Two Months Out

I make no illusions about grief. It has now been almost two months to the day of Natalie's death, and I can't say I've begun to learn this language at all. If anything I'm discovering more words I didn't know I didn't know. Grief comes in such tiny splinters that I don't expect them until they are in me—under my fingernails come tiny shards of a life I so dearly miss and they do their best to double me over in pain. The other week I cried for an hour about an AOL email address. Seriously. I realize it sounds ridiculous but that is the thing with splinters: outside of us they are so tiny, but when they are where they are they are monumental. The night I got back to Virginia from a very hard trip to Canada I went over to Nat and Mike's to try on some of her old clothes (yeah nothing emotional about that endeavor) and in all my mental fortitudes I wasn't prepared for the coats to smell like her.
They smelled like her. Her hands were in the pockets.
I felt them there.
I can't touch those coats now because they feel like a hug and I lose it. They are on a chair.

The trip to Canada was agonizing because I was with men who didn't seem too keen on the business of living. All of them had gone through divorces or rough marriages or wars or other losses, all of them exhibited no signs of zest. At times it felt like I spent the trip trying to convince them to keep living. Maybe I am more sensitive to it right now because of Natalie, but to them life was more a chore to be endured than a gift to be enjoyed. I just watched a woman with a love of life lose it and then to spend 10 days with men who have life and seem so keen to trash it was, in a way, utterly profane. It was offensive. I wanted to scream at them for being so careless with something I know others have fought so hard to keep. I didn't.

There is much to say about the trip to Canada but I don't think this is the place to do it. Coming back I felt like my heart was sunburned, rough, raw, flaking and peeling, hot and sore to the touch. I felt like I left pieces of my heart strewn along the highway, on the shoulders of those I hugged, on pillows where I slept. I picked at it in moments of quiet and regretted it in moments of movement. It was never comfortable.

I realize that living can be unsexy; it is by its very nature., because living is sustained and sexy isn't. Living isn't some big constant adventure, it isn't one high after another, because living is real, and to be real, it needs to be rooted and there is nothing sexy about rooting. Roots aren't pretty. They are dirty, they are unseen, they get no glory. But they endure.
And lord, when roots are true, do they produce some beautiful flowers.

Father Figured

I don’t write about my dad as much as I should.

My dad is a hero of mine, and I say that without a sense of irony or exaggeration. He is entirely human (and thus, flawed) but, in my eyes, the sun rises and sets with him. I unabashedly love my father.

My dad moved out of the house when I was 8. The moment he sat me down to tell me he was leaving is one I will forever hold, not because I want to, but because it was such a benchmark. Likewise, I remember the day we loaded up the moving truck, I remember the smell of the cigars he smoked as we did the drive back and forth from his new house to what was now my mother’s house. I remember the day when I realized he wasn’t coming back home.

But the weekends spent at the farm with him were full of magic and adventure. He taught me to shoot, he converted an old chicken coop into a clubhouse for us, he helped me build the model rockets that we’d launch and chase across the fields. For my 15^th birthday, he bought me my first guitar.
I know that he has tried to be the best father he can be, and for me he has mostly succeeded. Much of what I know and love is because he taught me. Camping, canoeing, books, plants, the Redskins, guitar, music: the stuff of him in me. I carry that with pride.

It is difficult to be so geographically far from him. I moved in with my dad two weeks after I turned 17 and have called his house my home ever since. There were weekends when I’d choose to stay in and hang out with him instead of going out with my friends. His back porch is a sanctuary of sorts. He is my friend.

In a few weeks I’m meeting up with Dad in Virginia and then we are riding together to Canada, where we’ll camp for 8 days on a remote lake with other family members. I haven’t been on vacation with my dad since I was 16. I’m so looking forward to the time spent with him.

Long Have I Known A Glory In It All

Camping brings gusto to life.
I feel most at home in the woods, setting a camp, tending fire. To do lists fade to become the essentials, of food, of water, of warmth and light, of shelter and company. Abstraction abates. This weekend was time away, a few days spent an hour and 2200’ vertically from home.
I organized the trip, not because it was near my birthday (though it was), but because it seemed a good weekend to get away. I’m not big on self-promoting birthdays. I’m ok either having them be small or having others think of something. I believe it is a time for others to love on you should they want to, not a time for you to demand attention from them.
And so it was we found ourselves at the top of Max Patch on Saturday evening. The sky was mottled with hiccups of summer storms that divinely passed us by. Max Patch is a place where it seems as if the divine breathes; where earth and sky are more intimate with each other. The grass was tall and damp and we spent the afternoon barefoot. I feel that being barefoot like that allows some magic from the earth to seep up through me, some ancient affirmation to creep in and whisper.
Ian and Tammy had graciously brought an obscenely large bottle of champagne for a mountain top toast. I love giving toasts; I love public speaking so this should be no surprise. But I was bested.
My dear friends, who love me for reasons I don’t quite understand, gave toasts to me.
They told me they loved me, they affirmed me in ways I so needed but couldn’t express. I am still humbled and shocked by it. I know I am a liked person, but I often forget to realize that those I love also love me. It was the best gift I could have been given, that elusive present of light, life, love, community, sky, joy, grace, breath, food, touch and future, found in the damp grass atop a mountain.
Thank you thank you thank you, dear friends.

[My birthday was amazing—thank you for all the calls and notes and emails!!! And thanks to my dear roommate Katie for the volume 1 soundtrack to Glee and to my dad for my new fly rod and reel. Something very funny about re-spooling a fly reel while listening to the soundtrack to a sugary show about a high school glee club. Then I went out to Thirsty Monk for drinks with Katherine, Robin, Caroline, Tara and Margarita. What gracious and audacious and impressive ladies.]

The Tuesday Void

“From her roost the water hen stretched out
Her purple-green neck
The kingfisher's quick glance
Shook water droplets from his crown
And I thought love would always be
That brilliant on the wing and wild.”
Ibykos, 6^th Century BC

Hey look it's a Thursday and I'm writing about a recent camping trip. La De Da. Jonathan and I went back to Black Balsam, the place where we first camped almost two months ago. It was late as we drove up and the headlights cut noncommittal swaths through the fog that laid heavy in every fold and crease; the tall spruces sharply protesting against the sea. Along the side of the parkway multiple pickup trucks with cages were parked and Jonathan said, almost to himself, “Must be bear season.” The hunters were out training their hounds to track in the Tuesday void.

Black Balsam was as beautiful and chilly as I remembered and the waxing moon held its groggy eye just above the treeline. The fog brainwashed the stars into submission. I stepped out of the van into a silence punctuated only by hounds. The howls were distant but hauntingly present; I thought of The Hound of the Baskervilles and I shuttered. Natural and yet foreign to the place.
The next day we drove to the southern terminus of the Parkway and did a short (yet vertical) hike up to an overlook. About half-way up the trail we stopped to catch breath and bearings and the flora was humming. Literally humming. Every single bush and shrub and tree was full of bees, beetles and insects pretending to be either and somehow all were singing to the same chorus. It was as if the sound came out of the earth; like rocks were humming along and we had stumbled into their sing-a-long. Remarkable.

On the way down the trail we picked over the last wild blueberries of the season and I found myself humming.

Rabbit Trail

Another "weekend" and another adventure with Jonathan. This is becoming a habit. We had great plans to drive to Rockbridge to hear my dear friend Hatcher speak but the drive was just too long and Jonathan didn't finish up work until much later so the VA adventure had to be scrapped for something local. It was for the best; that would have been a bit of a stretch.
We headed to Max Patch, a 4600' bald peak about an hour northwest of Asheville that has what many consider to be the best views in an area full of breathtaking views. We had the place to ourselves (lucky us! Pays to have Tuesday be my Saturday!) and the short trip to the top afforded us plenty of time to settle into the quiet beauty and watch the sunset. Lovely as always. I haven't enjoyed a sunset like that in much too long.

Wednesday we took our time getting going and finally headed out on gravel roads barely wide enough for two cars (luckily we didn't even see another car the whole time) that took us down into Tennessee. I don't tire of seeing miles and miles of young forest.
After a greasy lunch and more exploring we stopped at Big Creek in the Great Smokey National Park for a chance to have a cold mountain stream all to ourselves. After a quick dip we reclined on boulders in the creek, soaking up the sunlight and smelling clean the way one does after experiencing water like that. We watched goldfinches make their way to the water to take their own baths, their yellow feathers splashing and fluffing.

On the hike out we were sort of making our own way back to the camper and I got worried we were on a rabbit trail. Is that what ya'll call them, rabbit trails? Those paths in the woods that look promising, look like they lead somewhere, and then dead end at nothing in particular? I've been thinking about rabbit trails since then and in ways that have nothing to do with hiking. Surprise, I found a metaphor.
Really I've been thinking about hope but since I haven't fully formulated my thoughts on the matter I just leave you knowing that's what I'm thinking about. Not that I really expect you to care, but FYI.

Sabbath

Sometimes 'weekends' need to be a long sabbath and that's it.

After an extremely long and surprisingly stressful week at work, my weekend (Tuesday and Wednesday) needed to be a time to decompress, sleep, get the kink out of my neck and stop my eye from twitching. I'd say that's pretty ambitious.

So I skipped Quizzo on Monday (I know, shock, I actually skip Quizzo. I love it dearly but I was exhausted and in pain and didn't want to use my brain) to go to bed early and get rather intimate with a tube of Ben-Gay. That may have sounded weirder than I meant but I'm leaving it in. My blog, dammit. Mine. I haven't been sleeping well, as when I go to bed my room is a sauna but around 2:30am it is more fridge-like so there is a lack of consistency that is necessary to get to that blissful REM state.

My friend Katherine and I decided to abandon downtown Asheville on Tuesday and high tail it to the hills; Hot Springs to be exact. We spent most of the day laying in the cooling waters of the French Broad; small rapids doubled as cooling jets on our skin and we considered it a success when we both got goosebumps in August. Awesome. Perfect amount of sun and wind and water for a day.

(Katherine and her 8-month pregnant belly and the pretty heat rock she found to give Andy, her husband. A "Hey I played in a river all day but I got you a pretty rock" sort of present.)

We got back into town around 4, enough time to take a quick nap and shower before I drove south to Brevard and the Cradle of Forestry in Pisgah National Forest. I met Jonathan at the Ranger Station and hopped in the infamous VW and we drove up to the parking lot for Mt. Pisgah where we made dinner, sipped wine and watched the sun set over the Smokies.

We had great plans to do a night hike up Pisgah but a big bowl of pasta and two glasses of merlot will do wonders to hiking ambition. Instead we talked til the moon was setting and pulled out the pop-top mattress and laid it on the ground to look at the stars, which took up every spot in the sky. Jonathan has a computer program that will show the exact night sky based on coordinates and so we were able to identify constellations I've never known. I fell in love with Vega last night. It was cool enough for a fleece and when we finally went to bed around 3 the sleeping bags were necessary warmth. Oh blissful altitude. Wednesday morning brought a brunch at the overlook for the Cradle of Forestry, a meal including coffee, pancakes and, of course, the Diane Rehm show. I'd say it was the best Sabbath I've had in recent memory. How I love my times to live in kairos.(the Cradle of Forestry made me think of ESF and want to shout out to the foresters I didn't know and the forestry classes I didn't take. But approximation is a powerful thing from 14 hours and five years away)
(There was a vernal pool full of bull frog tadpoles. I loved the self-importance of their world)

Go Westy

I live in one of the prettiest places in the country.

There are days when I almost wreck my car because I'm dumbstruck by the scene outside my windshield; this town is nicely nestled in the lush, maternal mountains that surround it. It is breathtaking in every season.

(I-mean-it-sucks-don't-move-here)

After Quizzo recently I've been heading down to the Warehouse/Shop to hang out and play darts with Adam, Jonathan, Yeatman and whomever else is around. It's the perfect endcap to a night consumed with answering inane questions over pints of microbrew. After last week's strong showing (and one in which I won my 6^th shout-out question) I was feeling energetic so I stayed at the Shop after Margarita and Yeatman left. Jonathan and I got to talking and decided we should go camping the next night. His best friend and his girlfriend were in town in their Westy camper and since Jonathan essentially lives in his it'd be a breeze to pack up and head to the Smokies in matching VWs. So after doing some tiling in the morning I met up with the crew at the shop and with a few stops to get meal makings we were off, cruising at the brisk 55 top speed of the Westy.
We first headed to a favorite spot of Jonathan's on the East Fork of the Pigeon called Garden of the Gods, where we proceeded to rock hop and scramble up continuous 12-20ft waterfalls with deep pools full of native brook trout for almost two hours. Great fun; I haven't rock hopped like that in ages. I love the puzzle it becomes, the weight distribution and foot placement; the translation of right handed movements to the left-handed brain. The river mets up with the road and we easily walked back down to the campers.

(Not Jonathan's Westy but one very similar)

By this point it was strongly dinnertime. We drove up onto the Parkway and parked at the overlook for Devil's Courthouse, where we popped the tops to the campers and cooked our meals. This is when Jonathan's modifications on his Westy really began to impress, though I was most impressed by the command to simply sit in my chair, drink my wine and not do a darn thing. We had pan-seared king salmon steaks, fresh salad, asparagus and red wine and it was delicious. Yes, that was cooked on a stove in a VW camper. And we had some classical station as background music so we almost looked classy what with our lexan wine glasses and all.

(Devil's Courthouse)

After dinner we drove a short distance to the parking area for Black Balsam Knob, a 6200ft bald in the Shining Rock Wilderness area (in comparison, Mt Marcy in NY is 5344 ft, Mt. Washington is 6288ft) where we popped the tops and set up camp for the night. We didn't get to bed til after 2am. I haven't slept in the pop-top of a VW camper since I was probably 12; it brought back some of my favorite memories of camping with my dad in my grandparents blue 1982 VW.
The sun was bright and clear in the morning and as neither of us are morning people it was nice to sort of ease into the day, to the tune of actually attempting to go back to bed after a breakfast of pancakes with strawberries and fresh coffee. Didn't work, gave up on the napping and finally left to hike Black Balsam. It has one of the best views in the Pisgah area; as a bald it's clear in all directions with views of Looking Glass, Graveyard Fields, Shining Rock, Mt Pisgah and Cold Mountain. We had a picnic lunch at the summit but the threat of rain sent us scurrying back down the trail to head back to town. This was all about 30 miles from my house.
I know that was long but I hope it did the trip justice. It was throughly enjoyable.

(The summit of Black Balsam taking from the internets as my camera is broken)

Misc. Monday

* Friday night went and saw Chatham County Line (bluegrass) at Grey Eagle with fellow socialite Nate--the concert lasted til friggin' 12:45. We didn't leave there until, oh, 1:30 or so. Whoa. Great show, the banjo player looks like Kenneth from "30 Rock" but with a beard. Made me giggle the whole show.

* Saturday wrangled ropes for Windy Gap then sped home, packed in 5 minutes, picked up Andy (Katherine has a big gallery show next weekend and had to finish several prints so couldn't come) and headed to meet Nate out at Lake James for a camping adventure. I need to camp more. I love camping; it brings joy not much else brings. Simple joy.

* Note: don't pack for camping in 5 minutes. You forget a whole lot.

* Food Nate brought: bratwurst, bacon, lamb chops, corned beef hash, eggs, cheese, bread and some potatoes. Meatfest 2k7. No wonder my face keeps breaking out.

* Sunday we left camping and drove straight to the Beir Garden to watch the 'Skins KILL the Lions. I was in the same clothes I'd been wearing for two days, I smelled like campfire and I was sitting in a bar, watching football with three friends. Priorities people, priorities.

* Today is my little sister's 14th birthday. Having her in my life is the greatest blessing I could have ever imagined. If any boy hurts her I will kill him.

* Saturday night Nate and I had a "discussion" about the place of wonder in a world full of science. I said I love having things in my life that I don't know the science behind; he said that was voluntary ignorance. He's also an engineer. Sometimes science can suck the mystery out of an experience. I never want love to become just a combination of pheromones, situations and chemistry. I never want to lose the art that is the science of creation.

College Party Crashers

Wow I totally forgot to mention my kick ass camping trip last weekend. That's something I want blogged for posterity. Last weekend I went and stayed at Plunge with 6 friends and it was a much better trip than even I could have imagined. I was kinda tired and cranky but the delicious food and company and abundant laughter (and 4 dogs) made me forget many worries for a while...and watching Andy and Ian go off the slide on boogie boards was more than worth it.
This past weekend I discovered something very important: apparently I'm too old for Ben Kweller concerts. Katherine and I went and saw him at the Grey Eagle on Saturday night. We got our beers and were standing around talking about stuff like carpal tunnel and kids when suddenly we stopped and realized something shocking to us: we were a minority in the room, as 90% of the people there were between 18 and 21. It was like crashing a college party only more expensive. Thank God I'm not that age anymore, no?
Anyway, no word on the job front just yet and I'm getting nauseous thinking about it so don't ask. Literally may cry from stress, but I'm believing that my needs will be supplied. That's why I got the Jesus.