“The mountains are calling . . .

. . . and I must go.”   John Muir

I have not been lazy nor disengaged during this lengthy interlude of no blogs. And I have thought or composed multiple stories to tell you which never were put onto paper or pixels.

I have slowly moved up the coasts of California, Oregon, and Washington, spending time on beaches; walking on sand and sweeping it out of my home; listening to and watching shorebirds, more then I have ever seen before. And gradually deciding that my almost life-long desire to live on a rocky, wave-crashing coast has now been satisfied.

 

I have walked through forests with shrubs and trees and flowers that are foreign to me and that I cannot name; through communities that range from overwhelmingly full of people and busyness to places that have not changed since the sixties—more tie-dyed shirts and men with long hair then I recall seeing decades ago. Local newspapers are full of gardening supply ads and music performances; towns with stores offering art and sports gear and food inspired and connected to the ocean.

I have spent time sitting in front of trees trying to decide what it is about redwoods that is so humbling; looking at species and feeling a different energy from each and only a silence from the huge redwoods.

 

I have not seen as many random sightings of birds or other critters, but have watched 3-dozen sea otters very actively feeding before just settling back and floating calmly. And hundreds of elephant seal females and sub-adults that during their molt filled miles of beach just a scant few feet below where I stood. Great Horned owls seem to follow me around—I have had several sightings of them perched on tree branches during the daylight hours and even more experiences hearing them at night.

 

I have really missed being active and have walked “trails” of ½ mile or a mile multiple times, or walked a 2-mile loop and turned around and walked back to the start, or walked each trail on the map in succession, just because there has been so few options and opportunities to get out and about in most of the places I’ve parked.

 

I have seen unusual and creative signs. Beauty salons and marijuana retail stores being the most creative. But also highway signs that tell you to taper instead of merge. One sign stated: “Lake Cahuilla is set in the midst of expansive lawns and picturesque mountaintops.” Reminded me of the official city website for Rawlings years ago that included cattle on the list of wildlife in the area.

I have met some of the nicest people and visited friends that I haven’t seen in 20 years. I have probably been the most voluble ever in my life. I tell myself it is because I spend so many days not getting to speak to anyone.

 

I have been able to share time with family in new places and enrich my appreciation for their presence in my life.

 

I have spent way too much time trying to figure out where I will be when, so that I won’t end up shut out of a place to stay. Since I have been on the coast I’ve seen so many people fleeing to the beaches and mountains–anyplace other than where they spend most of the week. Which makes finding someplace to park my home over those precious weekends a time consuming effort and probably the greatest drag of this whole experience.

And on the other side—I have been frequently unable to access phone or internet for days and usually did not regret that at all!

I have introspected, reflected, vacillated, and resolved. And then done it all over again.

 

And the other day, for the first time in almost a year, as I was driving up the Hoh River in Olympic National Park, I caught a glimpse of REAL mountains.

I started crying.