I love hiking in the fall, especially down here, in The South! I am not quite as bothered by snakes as I usually am in the summer, and the (still) warm temperatures make for a pleasant excursion - winter hikes can be chilly, even around these parts.
I also like fall hikes because, for some reason, there are not many people out. I guess there are so many fall festivals, harvest gatherings, Oktoberfests that people are not much for solitude in the wild. It’s a quiet, peaceful time and you feel like you have the trails for yourself. You and just a couple of random loners like you, being walked by their dogs.
Fall is the best time for pictures, too. The colors are popping, even when they are not 100% in full peak - like it happens to be the case right now in the area we live - in the middle of the Tarheel state.
Leaves float in the air like butterflies: they catch my eye on their way downward and I turn with a startle trying to catch the creature only to figure out that it’s not a winged beauty afterall, but a dead, dry leaf. Pretty nonetheless.
The air is dusty and crisp with dead-leaf smell. Bath and Body Works have this candle called something like “Leaves” and it’s no surprise that they thought about bringing that to the home. They smell like lumber, fire, warm, soft sweaters, and mulled wine all wrapped up into one another. They smell like what a cozy night in front of the fireplace feels like.
The light is soft and it’s almost hard to focus the camera - it’s not the sharp air of the spring or that of a bright summer morning - it’s dimmed, like a wispy hair of a on woman; the lines of things are blurry and you feel the need to increase your contrast when you process the pictures to get some clarity.
We picked a couple of spots to take in nature this time of the year during this past week, and they were very different but of course beautiful in their own right.
The first one, Reservoir Park in Southern Pines, is a 2 mile loop around a lake, the trail flanked by tall Southern pines. Since the forest was mostly piny, the colors were not as bright as you’d expect in the fall but a few bright pops were peeking from here and there. It’s almost a completely flat trail - wide, groomed, sandy in parts, very comfortable. The trail makes it for a nice walk where you could just get lost in taking it easy and taking everything in - the lake, clear and calm; the fish jumping out of the water catching lazy flies resting on the water for dinner; the ducks, lazily drifting by, the dragon flies (still!) mating, and the trees, in all their height and glory.
The lake at Reservoir Park in Southern Pines: it is almost completely round with a 2 mile trail around it and views of the water from every corner.
A duck was drinking water but it looked like she was gurgling ...
As the name suggests it: Southern Pines is full of ... pines. These beauties surround you anywhere in Reservoir Park.
Another favorite during autumn (and winter) hikes are the berries: there are so many of them, in various colors, to remind you that all is not dead, after all!
The trail at Reservoir Park - pretty flat and wide - and some beautiful colors popping from among the pines.
Is it a leaf in the air? Or on the water?! Who knows or cares - it has given up for this season ...
We could never figure out what "fruits" these are (persimmon, maybe?!), but the tree in the picture below was loaded with them. They looked like tomatoes and if you didn't look too carefully they got lost in the overall fall color of the whole tree. So cool!
Your "typical", if there is such a thing, fall-colors picture at the entrance of Reservoir Park.
The second hike we ventured on was the loop trail at Raven Rock State Park which takes you all the way up to Raven Rock, on the banks of the Cape Fear River. The trail goes up and down - not quite as flat as the first one - and it’s full of trees of all sorts - oaks, and maples, and pines - and others we could not identify. We kept seeing these nuts that looked like pecans all over the forest floor - we still don’t know what they were ...
The two main points of attraction on this trail are the “overlook” - from where you can see the river from up high on the hill. There is something filled with tranquility and perspective, seeing a river meander between hills from up-above, carving the shape of the world, that I always find fascinating.
The other landmark on this trail is the Raven Rock itself: a 150ft massive rock nested in the cliffs by the river. You come up to its tippy-top on the trail and you have to climb down these steep stairs to see it from the bottom. It’s a breath-taker, for sure, but so worth the trek.
Once you’re down at the bottom it feels like you just descended in the belly of the earth - everything is so quiet and peaceful, and lost. The river is calm, almost like a lake, and there are no sounds. No creatures. Huge, enormous, knotty roots spread along the side of the rock, barely clutching on to the soil, almost floating above earth. Trees taller than the 150ft rock itself doing a frail balancing act on these roots like ballerinas on toe points.
In fact, the entire trail in this park is covered with stone-like, dry, knotty roots which makes it treacherous to walk on: you feel with every step like you’re going to slip and fall - the roots are covered by newly fallen leaves and it makes for a slippery, unstable-footing journey. But again - so worth it.
The Cape Fear River as seen from "the overlook" on Raven Rock Loop Trail - Lillington, NC
The Raven Rock forest was almost exclusively of deciduous trees going through "the change". So, we got a lot more color on this hike.
The Raven Rock forest was full of trees like these - that seemed to have taken "detours" (perhaps around rocks, at one point?) to find the sky, during their lifetime.
The 150ft worth of wooden stairs you need to climb down to find the river and the bottom of the Raven Rock.
The Cape Fear River once you made it to the bottom of Raven Rock.
Under the Raven Rock - it is a massive monolith with tiny streams of water dripping in its crevices.
The amazing above-the-ground root system of these massive trees at the bottom of the Raven Rock - there is no place for the roots to go - it's all rock everywhere, and yet, somehow, the trees figured out a way to anchor themselves for many tens of years and survive despite it all.
The trail in Raven Rock State Park is sheltered by the trees and very, very root-y ...
The gnarly roots right on the trail that you have to step on for 2+ miles to get ahead ...
My favorite picture from the escapades of this week - dead bugs, empty spider webs, dead leaves and a smooth, dimmed light that makes everything bright from the inside out. What says "fall" better than a natural jack-o-lantern?!
I am writing this as I am sitting in my hotel bed somewhere in The Rockies after climbing up the elevator while listening to the hotel radio playing “Linger” by The Cranberries. I remember where I was the first time I listened to this song and fell in love with the Irish band: I was in Romania and the year was probably around 1990 something ... How long I have come! How far I have traveled! ... This life truly is a trip!
This is my umpteenth hotel in the past two months which have had me traveling from the Atlantic to The Rockies, to the Atlantic and back to The Rockies again ... How I could manage to do so much travel while dodging two hurricanes still boggles my mind, but that is a topic for another blog...
For this one, I just wanted to stop and remember the fun times we have had, the new places I found and the old ones I have rediscovered during these past few months.
We started this marathon with a return trip to Asheville. We had not been there together for 11 years. Just saying that sounds wrong, but it is true. Asheville seems both stuck in a timeless warp and anew and fresh with new blood at the same time. The streets are filled with hippies, Krishnas, dirt, music, joy, laden with history and memories; a bon vivant-ness flows in the olden streets at dusk on a Saturday; the breweries abound and lure the traveler in with summer brews waiting to be savored, the mountains are a stone-throw away, ready to be explored. At the end of August, Asheville was still very hot. The city seemed a lot more crowded and a lot more happening than I remembered it ... That was the new part.
The Biltmore was gorgeous, in its everlasting beauty. The only thing that rivaled its beauty and richness this time around was an exhibit of Chihuly’s works of art - stunning beauty creations of massive amounts of glass and steel. The glassworks paired with the natural beauty of the gardens and the mountains, juxtaposed with the carefully detailed architecture of The Castle gave us a wonderful escape from our daily grind into a world all its own - grandiose, rich, timeless.
Chihuly at Biltmore was one of those things you'll remember as long as you'll live. It was not on my bucket list, but it so should have been. If you ever have the opportunity to see this artist's work, don't hesitate! How something so fragile can withstand so much nature and abuse is amazing to me. A great reminder of every one of us: we're so brittle but we all weather storms.
We had brunch at The Grove Park Inn, and that was hands down the most varied and plentiful brunch I have ever had anywhere. I thought for years that the brunches in Sundance or Snowbird, Utah were well done, but The GPI has them beat. Till proven otherwise - the best. I usually go for the smoked salmon at these feasts, but I had not one but three choices of smoked fish with this one: salmon, trout, and mackerel, alongside any other seafood you can imagine, from shrimp, to oysters and lobster ... This just to name one kind of the many kinds of dishes they offer.
The majestic stonework at The Grove Park Inn
It’s amazing that we did so much in Asheville just in a one-night weekend. I am so glad we are back in these parts where we could escape to so many places within driving distance from us, on impulse and be able to see and do so much!
In September, we went to our first Triangle Heart Walk, which benefits the American Heart Association and gives the money to the research in our communities. I have participated in it before in other communities, and this has been a cause which I have supported, for obvious reasons (if you know me) for years. All I can say about this event is that it ... was ... hot. Not just hot, but exhaustingly hot ... We were wimps and walked 1 mile instead of the 3 because it was brutal! As a heart patient, it was a great meet: I always like to hear the stories of other people “like” me - we’re really all unique and every heart condition is different. This was my first time meeting a heart transplant patient and being every bit as amazed, in awe, and overwhelmed as I always thought I would be when faced with such an individual. He was an inspiration. There is something special about people who get to die a little and then come back, there is no doubt about this. None.
Also in September I got to jump on a plane and come to Park City, UT for a conference. It has always been melancholy to travel back to the place I called home: my first married, happy home, for seven years. A place where I had always dreamed I would live. It’s a bitter-sweet feeling to go back: I miss these parts but I know, in my heart, that I don’t belong here anymore. Park City was cool and bright gold from the changing aspen; a perfect backdrop for the start of the fall.
Aspen mountains on the lake in Park City, Utah
Back on the East Coast it was time to take my sweet, amazing nephews to the SC beach - one of them for the first time in his little 7 year-long life! Call me crazy, but for a childless person, I have always enjoyed traveling with kids. It is amazing to see how they step out of their comfort zone and explore a world they didn’t know that existed. We started by barely being able to pull them out of the house, and pry them away from their devices with more or less force, and we ended with not being able to round them back up and bring them back in the room when they discovered how much fun jumping over the waves or floating in the lazy river, or sinking in the pool is. For two kids raised in the frozen tundra of Canada the beach was “pure paradise.” They said as much. To see the sparkles in their eyes with every new “different” restaurant experience or shopping adventure is rejuvenating. Reminds us, old, and cynical people, that the world should never cease to wonder us, as long as we stay open and come out to meet it.
First time together jumping the ocean waves - a breathless moment in time. So grateful to have been able to give them this and share this with them.
In Park City, I wore sweaters and scarves. In Myrtle Beach, SC, I wore a bathing suit and thought I was literally melting, decomposing, surely dying from sun exposure ...
Again, Myrtle Beach is one of those trips back in time for me, but I always make a point of finding something new to explore even in my old timey places. This time was the Pier 14 Restaurant which is literally on the Ocean (on stilts, part of a pier) and which did not exist 20 years ago when I lived there. The grouper filet and the mashed potatoes were to die for! I can say I got my seafood fix during this trip, for sure, and as any respectable coast town theirs doesn’t disappoint.
Blaga (look him up: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lucian_Blaga) says that "eternity was born in a village." I say that we see eternity with our own naked eye in every sunset we watch.
There is something of that when the sun is being born from the immensity of the sky and it's reflecting its birth into the immensity of the ocean ... Time just stands still forever ...
And after all that adventure, I am back in The Rockies for more work and maybe some play, too ...
As exhausting as these past two months have been, and as much as I still miss home, I am very fortunate, lucky and blessed beyond belief to be able to do this much. Not just financially, not just through the grace of my employer, but also through the grace of God and the knowledge of all my doctors who keep me going at this speed in my advancing age (aren’t all our ages advancing?!), with my advanced health problems.
I am also grateful that the world we live in is, still, allowing to some extent for us to mov about freely and explore it deeply. This is no small gift especially nowadays! I will continue to push on, open more doors, discover more of what this life has to give me. One page at a time.
“ ... if you could return, don't let it burn, don't let it fade...” (The Cranberries, Linger)
Although you would not be able to tell from the temperatures in the mid to upper 80's and 100% humidity or by the baby deer still visiting our back yard, it IS September and therefore fall'ish. I cannot believe, again, how fast this year's been flying by. This month's been about getting together with family, getting to walk around our town, for fun or for a purpose (like for our first Heart Walk in NC together), living through our first hurricane together, and one of us returning back West. The air is a little cooler but not much, the rain is plenty and the plants have gone plumb crazy, because I have azaleas blooming in my yard! The world is definitely astir. As usual: summer doesn't want to leave but winter is slowing showing its sprouts. The noise of the world still shouts louder than I would want to hear it most days, but the close world around us greets us every day with beauty and grace. For this month's picture, I picked this guy: he stopped by our yard earlier this month and he was flying kind of weirdly, kind of in a random pattern, like something was wrong with his wings or head. But he was friendly and unafraid, totally trusting when he landed on my husband's finger. Just like us, some days scared, some days hurt, but all days hopeful, I could see all of us in him.
Click the picture to see all the pictures from September 2018. Happy fall, all!
Tomorrow
will be a month since we touched North Carolina land for the first
time as a family. Although I have lived here before for 12 years,
although we have known each other for 10 years, my husband and I, and
although we have been married for seven of those, we have never lived
in North Carolina together, as a family. This is our
first Thanksgiving in NC together. In our new home.
Today
is when I usually get melancholy about life. Never during a year do I
feel the passing of time more palpably than around late fall,
beginning of winter. I just look back at the year past and just sigh
… so many undeserved highs, so many painful lows, I ask myself how
we're still standing, and all in all, a life.
This
year, I am grateful for the many trips and new places we got to
experience, I am grateful for the new opportunities that have been
open to us and waiting, patiently, for us to explore and expand. Most
of all, I am grateful we're all here, on this side of the dirt, all
the people who matter to us, and us, of course.
I
am grateful for our new home and for my very old kitty who is
spending his seventeenth Thanksgiving with us in it. I am grateful
for our means and for the food we put on the table because of them. I
am grateful for friends, near and far who care for us and wish us
well. We give thanks to you all and hope you know we reciprocate.
The
world has been a sad place for the past year particularly. But I am
grateful for the handful of people who care and who still fight for
what is right, for the less fortunate, and for the ones who cannot
speak for themselves. Some days I am not sure this planet will see
another day. It's hard to be an optimist anymore. Some days, I do not
see the end of this darkness we seem to all muddle through, deeper
and deeper, boggled down by confusion, disbelief, sadness and even
desperation. So today, I am grateful that I can write this,
uncensored and free. Still. This, I shall never take
for granted!
I
hope that this day has found you all grateful for at least one thing.
The world might have a chance yet if it did.
Happy
Thanksgiving, you all, and a happy and healthy start to your Holiday
Season!
It's good to be back where our post-Thanksgiving feast walk is amongst tall, aging trees, and where it's quiet. No cars. No traffic. No wind. Just peace, trees, and soft Carolina light.
Fifth
installment: Eastward Bound: UT to NC – Day Four– Little
Rock, AR. Trees! Trees!
Trees! (http://wander-world.blogspot.com/2017/10/eastward-bound-ut-to-nc-day-four-little.html)
“You only hate the
road when you're missing home ...” (Mike Rosenberg - “Let Her
Go”)
What a long day! What a
work day, too! We knew the last leg of this trip will
be the longest and toughest, but we were not prepared for this!
We knew that there will be the most miles to cover, that it will be
through The Smoky Mountains which will be hilly and winding, we knew
it would be on a Monday and we would have to drive through the most
populated stretch of our trip (from Nashville,TN to Raleigh, NC),
dodging rush hours everywhere. These things we knew.
But we did not know we
would have to drive the whole trek in a total and consistent
downpour, which lasted for most of the trip, minus maybe 50 miles
when the sun peeked through the clouds a bit. We had about 2 feet
visibility, if that at times, for driving almost the entire way. We
were hit by record amounts of rain (the news outlets said as much the
next day), we drove through flooded areas, and we dodged eight
tornadoes! 78,000 people are still without power in the areas we
drove through the next day. We had to drive around trees snapped in
two and lying on the highways, with exit roads turned into dirt roads
from the mud slides and the millions of leaves torn from trees. We
hardly ever made the speed limit.
When we made it to our
camp site on Jordan Lake, several minutes before they closed it at 9
PM we thanked the Lord and kissed the NC soil for making it out
alive. It was quite a memorable drive, for sure. We probably saw more
rain yesterday, during the 12 hour drive, than what we saw in the
seven years of living in the desert. That is no exaggeration, really!
One thing was certain,
though: well, maybe two things:
The sight of the Smokies
and the familiar landmark signs like Asheville, Linville Gorge,
Chimney Rock, Greensboro was sweet as ever, even in the horrible
storm we were driving into.
North Carolina was happy
to see us! From what I remember, rainbows are a rarity here – they
are not in the West, but I don't remember seeing more than two
during my previous 12 year of life here. Well, we saw at least three
rainbows yesterday, just as we crossed the state line into our
state! Rainbows are our lucky signs that things will work out all
right.
We're still ironing out
some home closing details, but we now feel better about making it
across and as the rainbow promised: things will (hopefully) work out
OK in the end. We keep that faith!
Glad to be back. In the
land of steamy windows, green trees, squirrels, and sun-dried tomato
bagels! And heavy rains! Let the fall begin once more.
Tornado aftermath, along I-40
Sweetest road sign I have seen in a long while.
Fresh waterfalls washing off the rocky slopes along I-40 through the mountains.
The Smokies surely were smoking in the storm.
One ...
...two (this was springing from our camper's tracks, or something) ...
...three time's a charm, they say ...
Pooped but happy to be home. It is so quiet in our campground Gypsy has no clue what to do. He is used to traffic noise and beep-beep cars.
I
started this a few days ago, as I was mentally playing a slideshow of
favorite places I have acquainted with in the past seven years of
living in The American West. It was supposed to be just a few words,
but it took on a life of its own. Hope you have the patience and the
time. Here we are …
If
spring makes my heart sing, fall makes my heart be quiet. And listen.
Listen to the swoosh of the leaves lazily, unconvincingly floating down
from trees towards the eternal grave of the earth. Listen for the
rain violently hitting the dusty desert windows, in rage and hunger.
Listen for the time to pass, the days to shrink, and the nights to
swallow us whole for six more gray months. Fall makes me quiet and
makes me listen to my life passing and my time being left behind me.
Rear view mirror, but no rear drive. This is my last fall in The
Rockies, and it's extra special for this reason.
Even
people that know me well might not know this about myself, but I had
two dreams amongst the many I grew up with. I told myself that if I
ever were to move to America (which I did, with the Good Lord's
mercy) I was going to have two experiences: one would be that of
living in The South. I wanted the diversity, to be close to that
history, to that dialect, to the food, to the sweet and gritty
people, to the “Gone with the Wind” days of the past. The second
one was that of living in The West. I wanted to roam aimlessly across
the plains of The West, listen to the enormous silence of the desert,
put roots where the soil was too harsh to harvest, climb the majestic
Rockies, and step on the same trails where the white man and The
Indians met, where the buffalo roamed and the antelope skittishly
but confidently called home. And again, by His grace, I
did this, too.
And
now it's come to the time when I close this second chapter of my
American life. We're saying 'good bye' to The West. My husband wrote
(http://aaronkuehn.net/tol/?p=825)
about all the reasons why, so I won't go into details. I will just
say that there comes a time in everyone's life when things must move
on. Naturally and without effort. We must move forward. And this is
our forward time.
I
will have to say that The West has proven to be everything I was
expecting and dreaming about for decades, and at the same time
absolutely nothing I was expecting. It's bigger. Larger than life,
really. Overwhelming. Much louder and faster than I expected it. Less
American Melting Pot and more American Puritanical. It's tough, but
this was no surprise. I am convinced now that you need more grit to
make it out here than you do in the South. The South welcomes you and
patches up your wounds. The West digs the dagger into them deeper and
makes you bleed more. Makes you a stronger human, for sure, but a
more scarred one. People are colder and more aloof here. Their gaze,
lost in the red dirt of the desert, looking for that chimera that
might never come; dreaming in an abandoned resignation for a
forgiveness that might never come. The West is purging. The South is
the absolution.
If
I have loved The South like I love my mother and father, if I have
loved it like the safe, balmy heaven that I need to rest my body and
find comfort in when it is tired and unsettled, I have loved The West
like you love a sexy, crazy, abusive, but passionate lover. The
temptation is huge, the luring is powerful, the scars deep. I love
The West like you love a drug that you cannot quit.
The
West is made up of stuff the movies, and the legends are made of, and
I got to see it, smell it, taste it with my own senses – a bigger
privilege and adventure cannot be possible.
Life
has not always been easy for us here, if at all. But we made
incredibly beautiful memories in this part of the world. I am beyond
words grateful to have been given the opportunity to have lived here
for seven years! What was but a dream has been my seven (7!!) year
reality now. I have the gray hair and the wrinkles to prove it.
I
can firmly say that we made a life here, a life that was very
different than the one before, but very good, albeit very tough. We
had almost no friends, for the most part. The ones we had left sooner
than us. We will remember long, lonely years when we reveled into
just being on our own, learning the land, camping alone, hiking in
search of the next beautiful corner of The Rockies (and that was
always plenty!), and finding each other, stronger and more in love.
There
are things I won't miss, for sure: I have never used this many
bottles of lotion to keep my skin moist as I have in the past seven
years. The dry air, and the harsh mineral waters cut your skin. I
probably aged faster because of how quickly and often my skin lost its moisture.
Traffic
is insane, at least in the part of the country we're in (Utah
Valley). Pollution is incredibly and surprisingly high in lots of
Western cities, not just in Utah. It's depressing. Services are
mediocre at best.
And
then there are the people, again: they never answer calls. Waiters
and waitresses never acknowledge a woman is sitting at the table.
Employers, at least in Utah, severely underpay women for the same
jobs (or harder) than men. As a woman you really don't exist in this
state, especially as a childless woman.
I
never did understand neighbors here, either: they are not friendly
enough to come over for dinner, or invite you over for a bbq, but
they do leave stuff you don't need nor ask for at your door in
secrecy. I am not sure I'll ever understand that,
even if I were to remain here 20 more
years.
But
warts and all, I am desperately in love with this place, and I will
sorely miss it! There is something surreally cathartic about sitting
on the porch of a log cabin overlooking The Rockies, and taking in
the rocks, the pines, listening to the trickling river, watching the
wild creatures come for a sip of water, and hearing the wind
sheepishly crawling through the trees. Like I said: like a strong
drug you can't quit, I will crave it painfully. I will miss jumping
in the car and driving for 10 minutes to stare at a valley from a
high peak. I will miss the camping in crisp cold mountain air, the
buffalo on the prairie, and the vast lands, with limitless mountain
ranges. I will miss having a mountain view from every window in my
house. I'll even miss the snow peaks in the middle of June!
There
have been hundreds (with no exaggeration) of memories we have made in
the past seven years, and I really would like (another dream) to sit
down one day and write my Big Fat Western Memoir. But I will mention
just some of them here, just in the hope that someone might need some
reasons to move up here. Like I said: it started out with just a few
thoughts, and it grew into this …
In
no particular order, these have been some of my most favorite moments
in my seven years of living in The West:
… being
able to go on a road trip to Napa Valley and winery hop for our
honeymoon. Sipping the best (my husband says) Long Island ice tea on
the San Francisco Harbor. Eating at Morimoto's
in Napa and experiencing California – every bit of its diversity
and noise.
… driving
on a whim to Vegas for some world famous cocktails and a show.
Tripling my money at the penny machines.
… playing
Bingo in Mesquite, NV, and then getting lost in antique stores down
there, full of memories of The Western Past, a mixture of Native
Indian art and Old Frontier paraphernalia.
… eating
at old timey saloons in Park City, Cody, WY, or Jackson Hole. You can
smell the stinky leather boots to this day, and trip on the warped
wooden floors.
… sipping
hot toddies at Hotel
Monaco
in Salt Lake City on New Year's Eve, waiting for the fancy dinner to
start at Bambara's
and for the fireworks show to begin at midnight.
… eating
the best Thai food in America (to date, for us) at Sawadees
in Salt Lake, right before going to see Saturday's
Voyeur
at Salt
Lake Acting Company.
How we're going to miss that
show!
… riding
the chairlift at Sundance during a full moon. Coldest summer night
you will ever experience! Watching the moose lazily bathing in Silver
Lake on Big Cottonwood Canyon, or sipping a cold brew at Solitude on
a lazy, Sunday afternoon in July. Just us, the mountains and the tall
skies – the Nature's Cathedral just for us.
… we
went to this tiny little town of Afton, WY one summer for the
weekend. Never in a million years would I have wanted to go there –
why Wyoming?! What's in Afton?! But they have some of the best cabins
to rent and they have the best trails on the edge of Bridger National
Forest – gushing rivers and tall firs, rocks and peace, deafening
peace everywhere. And believe it or not, some of the best seafood you
find here, in a mom'n'pop store in the middle of downtown.
...lakes
are deeper and cleaner here – except for Utah Lake. I do believe
that there is a huge monster, maybe a whole family of them, living
in Utah Lake that spew out neon waste every hour to give it it's
gloomy, dirty, neon glow every other day. Outside of this lake,
however, the lakes out here are pristine, cold, crystal clear, and
deep.
… wandering
the streets of Ketchum, ID, where Hemingway scattered his last steps
before he died. Ketchum has the best breakfast potatoes at Bigwood
Breakfast Cafe – a
sure sign you're in Idaho.
… sampling
absinthe in a gourmet store and eating elk chili at the brewery in
Jackson Hole, WY. Walking under the elk antler arches in the downtown
– nothing says more “wild” and more “West” than that! Afton
had the antler arches, too. Or maybe I am wrong: there is at least
one thing that says more “wild” than that: wandering in the
middle of the desert and running into hungry hawling coyotes and
wolves in the middle of the day, or seeing horse, cow, or deer
carcasses in almost every hike. Vultures and crows feasting on naked
bones in a melting summer mid-day.
...we
will probably not run again into many establishments with names that
bring ghosts of the past and John Wayne movie memories to mind –
places with “wild”, “cowboy”, “lonely”, “ranger”,
“Indian”, “saloon”, “claim jumper”, “desert rose”,
“one eye”, “buffalo”, “shooter”, “gun” , 'barrel”,
“rain(dance)”, “sun(dance)”, “wind”, “last chance”,
“trading post” in the name.
… going
up the Provo Canyon to Sundance on a whim: whether it was a long
weekend, a boring weekend with nothing to do, a dinner craving, a
Sunday brunch – we could always rely on Sundance to be there for
us. And once we were there, the views, the peace, the chill in the
mountain air took all the pains of the everyday life away. Bob (as in
Redford), we will miss you!
… going
down to Zion or Moab for the weekend and shooting the moon-like
desert life for hours. Getting lost in the redness and getting
speechless in the face of a nature like no other on Earth. The red
rock is as unique as the limestone mountains of Turkey, the jungle of
the Amazon, and the vastness of Antarctica. There is nothing like it,
nothing compares – it just must be seen with your own eyes to
understand. Or to puzzle upon.
… speaking
of Moab: if you can only go there once, make sure you eat dinner in
the sunset, on the Colorado River at the Red
Cliffs Lodge
– about 14 miles off the main drag. Leave time and the world behind
you and go die for a minute – just you, the mighty Colorado, the
red rocks and the sunset. If you still believe that God is bogus, you
have no feelings, really …
… getting
lost in the desert was still my favorite past time here. Going to
Bluff, UT in the winter, when no one is there and there is only one
restaurant in town open and one gas station with a cranky host gives
new meaning to the words “lonely” and “desert”. You
understand why the Navajos are not people of many words in these
parts: they don't dare disturb the serenity of nature and God. Their
turmoils are internal, just like the riveting life of the desert –
all under wraps and in the shadows.
… I
will equally miss the salmon supper in Payson, UT – best, largest
wild Alaskan salmon cooked on an open fire - and the Indian food at
Bombay
House
in Provo. The people at the Bombay
House
were the best hosts I have met in my stay here. The friendliest, most
efficient, and most passionate about what they do.
… I
will miss shooting. Shooting (as in camera) is so easy here: you just
point the camera and make sure you have a steady hand. The light is
almost always perfect and the landscape is begging to be shot. You
can never run out of things to shoot here, but my most special
moments were when we chased the buffalo on Antelope Island, on the
big Salt Lake, or the birds, frisky with frost, in the deep winter,
on Utah Lake. Utah Lake in the sunset goes apey! I will miss shooting
sunsets …
… I
will miss the skies here, mostly. There are no rainbows I have ever
seen anywhere bigger and brighter than here. The sunsets and sunrises
are glorious odes to God and to Earth, painted canvases in search for
an audience. Such show-offs!
… I
have loved all the trips we took from here – from California to
Washington State, from Colorado to Nevada, Montana to Arizona. But
the one place in my heart that will remain like the ever-burning flame
of my life here, and of my memories of The West will be Monument Valley
in the heart of the Navajo Reservation. That place, between the
buttes, in July, at sunset, is the place where all of the energy of
the world and the universe comes for supper. Time truly stands still
and is visible, so you can see it sitting down and having dinner,
chewing ever so slowly till the sun dips into the red dirt. If I have
to take one picture and one picture only from The West with me, snug
in my heart and my sinews, it would be that piece of land right
there.
… Montana
had always been my Mecca. Unlike any other European person that
dreams of coming to America for New York and L.A. and Miami, I wanted
to come to the US for Montana. The untouched land, the wilderness,
the candle-like trees bordering the rocky cliffs – it's all there,
and it's what I think about when I think of The Rockies. For a while
we thought we might even move there, but alas, altitude got the
better of my heart, and we can't anymore, for wanting to live.
Glacier National Park was like coming home, finally. Everything I
have ever dreamed about and loved about mountains, mountain absolute
perfection is achieved there. There is a feeling of reaching an apex,
like I felt when climbing the Twin Towers in New York in 1999, of
achieving something great when you cross the Continental Divide and
stare into the immense valleys below. When you watch olden glaciers
melt into water and air right before your eyes. There is also a
feeling of smallness and unimportance about yourself, in the grand
scheme of things. Montana is all that and so much more.
… when
I think of more Old West reminders, I think of every other eating
place in downtown Park City, I think of The
Lodge at
Bryce, Irma
Hotel
in Cody, WY, The
Mahogany Grill
in Durango, CO, or The
Cowboy Grill
at The Red Cliffs Lodge in Moab, UT. You step into any one of them
and you're expecting that Buffalo Bill is sitting at the bar, Bourbon
in hand.
I
know The American West stops at the level of family photo albums as
far as history is measured, but it does have its own history and its
own character, to be sure, unfound elsewhere in America, I believe.
It's a land of cowboys, hunters, law breakers, women who had to
either make it on their own or hide between the husband and 10 kids,
and maybe even 2 or 3 other wives. If I had a dollar for every time I
said “Wow! We really do live in the Wild West” because someone
shot a cop, or made their own justice somehow, I would be rich now.
History has caught up with these parts, in some ways, but some people
still think the gun and the land run supreme, and nothing and no one
will stand between them and those sacred treasures!
… some
of my favorite time has been spent enjoying the small towns we live
in and near-by: going to the rodeo or buying the annual funnel cake
at Fiesta Days in Spanish Fork, or going to Park Silly in Park City,
or to Oktoberfest in Snowbird. Solitude is such a gem of a resort,
and as deep and powerful as the name itself. Pure, crystallized …
solitude.
… I
will miss the mountain streams skipping step from rock to rock in the
spring. Camping on the mountain tops in the fall and hearing the
tired, not so full sound of the springs running towards the valleys
in rest, waiting for the winter snow and ice to mute them.
… I
will miss the sweet tomatoes my rocky, sandy soil yields – sweetest
I have ever tasted in this hemisphere, because dryness makes sweet.
Same for grapes. Harvesting tomatoes, grapes, pears and cherries was
as close as I ever got to being a true Pioneer woman and taming these
dry, stubborn, rock-full lands. I never did learn how to make apple
pie, neither here, not in The South. I did learn a thing or two about
funeral potatoes. It's not any kind of special recipe, really –
it's just whatever potato dish you want to bring to a funeral to
share. Why not a wedding, or a christening, I have not a clue!
… you
get used to driving long roads here, because there is nothing for
hundreds of miles but the desert and a few bad barns, leaning on one
side. Nothing but beauty and nature, that is. Nothing but wilderness
and the almighty sun. But as long as the drives were, I will still
miss taking them and being in very different climates, and flora and
fauna zones. I will miss planning road trips to places like Lake
Tahoe, CA, Yellowstone National Park, Whitefish, MT, Sun Valley, ID,
Durango, CO, Vernal, UT.
… the
winds in The West are what I underestimated the most. I don't believe
the tornadoes of the South will make me wince anymore, after having
lived here, where 60 mph gusts are the norm. Especially at my house,
at the mouth of the canyon. Winds will always carry me back here, on
their swift wings …
There
are still places I have not seen and I am kicking myself for not
having done so. Would you believe that I still have not see The Grand
Canyon, or the Sequoia Forest in California?! Or Yosemite? Or
Portland, OR? Or Grand Staircase Escalante? For these and many more,
I will be back. That is a promise, health and money not being an
issue.
I
quiet down now and let the wind take my memories away and scatter
them across the plains. I came of another age in this place, both
wonderful and mean. I am older, stronger, tougher, and I probably
used to being lonely, just me and Aa., more than before. We have
grown into a couple here, strong and loving, from the two entities we
came here as, when we had barely gotten married. Some say that no
toughness is built unless there is loss, and as much as we have
gained in these past seven years (us, our love, our marriage, our
travels, our many hundreds of thousands of photographs, our lives
stronger and more accomplished), we have also lost. We lost jobs, two
adorable, amazing kittens, money, even (and not in gambling), health,
patience … It made us stronger and it shaped our road from here, so
zero regrets and much looking forward to the door that is now
opening.
Oh,
I could go on for another 10 pages, but I am looking at my count and
I am into five of them right now, so I better stop! These are all
things that came to mind as I am sitting here, on a windy Tuesday
night, all alone, pondering upon the recent past.
It
is somewhat poetic that the end of such an adventure comes in the
fall for us: it's when my heart gets quiet and can think and reflect
on things past, somewhat melancholy, somewhat longing, but always
accomplished.
I
am already longing for some of the places I stopped to document here,
for posterity. As much as my heart is filled with the apprehension of
what my next chapter back in my beloved South might bring, it is also
filled with the memories and the emotional baggage I have stored in
these past seven years.
And
speaking of my heart: there will forever be a more organic, more
material connection to this place than to any other place in the
world: when they took my aorta and my aortic valve out of it last
year, you could say that a piece of my heart will forever stay in The
West. Quite literally. The West is not for quitters, that's for sure.
And we are not that. We're just ready for the next road trip.
So
long, Utah, and Montana, and Wyoming, and Colorado, California,
Nevada, and Arizona, too … Till next time …
