoples are being treated at Standing Rock–but for me to dwell on those things all the time is too much. It is overwhelming and can be paralyzing. However, it still seems possible to have an influence, maybe even a greater one, on a daily level with basic presence and gratitude towards strangers, loved ones and my immediate surroundings. I’m not always in the right mind to do so, but getting outside, either walking or biking or just getting out and doing different things, one’s perspective is changed and empathy hopefully can sneak in there. I get out to get away, but ultimately it is the chance to shake up my stubbornness, ease my set-ness and to have another chance at being a better person.

 

Seekseekqua

 

Spence here: Over the Labor Day weekend, I managed to wrangle (seriously, I had to wrangle it) an extra day off.  I have always wanted to check out Mt. Jefferson and the whole Jefferson Park area, outside of Detroit, Oregon and the South Fork of the Breitenbush River. With an extra day for driving and seeing the sights, we were off.

I knew the trail to the area was steep (trail 3375)  and we hadn’t been backpacking in awhile. I was still a bit disappointed in my fitness level, however, and it still came as a surprise as to how long it took us to get up the 6 miles (and 2000 feet) to the park area. I felt happy though, just to get out there, feel the late afternoon autumnal sun rays and smell the breeze. I bought a new backpack several weeks ago and really got a chance to over-load the thing with heavy food, extra clothes, books, journals and water, to test it all out. My review of the pack is simple–awesome! Mountain Hardware’s South Col 75 is a good friend to have along in the back-country. Comfortable, big, nice hip belt, great outside pockets and mostly waterproof.

The first night we stayed in a site among the boulders, hiking up about 3 miles. We had left late from Portland and meandered our way to the trail head from Genie’s restaurant, the library and a stop at the North Santiam River State Park–finally driving through Detroit and down a long gravel way. The first morning was chilly. We made coffee early and then got back in our sleeping bags with the thermos full, reading books until the sun came up over the ridge. Warming up came quickly though, as we hiked the rest of the miles up to the lake. We took our time feeding and watering the horses (I like to think of myself as a horse sometimes when I hike uphill, as it makes me feel stronger), eating fig newtons all the way up.

Our reserved back country site was on Park Lake. There are numerous lakes in the area: Bays, Russel, Scout, Park, and Rock Lake. The Pacific Crest Trail runs through the area and on our next full day we hiked along the rocks and on this famous trail.Views of the mountain were in my mouth it was so close and the shadows long with a strong warm sun. The next day however, the mountain changed moods. We woke to dark, chilly sky and a misty ridge line. By the time we thought about packing up, the rain was actualizing and the temperature had dropped. We said goodbye to the brook and the trees, glanced up and said farewell to Seekseekqua, aka Mt Jefferson, the lakes and Park Butte, (and our abandoned oatmeal breakfast) and headed down at a good trot. I finally found a good pack weight equilibrium for my knees and felt like they were healthy for the first time in years. I actually had a great time going down over loose gravel, mud, rolly rocks, wet plants and low hanging brush. We stopped a few times to pick and eat wild blueberries and Oregon Grape. At one point I was running down the trail, using my trekking poles like a slalom skier… thankful to be feeling better in my mind and body. 6 miles in 3 hours and were getting back in shape. I love the woods!

Billy here. What a much-needed foray into the wilderness! We were so happy to be on our first real backpacking trip of the year that we didn’t mind the ridiculous traffic on the highway (that seemed to mysteriously end after passing the suburban outlet malls with their Labor Day sales).

On the way, we stopped for lunch at North Santiam State Park and sat at the river bank for a bit, enjoying the sun. It was late afternoon by the time we took our final turnoff on the forest road for our trail head: late enough that we knew we may not make it very far in before setting up camp for the night. On the road, far from any other campground, a lone man was walking with a dog. Spence waved, but the man only peered in to the jeep at us intensely. We thought it seemed odd, but soon forgot all about it when we reached the trail head and tried on our fully loaded packs. It had been entirely too long, but it felt good. My pack was actually too heavy, despite my assertion that it felt light. I had journals and Twyla Tharp’s The Creative Habit packed, along with fresh fruit, vegetables, and more food than we could possibly eat in three days. However, it was sunny and the smell of the woods was invigorating.

Posted on the trail head was a flyer for a missing young hiker by the name of Riley Zickel, who had been missing since July 27th. His car still remained at the Breitenbush Lake trail head, according to the flyer. Spence said maybe he just decided to keep walking the PCT. This put me in a reflective mood as we ventured into the woods. The lady fern, vine maple, and big leaf maple began to envelop us. Some creature left several half devoured grand fir cones in the trail. As the trail climbed, the ferns changed to bear grass and huckleberry, and the maples gave way to mountain hemlock and Douglas fir. We struck off the path as the sun turned red to find a flat spot to camp, but the going was rocky and steep. I kept imagining how the missing hiker may have slipped off and into a ravine to perish. By the time I was really thinking of how tired and out of shape I was (and how we probably should’ve settled for the last flattish spot), we found a beautiful little camper nest off the trail with just enough space for our tent and a kitchen area. It was cold that first night, maybe because it was wet near the creek and the sky was clear.

The next day was gloriously sunny and warm. We hadn’t made it quite as far as we’d imagined, but it was only a few miles to the wilderness area up near Park Lake where our reservation was for the next night. Hikers leaving for the weekend, it being Labor Day Monday, reported being rained out the entire weekend, only to have the weather break today when they were leaving. We knew we had a little window though, because the forecast called for rain tomorrow. The hike over the ridge into the Jefferson Park was really beautiful and, after feasting on wild blueberries, the rest of the walk was more or less downhill.

We crossed stunning meadows and creeks as the mountain suddenly came into view, large and sheer. Park Lake was nestled at what seemed like the foot of the mountain, where our campsite sat at the top of a hill overlooking both the lake and the mountain. We sat at the water’s reflection. We ate chocolate and drank wine. We wandered the lakes and walked a short jaunt of the PCT around the park. The sunset was golden and the stars that night were powdered sugar and crystals.

The next morning we moved slow. It was misty and wet and we didn’t finish breakfast before it started to rain. We packed up everything wet and began our descent down Breitenbush Trail. I forgot my gloves and Spence graciously lent me his socks and carried my cold trekking poles. Raynaud’s syndrome causes the blood vessels in my fingers to constrict, so my hands overreact to cold and wet climates. I should start packing my neoprene surfing gloves everywhere! Despite being soaked and a little cold, the hike down was lovely. We ate more blueberries on the way down. I think they are the most delicious blueberries I have ever tasted in my life.

Driving back out down the forest road, I mentioned to Spence that the man we saw walking with the dog a few days ago may have been the missing hiker’s father. We stopped in Detroit for coffee and snacks and the hiker was the talk of the town. The family was indeed searching for him and they said that his father, Robin, did indeed go walking for him every day. Sadly, as of this post they still have not found him yet, despite weeks of rescue efforts, but the search continues.  I found myself deeply moved by the courage family and friends showed when faced with this uncertainty and loss.

A friend of the family, Cheryl Alterman, described the young man: “Riley was a special kid. He’s an old soul. He’s 21, but you would never know it, and his smile entered the room before he did. He is the guy that every mother hopes their daughter can marry. I know his heart is brightening up the forest.” Lt. Chris Baldridge said: “I think it’s the hardest thing for us to have to look the family in their face after getting to know them for eight-plus days, and letting them know we can’t find their child.” The father posted this moving message online from the family:

I will be leaving Detroit today with great gratitude for the love and support  we have received from the people of Detroit and from the people who have tried so hard to rescue him.

What we have learned from this very hard lesson is that Riley has shown us that the most important thing is to show love and compassion to one another. This is what we have received from you and this is what we would like to give back to you so that we all can continue on to give to each other.

Our lives have changed forever and it is our hope that due to our beautiful son Riley so has yours so that we can all share with each other and the world the beauty of the lessons he has shown us.

Thank you from the bottom of our hearts.

Erin, Robin, and Noah

Cheryl observed, “The forest was (Riley’s) favorite place, and if that was his way to go, then he’s probably in the happiest place that he can be.”

A Tale of Two Trips to the Coast

View From Cape Meares

This is a tale of two trips to the coast…

Spencer here: The first set of pictures chronicles some of the adventures my sister and her partner and I had a few weeks ago. It was a grand time. In my journal, a stream of consciousness two pages long still didn’t encompass all the things we managed to see and do while they were here. I just hope they had as good of a time as I did!

A few highlights… We hiked out one morning to Warrior Rock Lighthouse at the end of Sauvie Island. I hadn’t done this pleasant stroll before and now I want to take Billy there. It is mostly through river area, Alder trees and farmland, and at the time smelled very sweet. The leaves were golden yellow and bright orange–a pretty good Fall showing for the Pacific Northwest, to two visitors from the Midwest, which I think boasts some of the most magnificent tree colors rivaling New England! In any event, we also managed to eek out a trip to the coast. Ryan was in the mood for pancakes, and we found some at the end of Lincoln City. Awesome! We made our way to the Sylvia Beach Hotel in Newport. What a fantastic find. The hotel is very strange, although could have been more strange. We had the ‘Ken Kesey’ room, (the famed author of One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest). All the rooms were named and decorated as such, after famous literary figures. I was tempted to stay in the Oscar Wilde room. Maybe next time. We toured lighthouses, the bay, the beach, Rogue Brewery–where we became honorary ‘Rogue Citizens’–an awkward, but festive affair ending with a dollar off each beer and a ridiculous ID card. We wandered over to an Irish Pub and then landed at a local spot called ‘The Sand Bar’. We met a wayward traveler, (a ‘drifter’ as Ryan liked to call him), named Tyrone. When I told Tyrone I had a hamster once named Tyrone he didn’t flinch. We played some pool and tried to keep up with his stories as they jumped around more than steel head in Tillamook Bay. Where was he from? It was hard to tell, but he spent time in Hawaii, the Midwest, maybe Florida and had a house in Newport. He said he came to Oregon originally to surf, as he heard there weren’t any sharks. Well, that was the year a guy got his board bitten in half, with an arm attached. “There are sharks”, I said, “but you’re more likely to get hit by a bus.” This didn’t persuade him. I almost took Ryan and Al surfing. The weather was good–a little chilly–but its the Oregon Coast–its always a little chilly. I showed them Otter Rock, where Billy and I love to surf. Next time. We had more IPAs to find. Among the catching up, we did manage to squeeze in a quintessential Portland thing–riding bikes, bar hopping to local micro-brews. I love how my sister and Ryan are up for anything!

Next up: Billy and I at a secret locale… Since Billy has been super busy with school and work, he missed the epic trip to Newport. Thus, we took our own trip to the coast, near Manzanita, and we camped out a night to give him a bit of a ‘vacation’. Contrary to what it seems, Billy did not study on this trip! We got to our secret camp spot late, leaving Portland after class and were sad to discover one of our secret camp spots was taped off. It was dark and we were running out of gas, so we decided not to investigate. We found a gas station instead and continued on to our backup spot. All worked out in the end. In the morning, we hiked around on the beach at Oceanside, munching a lovely hot mid-day meal in the sunny parking lot like a tailgate party–complete with beer, wine and coffee! We then decided to head to Cape Meares lighthouse. We saw the ‘Octopus’ tree, I was caught being a tourist, and then we found an amazing little path to a secret cove. I stopped the jeep and looked down the rocks–spotting basically a dark hole in the bushes and I sniffed out the trail. Turns out it was a locally known spot–the trail itself kept up by volunteers and lovers. There were many crab shell, rock, driftwood, chalk drawing shrines and a strange human-made waterfall/drainage. Anyway, it was a good sunny spot, in which we stayed and relaxed in lawn chairs until dark.

The Folding of Wings

Fresh Tiny Houses!

Billy here. We just watched the swifts fly down into a neighbor’s chimney at dusk. They all moved like a sea creature and finally swirled quickly, folding their wings and fluttering in like crumbling paper. Every year before the fall equinox the swifts fly through, nesting in old chimneys. Every year I can hardly believe it’s fall again, but sure enough, the heat of August burns off and the mornings turn cool and dewy.

We finished painting our tiny homes before fall, one of our goals for the year. In the picture you can also see Spence’s artful salvage shingles. It’s been a really nice summer with lots of time for art, finishing up our little homes, settling into our new jobs, and some nice backpacking adventures. Now is the next adventure for me: going back to college! Thus we are officially on the off-season publishing schedule of the blog: every other week or so instead of every Sunday. My first day of school is Monday and my brain is on overdrive, keeping me from sleeping.

The best cure for an overactive brain is some quiet river time. So, knowing that school, work, and art deadlines will keep us occupied practically until next summer, we decided to head to a new river spot on the North Fork of the Wilson. We packed lots of snacks, homebrew, and journals. There are plenty of forest roads to explore near the Forest Center, and the 22.6 mile Wilson River Trail is lovely, though we only hiked a small portion of it.

While out on the river, I wrote down some details of the setting of a graphic novel I am planning on writing. I tried to let my mind unfurl and catch the wind. Ursula K. Le Guin wrote a poem in her novel Always Coming Home that says what the wild river says better than I can:

Listen, you people of the Adobes, you people of the Obsidian!

Listen, you gardeners and farmers , orcharders and vintners,

shepherds and drovers!

Your arts are admirable and generous, arts of plenty and

increase, and they are dangerous.

Among the tasselled corn the man says, this is my plowing

and sowing, this is my land.

Among the grazing sheep the woman says, these are my

breeding and caring, these are my sheep.

In the furrow the seed sprouts hunger,

In the fenced pasture the cow calves fear.

the granary is heaped full with poverty.

The foal of the bridled mare is anger.

The fruit of the olive is war.

Take care, you Adobe people, you Obsidian people, and come

over onto the wild side,

don’t stay all the time on the farming side; it is dangerous to live there.

Come among the unsown grasses bearing richly, the oaks

heavy with acorns, the sweet roots in

unplowed earth.

Come among the deer on the hill, the fish in the river, the quail in the meadows.

You can take them, you can eat them,

like you they are food.

They are with you, not for you.

Who are their owners?

This is the puma’s range,

this hill is the vixen’s,

this is the owl’s tree,

this is the mouse’s run,

this is the minnow’s pool:

it is all one place.

Come take your place.

No fences here, but sanctions.

No wars here, but dying; there is dying here.

Come hunt, it is yourself you hunt.

Come gather yourself from the grass, the branch, the earth.

Walk here, sleep well, on the ground that is not yours, but is

yourself.

-Ursula K. Le Guin

Spence here.  As the blue light fades from this day, the whish of Swifts subtly suspends in the breeze. Earlier, I was lamenting the sounds of industry, neighborhood power tools, jet planes and sirens near our northeast Portland conglomeration of shacks… I am still trying to tune those sounds out and tune in the crickets. It is a difficult balance, but one that probes me as much as it irritates me.

Recently, Billy and I visited a river I have not been to in awhile, the Wilson River, en route to Tillamook, Oregon, along the tracks of the Tillamook State Forest. We ventured down a dirt road I have only glanced down; to a little area known to OHVers called Diamond Mill. The day we went was an overcast weekday and this seemed to thwart most 4-wheelin’ atv-having moto-crossin’ folk. Peace was ours at the tributary, the North Fork of the Wilson River, for a short while. Of course the engines came later, but the people were very nice and it was time for dinner anyway. The day was spent journaling, brainstorming, unwinding and exploring. I brought my fishing gear, but the rivers are very low right now. While there is probably fish to be had somewhere, it seemed the wrong time for these rivers. Fishing, anyway, is kind of an excuse for me to go sit by a river, any river really, and take deep breaths, so I really didn’t mind the lack of an actual event.

I’ve found this week to be most inspiring. The cooler air, smell of cut grass and football fields make me feel home again. After finishing painting the cabana and music studio, (which is a big project I am glad to have done before winter rain) we started things off by taking long walks, playing Frisbee and going to the river. I went running, (physicality always conjures up more ideas for new artwork for me) and since then have been investigating the building of my latest sculpture/shadowbox. We then watched a series of black and white films by Jean Cocteau, one of Billy’s favorite directors. We attended a visual art reception for the show entitled “Dark Matter”. I found several paintings in the gallery to be very accessible, encouraging and within my capabilities. The difference between me, Billy and these artists in the show is only their contacts and nerve. Our talent and craft is on par with much we have seen lately, and this is not a knock on those participating artists, but a motivating foot forward for me personally, in the “I can do that!” department. Back to back, we attended another art opening, different in that the show focused on the street art of children from the refugee camps of Syria and Gaza, but none-the-less inspiring. Always, these events give me insight and gratitude for what I have and the choices I am empowered to make in my life.

I am excited to work on the pieces for my personal art show in February, but all these events are just great excuses to continue being creative. One of the things I have been struggling with this week is to bridge all the ideas I have for my show into a comprehensive concept. I should look no further than life itself as a whole. The simple bridge we sat under to read and watch the wildlife this week by the river, to the Swifts in the evening, to the shiny lights of the stars and the art galleries, to all the inhabitants surviving in the harsh climates of war and desert—being creative is a skill we cannot afford to demean, lose or squander.

Alpine Lakes Wilderness: The Enchantments

Spence here: On the last day of our hike through the Alpine Lakes Wilderness, descending 5,000 feet in elevation to the trail head, I felt pensive. The golden hours were filled with walking, snacking, chatting with new friends, and picture gathering, as a vivid Autumn day passed. The sun had not been so hot and bright since we first headed out, 3 days before. Saying goodbye to the plants and animals and thinking about the busy city life ahead slowed my hiking pace to a crawl. Every hike softens me and I am not eager near the end to get “back”–even though rich food awaits my belly in town! The wilderness teaches me, as it has always done. I learned about Larch trees up at the high elevations, (a Conifer which changes color and loses leaves in winter). I learned about the Mountain Goats, which happily walked through our camp twice a day, curious and unafraid of us, to get to the marsh, where an abundance of snake grass awaited. I watched as the mist rolled off the peaks of the Enchantments, down the cliffs, across freezing pools, onto my skin, making my hair feel coarse. Climbing high on rough slopes, I had the sensation of thinking of nothing else, but the movement of my legs, the coordination of my hands and the weight of my pack. I felt so grateful for the positive performance of my knees and back, after worrying the trip would be too much up and down. After also worrying too much about the rain, the cold, the smoke, and coordinating all the friends–to be hiking and existing up there with focus, and with joy was a great lesson. Things can be simple if I let them.

Everyone deliberated much about going on the trip–checking forest fire risk and air quality reports on the hour. For most, the four days of welcomed retreat were a sacrifice. Kids and partners left at home, time taken away from work and overall “adult” responsibilities abandoned. I can say that it was surely worth it–the whole experience–from the drive to our friends’ house, to the rugged miles of “up”, to the craggily peaks, cold evenings, and amazing new friends, to the bad rest area free coffee! Thank you to Cory and Julie, and baby Adelaide, again, for your amazing generosity and hospitality. I think one of the best parts of the trip was getting to spend more time with them.

The seasons have changed. I felt the transition as we were leaving Portland, but in the mountains, things had already morphed. Little pockets of sun burnt umbers and siennas mixed with yellow branches and cold mornings. Leaves whisked down the path, as the wind had a noticeable bite. In the town of Leavenworth, Washington, where the trail head is located for the Snow Lakes zone, deciduous trees had changed and outdoor patios had a festive glow.  The town is surprisingly authentically German Bavaria. Windows spilled over with flowers and picturesque scenes were painted on the buildings and above doorways. We ate at the sausage shack (they even had veggie snausages!) before and after the hike, partaking in homemade sauerkraut and a flowerful bier garden! We just missed the open hours of the authentic German bakery, but managed to hit up another fun sweet haus, filled with gigantic gingerbread cookies. Billy and I, as usual, imagined living there in our self-built strawbale house on the outskirts of town, smelling the high alpine air for the rest of our days. It could happen!

Billy here. When we got to our friends’ house north of Seattle, their power was still out from a storm that had blown through, knocking down limbs and power for miles through Washington. When we left for the trail head the next day, there was still no power and rain pelted us the whole way. The young ranger at the trail head asked us if we knew about the weather and we stopped in our tracks, even audibly letting out ignorance. He told us that backpackers last night experienced torrents of rain, even a little snow, and 60 mile an hour winds. We all seemed to feel undaunted by this unanimously, as the weather seemed to be lightening. Spence and I were so excited to be backpacking that we practically power walked up the first half of the way to Nada Lake, a somewhat grueling climb of nearly 4,000 feet. The wind whistled through the trees in certain bends of the switchbacks and an osprey curiously eyed us from across the creek. Snow Creek fell down out of the mountains near us in a jade and turquoise rush.

Thought by thought, I was stripped of the worries my mind spins incessantly. Little one year old Addie had helped. Playing with her that morning before leaving almost instantly turned me giggly and mischievous, hopping around like a frog. The seed fluff of the flowers letting go for the end of summer did the same. The air was so cold and pure it was, as I told a new hiker friend in our group, like sucking on an ice cube. Some parts of the trail are overgrown with thimbleberry and flowers. The wind would kick up and white little faerie seedlings would take flight, filling the air with pure lively joy. Autumn came overnight in the mountains and with it a sense of possibility.

Though base camp near Nada and Snow Lake was often cold and rainy, including the steep scramble up into the Enchantment Lakes area itself, our spirits were high and the weather never reached the drama of the ranger’s warnings. A family of mountain goats foraged near us, loping like werewolves or unicorns (or were-unicorns). In the night they galloped through our camp, partying like, well, animals. They were so used to humans that they were unafraid to forage right next to our camp. The billy goat would tromp right into our camp, between us and the little baby kids, who bleated like kittens.

Though the hike was definitely steep and hard, I was surprised at how good it felt to be out in the elements using my muscles and getting tired. Perhaps I was also feeling the happiness of the land getting rain after such a hot, dry, and literally burning summer. But the weariness of the muscles seemed to bring on a relaxation of the spirit. The snake grass on Lower Snow Lake grew like scratches on the surface of the water – burnished copper, tarnished green.

Over the last several weeks the word palimpsesthas been going through my head. I wasn’t even sure what it meant – though I had looked it up some months ago when I first began studying the Book of Kells. According to Oxford, it means either:

1. A manuscript or piece of writing material on which the original writing has been effaced to make room for later writing but of which traces remain.
or
1.1 Something reused or altered but still bearing visible traces of its earlier form.
It is amazing how our minds work: how we know almost nothing consciously and then are reminded by our subconscious or our dreams of what we can know – an experience beyond ourselves, all palimpsests, every one of us, written upon the surface of the Earth in skin just as the plants are written in solar cells of  chlorophyll and the rocks are written in mineral, the same manuscript written through the eons on the molecules of this planet. We walk outside of ourselves and our cities to remember who we really are, not just human, not just minds or egos or somebodies, but inks on the pages of the living book of life. We will be rewritten someday. And that is the beautiful way of it.