What Fertile Soil Can Do for a Gal

The soil is fertile here in the Pacific Northwest, just they way you picture it would be in the world’s largest temperate rainforest. We, as humans, are definitely a part of nature, but it seems to take us quite a bit longer to adapt to our surroundings. At least to the point of feeling settled, like, say, a pine cone can adapt and settle from its former tree to the forest ground.

Perhaps it’s all of the extraneous stuff we bring to the new place; books and beds, couches and chairs, dishes and coffee pots, plus the TV, armed with blankets and pillows and clothes and candles, we arrive to a new place called home with not just ourselves, but our belongings, all looking for a place to be. To settle.

But finally, settle, we have. It has been fairly easy, really. Because people are smart here, across the board. And creative. And open, curious, and interesting. They like to read books, and have decent, if not totally elevated, senses of humor. While I realize this is a huge generalization just longing for pointed fingers to examples of people who do not fit my nicely crafted mold, it seems that the general vibe of the human species here is remarkable. And I haven’t yet mentioned the amazing food, coffee, wine, and general love of music found at every turn. And I mean EVERY turn.

Nor have I touted the amazing natural wonders that is Oregon herself. I have kept quiet about the beauty of our region – the Pacific Northwest, and the endless opportunities for discovery on a natural level.

At times, I feel like I have lived here forever, while simultaneously, it’s as if I am deep inside a dream. Perhaps there IS something to that whole follow your bliss thing. From where I’m perched at the moment, this Campbellian way of life has bestowed so many gifts upon me that I am continuously rendered breathless. So if I am lost in a dream, I beg of you, don’t wake me up.

Our Oregon Trail

As the movers pulled away from our Lowcountry (freshly empty) home Wednesday, it felt like I was watching the scene unfold upon me from outside of myself. It’s still all pretty surreal.

Strangely, I did not feel any attachment to our home of 3 1/2 years; not even to the sanctuary that was our house, which David and I spent many resources remodeling and fine tuning. It is and always will be in a place that doesn’t work for us.

Now, while I sit in an Omaha coffeehouse, it feels so good to be looking forward, having filled myself up with loving friends in Asheville, Cincinnati and Chicago along the way. It’s as if each mile we head North and West, I start coming back into myself, no longer viewing it from a place outside of my own two eyes, heart, and soul. I am becoming whole again, and although it is totally cliche, it is precisely what is happening. I feel like I have a solid footing, which provides me the ability to actually float at the same time.

We have already been treated to harness racing in Lexington, KY, laughing and joy in both Cincy and Chi-town, the most incredible (almost) full moon and sunset winding our way through the amazingly lush Iowan countryside, and now we walk upon the soil that birthed David.

Next, we visit the great Sand Hills of Nebraska, then to Salt Lake City to visit more good friends, then Portland, baby.

We are now among our people, and it feels so good to be back.

Einstein Sure Was Smart

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I was in Orlando last weekend, amidst the sea of childhood imaginations and restaurant row. I had a great time visiting with David’s parents, and while Orlando isn’t a place I would typically choose to visit, it is the half-way point between our homes, making it a fairly easy drive for both of us.

None of this has anything to do with Einstein, though. But cars everywhere with American flags ablaze next to airbrushed, roaring, larger-than-life Bald Eagles slapped onto the ENTIRE BACK WINDOW of a Chevy 2-ton truck made me think of good ol’ Albert Einstein. So did the one car with 12 American flags of varying sizes, just on its backside.

The reason Einstein comes to mind in the midst of this sea of flag waving is because of this quote:

“Nationalism is an infantile disease. It is the measles of mankind.”

Being appreciative for the fruits ones culture provides is one thing. I love this country, its natural wonders, its ingenuity, and the varying types of Dorito’s I have to choose from no matter where I find myself. I like that I can still basically say what I want, do what I want, and not be persecuted for either. I realize that is not true in many places, and am cognizant of the fact that I might not really even know how great I have it. At least for now…

Still, this idea of blind loyalty and adherence to ones natural born country seems idiotic and short sighted to me. Waving the flag denotes an approval of our most recent actions abroad and abhorrent behavior as a governing body. Our PEOPLE continue to amaze me in so many ways, but our government, which is symbolized – for me – by the flag, has too much egg on its face to garnish this gesture.

It also tends to instill a sort of suprioritysuperiority, too, and besides, ALL the freaky people make the beauty of the world

Camping, Traditional Music, and a Sprinkle of Freaks

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Me man and I enjoyed the outdoors this weekend while camping in Moravian Falls, NC – about 4 miles from Wilkesboro, NC, home of Merlefest. In honor of Merle Watson, Doc Watson’s son who died in a tractor accident back in 1985, Merlefest has been bringing “traditional plus” music to Wilkesboro ever since.

During our visit, we were lucky enough to see some amazing music. Here’s the line-up:

Levon Helm Band
Ollabelle
Ricky Skaggs and Kentucky Thunder with Bruce Hornsby
Hot Buttered Rum
Bearfoot
Allison Brown Quartet with Joe Craven
Donna the Buffalo with Jim Lauderdale and Tim O’Brien
The Avett Brothers
Peter Rowan + Tony Rice
Sam Bush Band
Carolina Chocolate Drops
Donna the Buffalo
The Infamous Stringdusters with Tim O’Brien
Ralph Stanley & Clinch Mountain Boys

Pretty sweet, huh?

Many thoughts become clear while camping, people watching, and ingesting art at this level. Among them came forth these random ponderings…

I need to learn to play the Bass. Guitar or stand-up is the question.

Where can I get me one of them there washboards? Seriously…

Um, where’s the Beer? Wine? Spirits?

Is it feasible to take a year, or 6 months, or 3 months – even, and go travel. Right now, Chile, Argentina, and Patagonia (with a “quick” sidetrip to Easter Island via Santiago) is the first big trip on my list. Second is maybe Paris and the South of France. Third is New Zealand or Ireland and Scotland. Damn it…I’ll go anywhere, really.

Oh, how I love my indoor plumbing and running water. Especially in the middle of the night when I invariably have to pee. And I’m naked. DOH!

Why is everyone so attracted to Evangelicalism? Don’t they find it highly oppressive?

It takes all kinds to make the world go ’round. Keep an open heart.

Re-connection in Cincy

I had the pleasure of visiting two dear friends this past weekend in Cincinnati. With my visit, I was also treated to seeing many other good friends who also live there. Oh joy!

And the one (major) factor missing in my life these days are just that – my friends. While I have so much that I am incredibly thankful for every day, my friends have always been my family, an ethos which was naturally ignited in high-school and reinforced through the world of the Grateful Dead and westward travel. To this day, my friends are as important to me as my family, and the titles are interchangeable among the two groups, making me the luckiest gal in all the land.

I made two new friends, too. They are young boys, named E and R, and they are four and two years old, respectively. They are, as you may have guessed, the beautiful children of my dear sweet friends, A and T. And beautiful they are. SO SWEET, and smart, and artistic, and sensitive, whilst still being full-on, running, jumping, yelling, wrastlin’ BOYS. They melted my heart, and I can’t wait for their visit down South; To hunt for ‘gators and play in the sand.

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R, me, and E, at the Cincinnati Cinergy Museum, part of the Museum Center. Notice R’s Elvis coat? What a rock star.

Alaska Synopsis

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After Vancouver unleashed her many delights upon David and me for three days and two nights, we boarded the Island Princess for a seven night cruise. The first two days took us along the inside passage, which was magical, mysterious, and wrought with unidentifiable flying objects.

First stop – Ketchikan, where I was incredibly excited to fly through the trees like a monkey. Although I was far less balletic than my primate brethren, I did, in fact, fly through the trees via a zipline hung as high as 135 feet. The views were outstanding, I got past my height fears pretty quickly, and want to do it again yesterday, today, and tomorrow. It was flippin’ awesome.

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The next morning, we were delivered to Juneau to meet our Bike and Brew guides. Turns out our driver, Melissa, knows my friend, Tony Tengs, from Haines. Small world, especially in the Northern territories.

After 9 miles of cycling and great views of the Mendenhall Glacier and Tongass National Forest, we were invited to take a walk down to the Visitor Center, which was bustling with tour buses and tourists alike. About 500 yards before the entrance to the visitor center, a quaint little bridge with a small pathway was on our left, about ten feet ahead of us. David and I were strolling along, taking it all in, when I looked up to be met with a brown bear, not ten feet away. I stopped dead in my tracks, hit David on the arm, and slowly started backing away. It was incredible to have this majestic creature present herself, but I wanted to respect her space, on her terms, in her land. David stood still as I walked backwards, and momma bear went back down her path. Moments later, she emerged with her two cubs, crossed the street, and continued along the river.

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Later in the day, we were fortunate enough to meet up with our friend Quinny, who offered us an astounding view from the cabin of his boat and a day in the life of a local Juneau-ian. About eight hours of side-splitting laughter and soaking in the rays of kindred kin, we were back to the big floating city, like the rest of the cruise people.

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The following morning greeted us with the charming town of Skagway, where I had visited 16 years before for one day. David and I strolled the town, met some locals making fun of the ‘cruise boat people’ at the local coffee shop, and bought some gear at the local outfitter store. Soon, we would be catching a ferry over to Haines, an off the beaten path destination and site of the life-changing experience I had taken part in 16 years before. This was my first visit since, and it felt like being in my own version of A Christmas Carol, looking out the rear window of a past, seemingly not my own.

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Tony met us at the dock, a new incarnation in Haines since my last visit, and quickly continued our local flavor tour. After lunch at the famous Bamboo Room with superb halibut and chips, we strolled over to the Haines bookstore, Babbling Book. There, I picked up local writer Heather Lende’s book, If You Lived Here, I’d Know Your Name, which chronicles life and death in small-town Haines. (A great book, BTW. My friend Tony makes a couple of appearances, and his family’s Bamboo Room and Pioneer Bar is in every chapter, it seems.)

Next, we visited the “sacred grounds”, as Tony called them, a.k.a. the site where I camped for two months in the summer of 1991. Although it was basically the same, many years have pebbled the path to include some neighbors and a reopened cannery just across the Chilkat inlet. As Tony drove on, we talked a bit about the last 16 years, and as much as Haines has remained the same, development poses a threat to the way of life there, too. It seems this reality is quite hard to escape.

After meeting some local artists and cruising around town, we headed to the old set of White Fang, the Disney movie that was shot in Haines, now home to many local businesses. While visiting the Haines Brewing Company, we met Paul Wheeler, the owner and brewmaster, and highly enjoyed all of his beers, especially the Spruce Tip Ale. Sadly, we needed to catch the five o’clock ferry out of Haines in time to meet up with our cruise mates, and I somberly watched as Tony’s truck drove away until I couldn’t see it anymore. I noticed that he’s not a man that looks back. I am not surprised.

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Thursday night on the boat was such a stark contrast from what we had experienced with our friends over the last two days, but our dinner guests made me feel lucky to have been assigned to such a great group. Throughout the course of the cruise, we had the good fortune of meeting Jim and Ann from outside of Austin, as well as Ross and Urte, living now in Fairhope, Alabama. Breaking bread with them and hearing their stories was incredibly easy, nice, and calming somehow.

The next three days were full of cruising in and around Glacier Bay, College Fjord, and towards Whittier, Alaska, where we disembarked for a train to Denali. Denali deserves its own post, but suffice it to say that the pod of 15 or more Beluga Whales along the way, Caribou, Moose, Dall sheep, Eagles, and the outrageously, neverending and enormous Alaska Mountain Range is a humbling and incredible experience. This, the land and creatures communing in life’s tapestry, is my church. Returning to the daily reminder of consumption, greed, and business as usual is difficult, but this experience also inspires me to follow my bliss.

Greetings from Denali

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Vancouver, blocks from the proposal (before the question was popped)

My seat from the Denali Lodge offers views of sun-drenched mountaintops brushed with fall colors and raw sedimentary rock. You can tell by the layers of millions of years of earth-work. The Grizzlies and Moose, Caribou and Dall Sheep have chosen a beautiful home here.

Since this vacation began almost two weeks ago in Vancouver, many glorious moments have transpired. The intertubes, at a cost of $30 an hour on the ship, have prohibited my use of this blog as a means of travelogue-ing, and I can’t say that I would have been able to squeeze a post in now and again, anyhow.

But now, just beyond this window, sits six-million acres of Denali National Park, in all of her rugged and natural beauty. Upon my return, I will look out my home’s window and daydream of these mountains and this land and form romantic notions of scrapping it all for a Dodge Sprinter that runs on Straight Vegetable Oil (SVO). And maybe a year from now, that will be precisely what I do, with my now fiancee, David. In the midst of the bear and cubs, beluga and humpback whales, moose and bald eagles, dall porposie and dall sheep, caribou, lunar eclipses, and UFO’s, me man popped the question. We are engaged to be married. And even though I already felt married and couldn’t be more committed, it seems he wants to make this love official, and for that, I will celebrate. I am a lucky woman, for he is a great man.

I have found, weaved between my natural tendencies as a rebel and knee-jerk reaction to the conventional, a sweet spot. Placing herself ever so delicately within the idea declaring a life-long love, this sweet spot is overwhelmed with the beautiful emotion of knowing that the one I love and admire does so back; enough to marry me up and make an honest woman outa me.

Passport to the Universe

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Haines, Alaska

After 14 long weeks of anxiously awaiting my passport (imagining, of course, that I must be on a list, of sorts, with an accompanying black file, for some dissenting blog posts and certain past experiences long ago that may, or may not, deem me unfit to, uh, travel?) it finally arrived yesterday. And if you think, perhaps, that when you scroll down you will be treated to my terrible passport photo, you are mistaken.

Coincidentally, yesterday was also Jerry’s birthday. I’m not quite sure why this is a coincidence, except that Jerry helped to open up an entire universe to me, which I had explored a bit pre-Jerry, but not quite to the depths as I did a la “The Dead scene.” And over the many years, I have distanced myself from that very scene for various reasons, but have come back around to looking upon my memories of those experiences as good life lessons. And mostly fun, with many adventures along the way. I am hoping that my new passport will help to facilitate the opening of more new and profound universes of which I have yet to discover.

Speaking of, my sweets and I leave for Vancouver in a couple of weeks. Then, on to Alaska and into Denali. I am salivating right now just thinking about it. Seriously. While I have spent almost two months living in a tent in the sweet town of Haines, Alaska 16 years ago, it seems like that was another lifetime. (oh, my Alaska comrades, where are you now? How I wish I knew…) And I never did make it into the interior of this magnificent land.

But I did meet some very interesting Haines folk. At this very moment, while creating this post, I found one of them. Tony Tengs is a bit like Willy Wonka, and has owned the Chilkat Chocolate Blanket Company (of which I was one of the singers for their local radio spot) since 1990. I have just learned that the shop moved from Haines to Juneau, but that his sister still runs the family restaurant started by his parents called The Pioneer Bar and Bamboo Room Restaurant. I was a proud dishwasher there for a short spell; a young lass in need of some quick cash.

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Moot, Meisha, Tony, and a sweet boy from the Netherlands whose name I can’t remember, in front of the Haines Chocolate Blanket shop

How I long to see those kindred souls again, along with the Northern Lights. I also remember Gordon, a man who plays the stand-up bass and built his own home and ran the radio station in Haines and made me one of the best mixed tapes ever which included Mose Allison, whom I hadn’t heard of until he gave me that gift of a tape.

Nostalgia is an amazing, beautiful, tricky, prickly phenomonon, and I am stricken with it. Godspeed to all, until we meet again.

And in the spirit of sharing at least one semi-embarassing photo of myself…

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Meisha, Moot, and a very young Me (what alliteration!)

Nashtucky

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The “lobby” at Union Station Hotel, Nashville, TN

As I sit in our hotel room on a hot Saturday afternoon in what was once the Union Station railroad terminal that opened in 1900, I have images of Jim McGuire’s Nashville Portraits series running through my mind, fresh from viewing them an hour ago. The Frist Center for the Visual Arts, where the Nashville Portraits are on display, is just next door, making it a rather convenient situation. Housed inside an historic 1930’s art deco building built originally as Nashville’s main post office, our love of this periods architecture was also quenched.

Below is one of the images from the exhibit, taken in 1975, of a young Guy and Susanna Clark. To get an even better feel for these two classic characters, indulge yourself with the amazing film about Townes Van Zandt, entitled Be Here to Love Me: A Film About Townes Van Zandt.

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Friday night in Nashville brought me a bit of Dinosaur Jr. and The Black Keys (from Akron, Oh…Go Zips!) at City Hall, which accentuated the same show seen Thursday night in Atlanta. The Black Keys ripped it, ever fine-tuning the possibility of damn good two-person bands.

In between sets, David and I wandered over to The Station Inn across the street, sometimes touted as the worlds most popular bluegrass club. We caught a couple of short sets by Blind Corn Liquor Pickers from Kentucky. While their picking was wonderful, I am sad to report that they might opt for an alternate lead singer, in lieu of their newest member, Beth Walker. I don’t want to be mean here, but it was literally painful to listen to her at times. I applaud people following their dreams, and it takes courage to even get on stage, so props to Ms. Walker for that. Still, the vocals were ill-suited to the incredible sounding music behind them.

Saturday evening brought us to Opryland, which is exactly what you think it to be if your image includes families of church-goin’ Americans, sandals with socks, and cheese fries. It was Jim Lauderdale, one of our favorites, that brought us there, though. Unfortunately, there seemed to be some mixed information as to when he was going to play, so he only played one song. We decided against waiting over two more hours in the oppressive heat to catch his next set, but am sure we’ll see Jim again.

Which creates a perfect segueway to our Saturday night show at the Douglas Corner Cafe. The night started with the kindness of a stranger, Shannon Cain, who offered us a seat at his AWESOME table (all the seats were taken, with not much room to stand anywhere, so this was, indeed, an appreciated gesture, and we gladly accepted.) Unbeknownst to us, Chris Masterson (of Son Volt fame) opened, accompanied by the incredibly talented and beautiful Eleanor Whitmore on violin, mandolin, and vocals. Truly amazing and mesmorizing. Next up was Bruce Robison, another incredible singer/songwriter, also accompanied by Ms. Whitmore.

Interestingly, I just learned that Jim Lauderdale “discovered” Bruce, connecting Bruce to his publisher, helping to kick-start Robsion’s ability to sell his songs to Nashville. It seems this is a path many take, including Lauderdale himself. While Bruce’s sister-in-law, Emily Robison of the Dixie Chicks, helped to make his song “Travelin’ Soldier” a hit, many other Nashville artists are eating up his writing, helping to provide a lucrative career for the talented Robison. And I love it when great musicians get paid.

All three of the nights performers hail from the incredibly musical state of Texas, and I am sure make routine rounds in the cojointly musical state of Tennesee. Although Nashville is better known for its cheese covered popular country, it is fully oozing with amazing music of all types, sans the cheese, and offered us an incredibly musical weekend.