Hello from the Road

After a year of traveling abroad (off-and-mostly-on), we are back in the United States exploring our backyard and beyond. A recap of the first month:

• On March 26, we arrived in Seattle at midnight and spent the next 19 days catching up with old friends; visiting our doctors, dentists and physical therapists; and enjoying all that Seattle has to offer in the springtime.
• By Tax Day (April 15 for you international readers), we were headed south to see Josh's family in Oregon and then his brother and our nieces and nephew in Redding, California.
• 4/20 brought us back north to the Applegate Valley in Southern Oregon for some paragliding and welcome conversations with our pals there. It was like returning home after a year away and I was so thankful to reconnect with the community and landscape that helped nurse me back to health after my accident last year.
• The following Sunday, April 26, we said farewell to Oregon's wine country and drove the winding road past deer and redwood trees into coastal California. In my mind, our roadtrip began there, in Prairie Creek, California--having already driven more than 900 miles from our home base in Seattle, Washington.

One of several vistas we ogled on the drive along California's wild north coast. These yellow mustard flowers always remind me of my dad who, regardless of the times I picked bouquets for him, is allergic to them.

Prairie Creek

We arrived in the mid-afternoon on a sunny spring day. The golden grasses glowed in the fields, the redwood trees towered in the distance and we were in search of a campsite with a beach view and a flat place to pitch our tent. We settled for a slightly sloping sandy tent site protected on three sides by tall green bushes with a weather-beaten and camper-engraved picnic table just a short jaunt from the ocean. It was divine.

Our plush camping palace complete with plastic outdoor rug and plenty of space for us and our crap inside.

While I drew, Josh walked on the beach. Then together we loaded up into our overloaded Subaru and drove the couple miles to the start of the Fern Canyon trail.

We had to ford a couple streams to get out to the trailhead. Luckily, we didn't need to unpack our boat from the roof to make it.

More than a decade ago, Josh took me to Prairie Creek and Fern Canyon on a camping trip with his high school besties. That same trip, his friend Jonny declared us a perfect couple when I emerged from our tent wearing a dorky headlamp which matched the one Josh sported. Little did Jonny know that thousands of other practical outdoorsmen rely on headlamps, and little did we know that Jonny's declaration would be proven out over the following many years. But I digress.

The hike up Fern Canyon at the end of April this year was beautiful. The ferns flanked the hillsides--albeit not as densely as in pre-drought days--and the winding canyon and its creek provided amble opportunities for Josh to show off his strength as he piggybacked me over the wettest stretches. You see, although my feet are about 75% back to normal, I still need to wear sneakers when I hike, while Josh can skip upcreek in his trusty Chaco sandals.

My matching top and sneakers was a happy accident; the smile plastered on my face is the result of our adventurous life.

On our return to the car, we met an unperturbed juvenile elk peacefully grazing alongside the trail. For more than ten minutes we watched him chew green grass, pose for photos, and generally do his elk-thing while wild children and loud adults hiked past just feet away. I was amazed that a 800+ lb creature calmly devoured his vegetarian dinner while I gazed on. This was one of the highlights of my day and probably even of the week. What can I say? I love wildlife.

So I drew the elk and all his velvet-horned glory.

Back at camp that night we feasted on sausage and vegetables grilled in a single pan and eaten straight from it to avoid any unnecessary washing up. The evening ended with stars overhead and comfy sleeping bags beneath us. Our Western States road trip was off to a good start.

 

 

An all-American sort of day

Today I woke up with stereotypical American activities on my to do list. First quilting, then baking a pie.

But before I did either, I took a rejuvenating wash in an outdoor shower. The sunlight warmed me and the beautiful view of green-blue mountains and vineyards nourished me. After which, I doned what can only be described as an easy-breezy-patriotic outfit: my navy and white striped skirt with a bright red tank top. Why did I pick this outfit, you ask. Beats me. I didn't even realize I had dressed for The Fourth of July until I saw myself in the mirror. Hilarious. But it seemed to fit the day's theme, so I left it.

First craft of the day: quilting.

I am making a quilt for two friends that are pregnant with their first child. Well, actually she's pregnant, but he's helping decorate the kid's room so we can just pretend they are both pregnant, together. Anywho, I love making quilts for my friends' brethren. So much so that when I packed my "project kit" for this year of travel, I included fabrics for two quilts! (Yes, I also somehow knew that I would need a bin of carefully curated craft projects despite my plans to be abroad all year?!)

Today I accomplished the formidable "quilt sandwich" step in the quilting process. For those of you who do not quilt, trust me when I say this is the crux move of the whole shebang. If you don't make the sandwich neatly, your nicely pieced quilt will end up looking like it was crumbled up by some angsty teenager and then angrily jammed through the sewing machine. In other words your hard work will be turned into a Goodwill donation.

For this task, I summoned my best patience... and set aside about two hours, as that is how long it takes me to (1) cut the top piece to a nice squared off size, (2) tape the bottom evenly and not too wrinkly or stretchedly (words?) to the floor, (3) gently spread the 100% cotton batting on top (no polycrap here, please), (4) finish the sandwich with the top piece on the top (duh), and then (5) pin the heck out of the three layers in a futile attempt to ensure that nothing shifts or bunches as I not-so-patiently push it through the sewing machine at some later date. Phew. Can you believe I did all that today? Well, I did. All while wearing my flag-impersonating outfit to boot!

You didn't think I was gonna reveal the entire quilt, did you? That's for another day. Meanwhile, enjoy this here close-up of my masterful quilt-sandwiching. And yes, I do draw my quilt lines right onto the fabric like a brut.

Second craft of the day: pie-making!

And this is not just any ordinary pie. It is a fresh cherry and granny smith apple pie in a gluten-free crust because of course I want to eat the delicious pie when it is all done baking, and well, of course I can eat gluten because it makes my tummy so swollen I look preggers. Which is really not a fun look when you're NOT pregnant. So, no gluten for me. (Wow, I'm totally rambling today. Sorry about that.)

Well, the pie turned out lovely. Of course! And I'm sure it's delicious too. But for now, it is cooling and congealing and stuff, so I can't taste it. But it smells heavenly. And everyone will love it, because who doesn't like homemade, gluten-free, apple-cherry pie!

An artfully arranged apple-cherry pie baked in a cast iron skillet, because this is my all-American day or because it was the only pie-shaped dish available--you decide!

Oh, and for my final all-American-feat of the day, I shall be partaking in a lively BBQ with friends and strangers who I hope will become my friends. Cheers!

 

A Healer's Touch

Have you ever changed your beliefs about something? Overnight? Well, that has been my experience the last week or so.

I have always considered myself to be a scientific thinker. I look at the data. I extrapolate. I don't intuit. I don't believe without evidence. I mistrust things I cannot understand. I wonder where the trick is when something looks like magic. I am skeptical.

Case in point: I don't believe in God. I know that means I'm probably going to hell if God does exist, unless there is some special loophole for cultural Jews. Or unless I change my mind at the last minute or something. But truth be told, I just can't reconcile the concept of God with my experience of the many injustices of this world. And so I don't believe in things I can't see.

Usually.

This, however, is changing.

Over the last few years, I have seen my hubby's Aunt perform what seem to be little miracles on my hubby and others. The scientific side of me attributes her healing to technique and anatomical knowledge. And that was enough to convince me to seek her help in healing from my accident.

What I didn't expect was how much I would believe in her ability to intuit my injuries and fix things with just her mind and a thoughtfully placed hand.

Over four sessions, each lasting a few hours, this special Aunt has helped my body make marked improvements in healing itself. My organs, which slammed to my left side during the accident, have been gently relocated to their proper homes. Believe it or not, but I can literally feel the difference. My womb is no longer stuck in the left side of pelvis and my lungs are no longer trapped in my rib cage but able to move freely, allowing me to take a deep, soothing breath whenever I please.

The swelling in my legs, arms, and feet has dwindled. My knee is back where it belongs after several iterations of unwinding--a strange experience consisting of my Aunt applying mild twisting force on my leg, catalyzing the muscles up and down my leg to literally unwind. The first time she did it on my left leg, I felt like it was a Barbie leg, rotating wildly in circles, while I watched it rest peacefully held in place by her strong hands. An amazing experience and so much better afterwards.

There was also work to back out the energy that had flowed up my leg as I jammed my feet into the hard dirt. And things to help improve my connection to my most injured leg, which somewhere along the way I had disowned. Plus, techniques to dissapate the shock of the accident and help my bones heal.

Before these treatments, I was a skeptic of healers and people who can "see" what is wrong just by laying their hands on you. But now I am a believer. I still want there to be science to reinforce what I've experienced, but I'm also open to the possibility that our understanding of the human body and mind is not advanced enough to explain all the things we are capable of doing.