It might be because I quit watching Fox News, but it's been a couple years since I've heard people talking about the War on Christmas, in which we have to save the baby Jesus from the liberal commies. But the other day I met one of the guerrillas on the front lines, and she brought it all back for me. I was waiting to send a package to my friend Britton who got lost on his way home and is stuck in Colorado, when the lady in front of me chastised the young clerk's "Happy Holidays" with an exasperated "Merry CHRISTmas." She stared at him for a few more seconds, chin down and eyebrows up, then turned to those of us in line, repeated herself in case anyone missed it the first time, and strode out of the building confident that the birth of Christ was once again secure.
I could talk about the fact that we as Christians are not the only ones celebrating a holiday this time of year. Or I could talk about the very word "holiday," how it is powerful and weighted with life.
But I think instead I'll talk about my family. This is my nephew Wyatt's first Christmas. Last Sunday he discovered his nostrils for the first time, and since then he's been riding through life with his thumb in his mouth and his finger up his nose. At some point we should probably stop encouraging it, but for now everyone gathers around and laughs and he is absolutely precious. That baby has affected my brother and his wife so dramatically, and watching them interact with each other and with Wyatt keeps bringing me the good kind of tears.
Today thirteen of us gathered for a Christmas Eve lunch. Food is a half-step below Jesus in my family, so everything was delicious and abundant. Competition is a half-step below food, so we followed lunch with some healthy trash talk and a convincing Ryan-Beau victory. After a mostly enjoyable church service, we came back to the house for more food and some family music featuring cello, piano, guitars, and the lovely vocals of Kathryn Denton.
This is a time for families to share and to savor, for distant friends to unite and enjoy the company of each other. It's not always pretty, and sometimes we have to make late night phone calls to apologize for being pissy about a score discrepancy, but this time, good and bad together, is rich. And it is sacred.
I hope the lady from the post office is with people right now. I hope the part of her that feels obligated to protect the sanctity of Christmas is experiencing some sort of healing. Maybe she was stressed about not getting her package off in time, and that's why she snapped at the postal employee who was obeying instructions. If that's the case, then I hope she's sitting at home with her family, amazed at how everything is coming together.
Because there is nothing in the world like those moments after the frenzy, when everyone is tired and full and together, when the only reason to get up is a coffee refill, and when the most thrilling sound in the world is the strange gurgling laughing noise coming from the baby.
To my friends, Christian and non-Christian and everything in between, I think about California and my family and my long-lost friend Britton and my upcoming trip to Jacksonville and baby Wyatt picking his nose, and I breathe deep, exhaling with a full and quiet Merry Christmas.
And next time someone offers you a neutral greeting in light of the fact that we are a diverse nation with beautifully diverse traditions, may you pause for a moment and agree that these are indeed Holy Days.
And love.
Friday, December 25, 2009
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Soap Snow
A few nights ago I stood among hundreds of people outside of Santa’s house, somewhere between Barnes & Noble and Anthropologie, when a foreign whirring sound appeared above us, the skies opened up, and suddenly we were all being showered in soap bubbles. Kids started cheering, people ran out of stores and craned their necks, others extended a hand to the floating suds, clutching bags of clothes in the other hand.
For a moment I found myself caught up in the spectacle, but then I began to feel increasingly removed. I looked at the soap that clung to the ground for a mere second, and I thought about how it could represent so much of what happens in this city, manufacturing something temporary to masquerade as something substantial. I looked at the crowds of people, clutching their shopping bags full of hundreds of dollars worth of items, and I thought of the reasons why so many people are cynical about the Christmas season. After exactly five minutes the rooftop soap machines fell silent, then a man stepped on a brightly lit stage and wished everyone a Merry Christmas before he started yelling about all of the new features in the shiny car displayed behind him.
Waiting to meet up with some new friends, I continued to feel more and more bothered. I even began to jot down ideas I could write about later, about consumerism and empires and the hijacking of a truly meaningful and beautiful story. I began to feel superior to the crowds flowing in and out of the stores, as if I was somehow enlightened and they were not.
And then my phone rang. I spent the next hour and a half talking with a very dear friend from Florida, a conversation that had its serious moments but was thoroughly enjoyable and refreshing.
My phone died before we finished talking, but it turned out to be just in time for the final soap shower of the night. This time I couldn’t help but laugh at the kids squealing in delight, the father who placed his son on his shoulders so he could reach higher, and all of the hundreds of people who seemed to stop what they were doing for just a few moments, staring at the suds twirling and floating through the lights, and pretending that Los Angeles might actually experience a holiday snowfall. When the little girl beside me jumped on a chair and wished everyone a Merry Christmas, I almost started crying. The good kind.
There are all sorts of things to be cynical about this time of year. Our addiction to buying things is a problem, and the way that Christmas is used to feed that addiction is definitely a problem. Not to mention that for so many people holidays stir up deep personal pain related to family problems or loved ones who won’t be sharing in the traditions this year.
But there are so many things to be excited about too. Maybe all the talk about joy and peace amounts to more than overplayed songs and cheesy commercials. Maybe the story about God becoming man and sharing our existence is very real and very present. Maybe anything that draws together families or distant friends is powerful and worth being excited about.
I think I need to repeatedly remember this. It’s so easy to be cynical, and I don’t need to be reminded of my skepticism, but I am compelled by the thought that there is something substantive and lasting beneath all the lights and songs. It took a long conversation with a missed friend to remind me of this, and I’m sure I will need to be reminded again. My hope is that I will find genuine joy in everything that is being shared over the next few weeks, in families that come together for a few cherished traditions, and in friends that are united again over food and hot chocolate and wonderfully cold weather.
Tomorrow morning I leave for Bradenton, so maybe that’s putting me in some sort of sappy sentimental mood. I would like to believe, though, that this new peace of mind and heart, and this giddy expectation for things to come, have something to do with the story behind all the craziness.
For a moment I found myself caught up in the spectacle, but then I began to feel increasingly removed. I looked at the soap that clung to the ground for a mere second, and I thought about how it could represent so much of what happens in this city, manufacturing something temporary to masquerade as something substantial. I looked at the crowds of people, clutching their shopping bags full of hundreds of dollars worth of items, and I thought of the reasons why so many people are cynical about the Christmas season. After exactly five minutes the rooftop soap machines fell silent, then a man stepped on a brightly lit stage and wished everyone a Merry Christmas before he started yelling about all of the new features in the shiny car displayed behind him.
Waiting to meet up with some new friends, I continued to feel more and more bothered. I even began to jot down ideas I could write about later, about consumerism and empires and the hijacking of a truly meaningful and beautiful story. I began to feel superior to the crowds flowing in and out of the stores, as if I was somehow enlightened and they were not.
And then my phone rang. I spent the next hour and a half talking with a very dear friend from Florida, a conversation that had its serious moments but was thoroughly enjoyable and refreshing.
My phone died before we finished talking, but it turned out to be just in time for the final soap shower of the night. This time I couldn’t help but laugh at the kids squealing in delight, the father who placed his son on his shoulders so he could reach higher, and all of the hundreds of people who seemed to stop what they were doing for just a few moments, staring at the suds twirling and floating through the lights, and pretending that Los Angeles might actually experience a holiday snowfall. When the little girl beside me jumped on a chair and wished everyone a Merry Christmas, I almost started crying. The good kind.
There are all sorts of things to be cynical about this time of year. Our addiction to buying things is a problem, and the way that Christmas is used to feed that addiction is definitely a problem. Not to mention that for so many people holidays stir up deep personal pain related to family problems or loved ones who won’t be sharing in the traditions this year.
But there are so many things to be excited about too. Maybe all the talk about joy and peace amounts to more than overplayed songs and cheesy commercials. Maybe the story about God becoming man and sharing our existence is very real and very present. Maybe anything that draws together families or distant friends is powerful and worth being excited about.
I think I need to repeatedly remember this. It’s so easy to be cynical, and I don’t need to be reminded of my skepticism, but I am compelled by the thought that there is something substantive and lasting beneath all the lights and songs. It took a long conversation with a missed friend to remind me of this, and I’m sure I will need to be reminded again. My hope is that I will find genuine joy in everything that is being shared over the next few weeks, in families that come together for a few cherished traditions, and in friends that are united again over food and hot chocolate and wonderfully cold weather.
Tomorrow morning I leave for Bradenton, so maybe that’s putting me in some sort of sappy sentimental mood. I would like to believe, though, that this new peace of mind and heart, and this giddy expectation for things to come, have something to do with the story behind all the craziness.
Thursday, November 19, 2009
At the Moment
I am temporarily suspending myself from speaking about the future in any kind of definite terms, because I find that I am contradicting myself and changing my words all too often. If you ask me where I will be after the next few months, my answer one day could be drastically different than the day before. And so, for now, the future will only be spoken of in vague, ultimately meaningless rhetoric about mystery and the unexpected. But I'll keep you updated.
The present, though, is a different matter entirely. Let's talk.
I have a job, for the moment. I'm working in the will call department at Vroman's Bookstore in Pasadena. I answer phones and help people with their book orders, and I do a lot of gift wrapping. This is funny. At some point my manager might realize that my awkwardly packaged gifts are not worth the time, tape, and paper I struggle through, but the learning process is fun for someone whose wrapping has often been a joke at family gatherings.
Speaking of wrapping, Thanksgiving is next week. Christmas is next month. It seems like it's cool to bash Christmas because of the commercialization around it, but I can't help but be excited. More thoughts in a couple weeks.
A job in Pasadena is not conveniently located for someone living in Hollywood. And, perhaps another representation of the idea that I might not fit in around this city, I did not want to drive that far every time I go to work.
Public transportation to the rescue.
I have always enjoyed a fascination with city transportation, but this is the first time in my life that I have been a frequent, repeated participant instead of a visiting passerby. And I am convinced that there is no better way to come to know a city.
To get to work, I bike up the hill to Hollywood and Highland, take the Red Line downtown, take the Gold Line to Pasadena, then bike to the store. The one-way trip takes about an hour and a half and, though perhaps not time efficient, it saves money and provides perfect venues for reading and people watching. Something about the mass movement of people, all these bodies packed into a confined space in motion, always feels significant and puts me in a thoughtful mood.
A few observations...
When the standard interaction involves silence and an intentional lack of eye contact, the interruptions are often profound and always memorable. Exchanged smiles carry a lot of weight in an environment of hurry and discomfort, and a friendly conversation has the potential to affect the mood of an entire car.
During rush hours, no conversation is private, and many people have made an art out of listening while pretending not to. This includes me (see previous post). For when I am not in the mood to talk with anyone, subway eavesdropping is a new hobby of mine. I love these little glimpses into the lives of strangers, no context or explanation offered or needed.
In more compact cities, people from all different walks of life use public transportation because it is convenient and so widely accepted. In Los Angeles, most of the riders seem to be there out of necessity, not choice. While it may save a couple bucks if you're going far enough, it is not timely and, for more normal people than myself, it is not consistently enjoyable. L.A.'s citizens are famously attached to their cars, so those who can afford it choose to leave public transportation to those citizens they would prefer to keep underground anyways. There are, of course, exceptions: there are many who ride the subway because it seems environmentally responsible, or because they too enjoy the deeper connection it offers to their city. Public transportation is at its best when all of these people, from different parts of town and different tax brackets, find themselves standing next to each other, leaning into the turns and bracing for the awkward stops.
This is especially fun when the Gold Line goes above ground and we get to speed past all the cars stuck on the freeway, the mountains ahead of us and the city's skyline behind us.
In competition for my favorite moment every day is on the way home, emerging from the station at Hollywood and Highland. By this point it is usually dark, the air has chilled, and the crowds are out in full force. I love watching people take pictures of the stars on the sidewalk and the performers walking around and the iconic signs and images. Then I climb on my bike, ride past more crowds at the Chinese Theater and the wax museum, up to Gardner, where I lean left and coast down the hill to the house, invigorated by the cold air and reminded once again why so many people flock to this place that, for right now, I am calling home.
The present, though, is a different matter entirely. Let's talk.
I have a job, for the moment. I'm working in the will call department at Vroman's Bookstore in Pasadena. I answer phones and help people with their book orders, and I do a lot of gift wrapping. This is funny. At some point my manager might realize that my awkwardly packaged gifts are not worth the time, tape, and paper I struggle through, but the learning process is fun for someone whose wrapping has often been a joke at family gatherings.
Speaking of wrapping, Thanksgiving is next week. Christmas is next month. It seems like it's cool to bash Christmas because of the commercialization around it, but I can't help but be excited. More thoughts in a couple weeks.
A job in Pasadena is not conveniently located for someone living in Hollywood. And, perhaps another representation of the idea that I might not fit in around this city, I did not want to drive that far every time I go to work.
Public transportation to the rescue.
I have always enjoyed a fascination with city transportation, but this is the first time in my life that I have been a frequent, repeated participant instead of a visiting passerby. And I am convinced that there is no better way to come to know a city.
To get to work, I bike up the hill to Hollywood and Highland, take the Red Line downtown, take the Gold Line to Pasadena, then bike to the store. The one-way trip takes about an hour and a half and, though perhaps not time efficient, it saves money and provides perfect venues for reading and people watching. Something about the mass movement of people, all these bodies packed into a confined space in motion, always feels significant and puts me in a thoughtful mood.
A few observations...
When the standard interaction involves silence and an intentional lack of eye contact, the interruptions are often profound and always memorable. Exchanged smiles carry a lot of weight in an environment of hurry and discomfort, and a friendly conversation has the potential to affect the mood of an entire car.
During rush hours, no conversation is private, and many people have made an art out of listening while pretending not to. This includes me (see previous post). For when I am not in the mood to talk with anyone, subway eavesdropping is a new hobby of mine. I love these little glimpses into the lives of strangers, no context or explanation offered or needed.
In more compact cities, people from all different walks of life use public transportation because it is convenient and so widely accepted. In Los Angeles, most of the riders seem to be there out of necessity, not choice. While it may save a couple bucks if you're going far enough, it is not timely and, for more normal people than myself, it is not consistently enjoyable. L.A.'s citizens are famously attached to their cars, so those who can afford it choose to leave public transportation to those citizens they would prefer to keep underground anyways. There are, of course, exceptions: there are many who ride the subway because it seems environmentally responsible, or because they too enjoy the deeper connection it offers to their city. Public transportation is at its best when all of these people, from different parts of town and different tax brackets, find themselves standing next to each other, leaning into the turns and bracing for the awkward stops.
This is especially fun when the Gold Line goes above ground and we get to speed past all the cars stuck on the freeway, the mountains ahead of us and the city's skyline behind us.
In competition for my favorite moment every day is on the way home, emerging from the station at Hollywood and Highland. By this point it is usually dark, the air has chilled, and the crowds are out in full force. I love watching people take pictures of the stars on the sidewalk and the performers walking around and the iconic signs and images. Then I climb on my bike, ride past more crowds at the Chinese Theater and the wax museum, up to Gardner, where I lean left and coast down the hill to the house, invigorated by the cold air and reminded once again why so many people flock to this place that, for right now, I am calling home.
Monday, November 16, 2009
Eavesdropping
A conversation overheard tonight on the Metro Gold Line...
Dad: "Did you know your great-grandfather crossed the Delaware with George Washington?"
Older daughter: "That's a lie."
Dad: "Okay. You wanna hear a joke?"
Son and older daughter: "No."
Dad: "Okay. So Obama, Gore, and Clinton are tryin' to get into Heaven."
Son: "I heard this one on the freakin' radio last night. Hurry up."
Dad: "So God says, 'Why should I let you in?' Clinton walks up and says, 'I know I've sinned a lot, but I prayed for forgiveness, so we're alright now.' And God lets him in. Then Gore walks up and says, 'Well, everyone knows I won that election in 2000, but I handled it well, and I've done a lot of good things for the Earth and stuff.' And God lets him in. Then Obama walks up to God and says, 'I believe you're in my seat.'"
Wife smiles, as do a few nearby riders who pretend like they're not listening, myself included.
Son: "I don't get it. I mean I get it, but..."
Mom: "It's 'cause Obama thinks he's God."
Older daughter: "That's blasphemy."
Son: "No, it's a joke."
Younger daughter: "What's blasphemy?"
Older daughter: "It's a sin."
Son: "Is it in the Ten Commandments?"
Older daughter: "No, but..."
Dad (with authority): "I think it's in the Constitution."
Son: "Oh. Maybe the Declaration of Independence."
Dad: "No, it's the Constitution."
Younger daughter: "Daddy, I think that man over there is writing down your joke."
Did you catch that? Not a boy, not even a guy...she called me a man!
Dad: "Did you know your great-grandfather crossed the Delaware with George Washington?"
Older daughter: "That's a lie."
Dad: "Okay. You wanna hear a joke?"
Son and older daughter: "No."
Dad: "Okay. So Obama, Gore, and Clinton are tryin' to get into Heaven."
Son: "I heard this one on the freakin' radio last night. Hurry up."
Dad: "So God says, 'Why should I let you in?' Clinton walks up and says, 'I know I've sinned a lot, but I prayed for forgiveness, so we're alright now.' And God lets him in. Then Gore walks up and says, 'Well, everyone knows I won that election in 2000, but I handled it well, and I've done a lot of good things for the Earth and stuff.' And God lets him in. Then Obama walks up to God and says, 'I believe you're in my seat.'"
Wife smiles, as do a few nearby riders who pretend like they're not listening, myself included.
Son: "I don't get it. I mean I get it, but..."
Mom: "It's 'cause Obama thinks he's God."
Older daughter: "That's blasphemy."
Son: "No, it's a joke."
Younger daughter: "What's blasphemy?"
Older daughter: "It's a sin."
Son: "Is it in the Ten Commandments?"
Older daughter: "No, but..."
Dad (with authority): "I think it's in the Constitution."
Son: "Oh. Maybe the Declaration of Independence."
Dad: "No, it's the Constitution."
Younger daughter: "Daddy, I think that man over there is writing down your joke."
Did you catch that? Not a boy, not even a guy...she called me a man!
Monday, October 26, 2009
Dear California
Dear California,
You and I have gotten along pretty well so far. You’ve been sunny and friendly, I’ve been exploratory and appreciative. Really, it’s been great.
But I thought I might toss out an idea for the next stage of our relationship, California. That is this: you should help me find a job. I know you’re hurting right now, and I know I’m not the only one asking you for this, but I’ve seen what you’re made of and I know you have something for me. It doesn’t even have to be a super awesome job. Just something that involves work and meeting new people. And a paycheck. Because you should know that Oregon keeps telling me she doesn’t think you’ve got it in you. She keeps sending me little notes about Portland and public transportation and clean air. But I tell her you’ve got something up your sleeve.
And in return for you finding me a job, I promise to never call you “Cali.” We both know how much you hate that. I’ll even see what I can do about convincing people that the Governator jokes have never been very funny.
No matter what happens, though, thanks for everything. It’s been a blast.
Sincerely,
Beau
You and I have gotten along pretty well so far. You’ve been sunny and friendly, I’ve been exploratory and appreciative. Really, it’s been great.
But I thought I might toss out an idea for the next stage of our relationship, California. That is this: you should help me find a job. I know you’re hurting right now, and I know I’m not the only one asking you for this, but I’ve seen what you’re made of and I know you have something for me. It doesn’t even have to be a super awesome job. Just something that involves work and meeting new people. And a paycheck. Because you should know that Oregon keeps telling me she doesn’t think you’ve got it in you. She keeps sending me little notes about Portland and public transportation and clean air. But I tell her you’ve got something up your sleeve.
And in return for you finding me a job, I promise to never call you “Cali.” We both know how much you hate that. I’ll even see what I can do about convincing people that the Governator jokes have never been very funny.
No matter what happens, though, thanks for everything. It’s been a blast.
Sincerely,
Beau
Friday, October 23, 2009
From Fairfax: Characters and Photographs
The Fairfax Library is full of interesting people. In my experience this is true of all L.A. libraries, but it seems especially true today. Three chairs to my left is a man whose biceps are about as big as my head. He’s wearing headphones, but they’re not plugged in. He’s scanning Fox News videos, and it’s not very loud so only a few of us can hear, but I think he thinks the headphones are in. I thought about saying something, then I remembered his biceps. I guess Fox News isn’t too bad as white noise, mindless entertainment humming in the background.
The lady in front of me looks like a mid-aged Maya Angelou, headscarf and all. I want to ask her to tell me stories about caged birds, but she seems pretty engaged in her reading about backroads in France.
To the right and two tables up are two girls, probably just a couple years younger than me, who have been talking about Glee for an hour now. Have you seen this show? I haven’t yet, but its fans sure are enthusiastic. Kara, the girl on the left, thinks Finn is really cute, but her friend (whose name I haven’t learned yet) has a thing for Puck.
What kind of name is Puck? I don’t think I like him. Unless we’re talking about Shakespeare’s Puck, of course. That’s different.
Since I’ve been sitting here, I have heard at least six people approach the information desk behind me and ask about a job. They should hang a “Hiring Freeze” sign out front and save everyone a lot of time.
Speaking of, I’m still on the hunt. I’ve had e-mails and conversations that were immediately promising, but none of them have actually led anywhere yet. It’s pretty easy to get discouraged about it, but I’m trying to take advantage of the extra time I have.
And Britton’s been super busy, which is awesome. He’s working as a production assistant on Wipeout, and he’s doing an internship at this brilliant little photography studio. At least he says it’s brilliant. I haven’t seen it yet, and everyone knows I am the authority on photography. I think Britton, his interests and gifts and dreams, fits really well in Los Angeles. It’s an exciting thing to watch.
The verdict’s still out on me, though.
At the table in front of me, next to Maya, a Jewish man just sat down with his son, who I would guess is about twelve. The boy is wearing the black pants, white shirt, and black yarmulke to match many of the other students in this area. Have I told you about all the Jewish people in our neighborhood? It’s been a joy. The dad is reading The New York Times, sitting quite close to his son who is working on math homework. Whenever the boy has a question his dad leans over, puts his arm around the son’s shoulder, and walks him through the problem. They speak softly, so I can’t understand them, but even so I could watch them for hours.
Make that seven people asking about a job. Sorry, hiring freeze.
Today’s volunteer reader just walked in. She looks frail and is remarkably older than the girl from last time. I’m a little disappointed about that.
A few nights ago David and Neil took us to the Getty museum, which was incredible and will be worth many revisits. They have an Irving Penn exhibit right now, called “Small Trades,” pictures of city workers from Paris, London, and New York in the 1950s. Each person stands in front of the camera, dressed in work uniforms and holding whatever tools he or she works with, and stares into the camera.
Those stares are what grabbed me. There was one, a street photographer with his camera and a cigar, that I could not get out of my mind. His gaze ignored the lens and the frame and the five decades between us, and I could not help but feel that he knew something about me, something that would surprise even myself. But he remained silent, as did the undertaker in the next room, whose raised brows and wrinkles under his eyes suggested that he was full of fascinating stories.
In one section, a panel on the wall discussed the differences between the three cities. Penn said that the Parisians were constantly skeptical, certain that there were ulterior motives involved. The Londoners were consistently passive, as if it was the most natural thing in the world for someone to invite them to a studio to take a picture of them in their work clothes. The New Yorkers were the most unpredictable, every day a few ignoring the directions and showing up showered and in suits, convinced that this was their first step to Hollywood.
The experience of the evening was heightened by the gardens and fountains and all of the different displays, topped off with a brilliant view of the city. From up there, if you can ignore the smog and the painfully absent stars, Los Angeles is quite beautiful.
It’s beautiful down here, too, again if you can ignore the smog. This library alone probably has more nationalities represented than the entire populations of Bradenton and Jacksonville combined, and that has been endlessly refreshing. And I am still enjoying the energy here, the life and movement and all of the people trying to do something big.
Even if my place in that energy is an ever-growing question mark.
The lady in front of me looks like a mid-aged Maya Angelou, headscarf and all. I want to ask her to tell me stories about caged birds, but she seems pretty engaged in her reading about backroads in France.
To the right and two tables up are two girls, probably just a couple years younger than me, who have been talking about Glee for an hour now. Have you seen this show? I haven’t yet, but its fans sure are enthusiastic. Kara, the girl on the left, thinks Finn is really cute, but her friend (whose name I haven’t learned yet) has a thing for Puck.
What kind of name is Puck? I don’t think I like him. Unless we’re talking about Shakespeare’s Puck, of course. That’s different.
Since I’ve been sitting here, I have heard at least six people approach the information desk behind me and ask about a job. They should hang a “Hiring Freeze” sign out front and save everyone a lot of time.
Speaking of, I’m still on the hunt. I’ve had e-mails and conversations that were immediately promising, but none of them have actually led anywhere yet. It’s pretty easy to get discouraged about it, but I’m trying to take advantage of the extra time I have.
And Britton’s been super busy, which is awesome. He’s working as a production assistant on Wipeout, and he’s doing an internship at this brilliant little photography studio. At least he says it’s brilliant. I haven’t seen it yet, and everyone knows I am the authority on photography. I think Britton, his interests and gifts and dreams, fits really well in Los Angeles. It’s an exciting thing to watch.
The verdict’s still out on me, though.
At the table in front of me, next to Maya, a Jewish man just sat down with his son, who I would guess is about twelve. The boy is wearing the black pants, white shirt, and black yarmulke to match many of the other students in this area. Have I told you about all the Jewish people in our neighborhood? It’s been a joy. The dad is reading The New York Times, sitting quite close to his son who is working on math homework. Whenever the boy has a question his dad leans over, puts his arm around the son’s shoulder, and walks him through the problem. They speak softly, so I can’t understand them, but even so I could watch them for hours.
Make that seven people asking about a job. Sorry, hiring freeze.
Today’s volunteer reader just walked in. She looks frail and is remarkably older than the girl from last time. I’m a little disappointed about that.
A few nights ago David and Neil took us to the Getty museum, which was incredible and will be worth many revisits. They have an Irving Penn exhibit right now, called “Small Trades,” pictures of city workers from Paris, London, and New York in the 1950s. Each person stands in front of the camera, dressed in work uniforms and holding whatever tools he or she works with, and stares into the camera.
Those stares are what grabbed me. There was one, a street photographer with his camera and a cigar, that I could not get out of my mind. His gaze ignored the lens and the frame and the five decades between us, and I could not help but feel that he knew something about me, something that would surprise even myself. But he remained silent, as did the undertaker in the next room, whose raised brows and wrinkles under his eyes suggested that he was full of fascinating stories.
In one section, a panel on the wall discussed the differences between the three cities. Penn said that the Parisians were constantly skeptical, certain that there were ulterior motives involved. The Londoners were consistently passive, as if it was the most natural thing in the world for someone to invite them to a studio to take a picture of them in their work clothes. The New Yorkers were the most unpredictable, every day a few ignoring the directions and showing up showered and in suits, convinced that this was their first step to Hollywood.
The experience of the evening was heightened by the gardens and fountains and all of the different displays, topped off with a brilliant view of the city. From up there, if you can ignore the smog and the painfully absent stars, Los Angeles is quite beautiful.
It’s beautiful down here, too, again if you can ignore the smog. This library alone probably has more nationalities represented than the entire populations of Bradenton and Jacksonville combined, and that has been endlessly refreshing. And I am still enjoying the energy here, the life and movement and all of the people trying to do something big.
Even if my place in that energy is an ever-growing question mark.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
To the Girl Across the Aisle on United Flight 925
Dear Girl Across the Aisle on United Flight 925,
I think you are wonderful. I'm not sure what it is, but I like you. A lot. Maybe it's the giant backpack, rolled up pants, flannel shirt, and Chacos...all of which suggest you have been traveling for a while. Maybe it's your calloused and sun-burnt feet, which make me think you spend a lot of time outdoors. Or maybe it's your smile. You have a great smile.
I heard you talking on the phone before we got on the plane, about whether or not you wanted to move to LA, and I think you should. In fact, I think you should move to Hollywood. You can sleep on my couch if you want it. And before you think I'm creepy for listening to your conversation, don't forget that you helped me remember where we were when I was trying to talk to my brother. You were listening to me too.
And don't pretend you're not interested, Girl Across the Aisle on United Flight 925. I saw you smiling at me each time I glanced across the aisle. At the very least, you are amused by me. And amusement is always worth spending more time around someone.
Of course, something about your traveling nature and your terrific smile silenced me, so we haven't actually spoken yet. But I can only assume you will be reading this, so I would like to fix that. Maybe we can take our sheepish smiles all the way to the level of verbal communication. Then maybe I can join you on your travels. I could tell you stories about a trip I just finished, then you could tell me stories about the trip you're taking, and we could talk about our families and our hopes and everything we are feeling. But for that to happen, Girl Across the Aisle on United Flight 925, I might need to learn your name. So let me know what you think.
Sincerely,
Beau Denton
I think you are wonderful. I'm not sure what it is, but I like you. A lot. Maybe it's the giant backpack, rolled up pants, flannel shirt, and Chacos...all of which suggest you have been traveling for a while. Maybe it's your calloused and sun-burnt feet, which make me think you spend a lot of time outdoors. Or maybe it's your smile. You have a great smile.
I heard you talking on the phone before we got on the plane, about whether or not you wanted to move to LA, and I think you should. In fact, I think you should move to Hollywood. You can sleep on my couch if you want it. And before you think I'm creepy for listening to your conversation, don't forget that you helped me remember where we were when I was trying to talk to my brother. You were listening to me too.
And don't pretend you're not interested, Girl Across the Aisle on United Flight 925. I saw you smiling at me each time I glanced across the aisle. At the very least, you are amused by me. And amusement is always worth spending more time around someone.
Of course, something about your traveling nature and your terrific smile silenced me, so we haven't actually spoken yet. But I can only assume you will be reading this, so I would like to fix that. Maybe we can take our sheepish smiles all the way to the level of verbal communication. Then maybe I can join you on your travels. I could tell you stories about a trip I just finished, then you could tell me stories about the trip you're taking, and we could talk about our families and our hopes and everything we are feeling. But for that to happen, Girl Across the Aisle on United Flight 925, I might need to learn your name. So let me know what you think.
Sincerely,
Beau Denton
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Of Weddings and Weather and Virginia
It’s been a busy few days for America. Friday morning the president won the Nobel for helping people work toward peace, conservatives went crazy again, and we bombed the moon. Twice. But perhaps the most important event was Saturday, between the Charlottesville airport and the always resplendent EconoLodge, when I noticed a giant red “C” adorned vaguely like a chicken. My heart thrilled and my stomach flipped and, for the first time since June, I enjoyed the culinary sensation that is Chick-fil-A.
But first we need to go back a few states. There was snow in Minneapolis. From the sky I thought it was frost, but then I stepped over a pile that had blown into the breezeway. My layover was fairly long, so I left the airport and walked around for a bit. I’m not a huge fan of Minneapolis, but it was cold and I think snow is lovely, even when it’s patchy, so I was happy.
I was in the process of flying to Virginia for my cousin Peter’s wedding. I had left LA around midnight, accompanied by perfect weather and a slanted half moon, and I was in Minnesota until sunrise. Speaking of which, if you’re ever flying at sunrise, try to get a window seat. Watching new colors chase the night as the sun works its way toward the clouds will change your life from 30,000 feet.
There were lots of clouds on that stretch. At first they were separate, each unique, but eventually they grew into a single, dimpled mass that was constantly moving and reinventing itself. It was beautiful.
A few people have mentioned lately that I am easily excited. Maybe not excited in the way you might think, because I don’t jump around and apparently I don’t smile very often, but excited in the sense that I overuse words like awesome and beautiful and favorite, and my Top Five list for any category is likely to include at least thirty items. They say this, “easily excited,” like it’s an insult, like my taste is not discerning enough for them, and the implication is that the list of things that amuse and amaze me will be much shorter as I grow older. But I’ve decided that I see it as a compliment. I like being consistently awed, and I like seeing beauty and wonder all over the place, and I think it’s okay that there aren’t very many movies or books I absolutely dislike. If growing up means becoming more cynical and pointing out faults in everything, then maybe I’ll just be immature.
Sorry. I wrote all that after calling the clouds beautiful and feeling defensive about overusing that word. Back to Minnesota.
Actually, to Detroit. That’s where I flew from Minneapolis. Have you been to the Detroit airport? I decided to take the walkway instead of the shuttle. The moving sidewalk contraption thing went through this incredibly long tunnel, in which the ceiling and walls lit up in different shapes and colors that were constantly moving and changing, and terrific music was playing really loudly. My thanks to Detroit, for wanting to give its passersby a little aesthetic pleasure on our way to the plane. It was beautiful. There, I said it again.
And then to Charleston, Virginia. When we came out of the clouds we were right at the mountains outside of Charleston, which were smoky and blue ridgey and absolutely stunning. The trees bore the tint of autumn’s beginning, and some had already sprung into full-on color. I will say it again, with all of the meaning I can muster: it was beautiful. One of the things I love about traveling is sharing little moments with strangers, and this was one of them. You could hear people all over the plane pointing out the mountains and the leaves, and everyone was smiling at each other and happy to be there.
Charleston is brilliant. The trees, the mountains, the architecture, the weather…but all of that took second place to time with family. It was so good for me to see grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins. We shared meals together, did some sightseeing, and caught up on each other’s lives. And because everyone was so generous, I never once pulled out my wallet until on my way back to California. That’s always a good thing.
We toured Monticello, which is fascinating in its history, and the University of Virginia, which is stunning in its architecture. The trivia nerd inside me loved every minute.
The highlight, of course, was the wedding. I had never met Stephanie before, but she and Peter seem a lovely match, and I enjoyed meeting her family and seeing again some friends of my own family. The ceremony was gorgeous, and the words from the rabbi were moving. We were a few hills over from Monticello, at James Monroe’s old home. The land was absolutely stunning, with the wedding and reception scattered throughout the property. You should have seen those hills at dusk, and a little bit later the stars, which I have missed so dearly in LA. And it was cold.
Oh. And as if the full meal and locally brewed beer at the reception was not brilliant enough, there was a man selling fresh, hot, made-from-scratch organic donuts. Who does that?
So my congratulations and best wishes to Peter and Stephanie, and my thanks to the families who treated us with such generosity. And to my family, it was so good for me to see you all there. I am very, very grateful for you.
Then yesterday, after seeing the university and lunching with my uncle Dan, I caught a quick flight to DC. It was an express flight, one of those where the flight attendant’s safety spiel is more lengthy than the airtime. After a couple hours at Dulles I boarded a plane back to LA, which was marked by two things of significance: the gorgeous girl in the window seat across the aisle, and the four hour conversation with the guy beside me, who was on his way home for his dad’s funeral. Both made me grateful to be a human, grateful for the spectrum of emotions and experiences, even the ugly ones, that pass through us.
It’s good to be in LA again. I think I needed a couple days away from this frustrating job search, and it was so refreshing to be around family, but I am happy to be back.
Wherever you are reading this, I hope you find some refreshment as well. I hope you find strangers to share something with, whether it’s mutual awe at mountains and trees, or a painful conversation about fathers and death and God, or simply repeated glances and smiles across an aisle resulting in nothing more than silent flirting.
And remember love.
But first we need to go back a few states. There was snow in Minneapolis. From the sky I thought it was frost, but then I stepped over a pile that had blown into the breezeway. My layover was fairly long, so I left the airport and walked around for a bit. I’m not a huge fan of Minneapolis, but it was cold and I think snow is lovely, even when it’s patchy, so I was happy.
I was in the process of flying to Virginia for my cousin Peter’s wedding. I had left LA around midnight, accompanied by perfect weather and a slanted half moon, and I was in Minnesota until sunrise. Speaking of which, if you’re ever flying at sunrise, try to get a window seat. Watching new colors chase the night as the sun works its way toward the clouds will change your life from 30,000 feet.
There were lots of clouds on that stretch. At first they were separate, each unique, but eventually they grew into a single, dimpled mass that was constantly moving and reinventing itself. It was beautiful.
A few people have mentioned lately that I am easily excited. Maybe not excited in the way you might think, because I don’t jump around and apparently I don’t smile very often, but excited in the sense that I overuse words like awesome and beautiful and favorite, and my Top Five list for any category is likely to include at least thirty items. They say this, “easily excited,” like it’s an insult, like my taste is not discerning enough for them, and the implication is that the list of things that amuse and amaze me will be much shorter as I grow older. But I’ve decided that I see it as a compliment. I like being consistently awed, and I like seeing beauty and wonder all over the place, and I think it’s okay that there aren’t very many movies or books I absolutely dislike. If growing up means becoming more cynical and pointing out faults in everything, then maybe I’ll just be immature.
Sorry. I wrote all that after calling the clouds beautiful and feeling defensive about overusing that word. Back to Minnesota.
Actually, to Detroit. That’s where I flew from Minneapolis. Have you been to the Detroit airport? I decided to take the walkway instead of the shuttle. The moving sidewalk contraption thing went through this incredibly long tunnel, in which the ceiling and walls lit up in different shapes and colors that were constantly moving and changing, and terrific music was playing really loudly. My thanks to Detroit, for wanting to give its passersby a little aesthetic pleasure on our way to the plane. It was beautiful. There, I said it again.
And then to Charleston, Virginia. When we came out of the clouds we were right at the mountains outside of Charleston, which were smoky and blue ridgey and absolutely stunning. The trees bore the tint of autumn’s beginning, and some had already sprung into full-on color. I will say it again, with all of the meaning I can muster: it was beautiful. One of the things I love about traveling is sharing little moments with strangers, and this was one of them. You could hear people all over the plane pointing out the mountains and the leaves, and everyone was smiling at each other and happy to be there.
Charleston is brilliant. The trees, the mountains, the architecture, the weather…but all of that took second place to time with family. It was so good for me to see grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins. We shared meals together, did some sightseeing, and caught up on each other’s lives. And because everyone was so generous, I never once pulled out my wallet until on my way back to California. That’s always a good thing.
We toured Monticello, which is fascinating in its history, and the University of Virginia, which is stunning in its architecture. The trivia nerd inside me loved every minute.
The highlight, of course, was the wedding. I had never met Stephanie before, but she and Peter seem a lovely match, and I enjoyed meeting her family and seeing again some friends of my own family. The ceremony was gorgeous, and the words from the rabbi were moving. We were a few hills over from Monticello, at James Monroe’s old home. The land was absolutely stunning, with the wedding and reception scattered throughout the property. You should have seen those hills at dusk, and a little bit later the stars, which I have missed so dearly in LA. And it was cold.
Oh. And as if the full meal and locally brewed beer at the reception was not brilliant enough, there was a man selling fresh, hot, made-from-scratch organic donuts. Who does that?
So my congratulations and best wishes to Peter and Stephanie, and my thanks to the families who treated us with such generosity. And to my family, it was so good for me to see you all there. I am very, very grateful for you.
Then yesterday, after seeing the university and lunching with my uncle Dan, I caught a quick flight to DC. It was an express flight, one of those where the flight attendant’s safety spiel is more lengthy than the airtime. After a couple hours at Dulles I boarded a plane back to LA, which was marked by two things of significance: the gorgeous girl in the window seat across the aisle, and the four hour conversation with the guy beside me, who was on his way home for his dad’s funeral. Both made me grateful to be a human, grateful for the spectrum of emotions and experiences, even the ugly ones, that pass through us.
It’s good to be in LA again. I think I needed a couple days away from this frustrating job search, and it was so refreshing to be around family, but I am happy to be back.
Wherever you are reading this, I hope you find some refreshment as well. I hope you find strangers to share something with, whether it’s mutual awe at mountains and trees, or a painful conversation about fathers and death and God, or simply repeated glances and smiles across an aisle resulting in nothing more than silent flirting.
And remember love.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
For the time being
As of this Thursday, we've been in Los Angeles the exact amount of time that we were on the road. I still enjoy the reactions from different people when we tell them about that trip, about how we took the least direct route possible and drew it out for more than a month.
But now we have been here more than a month, and everything has about it an air of reality and at least semi-permanence. I still haven't found a job, but that's okay because the weather's beautiful and I'm writing a lot these days.
And the job thing should be turning around soon enough. Tomorrow or Friday I have a phone interview with a small publishing company looking for an assistant editor, and that could lead somewhere exciting. If it doesn't, then I will keep searching and applying and asking and talking.
On a possibly related note, I worked at the West Hollywood Book Fair this past weekend, and it may have been the high point of my time in LA so far. I got to manage two stages, listening to the panels all day and interacting with the authors and talking about books and checking in with people who may help me find a job. Not to mention acting all official with a clipboard and radio, which is always fun.
On an impossibly related note, a few conversations and random thoughts after horrifying dreams have helped me see again how terribly insecure I am. Maybe more thoughts on that later, but first I go to Virginia.
My cousin Peter's wedding is this weekend near Monticello. I leave here around midnight Friday and come back midnight Monday. I'm really looking forward to this, spending time with family. Not to mention weddings are good and airports are always exciting. I even have a brand new book I've been saving just for this trip.
Today we drove out to the coast, walked down Venice Beach and to the Santa Monica Pier. There are some iconic spots out there, lots of things we've seen in movies, and the ocean was beautiful, but altogether it made me grateful again for the area we're living in now.
Last night we saw Where the Wild Things Are with a Q&A with Spike Jonze. That's my favorite movie we've seen out here, among my favorite movies so far this year. You should watch it. Then maybe we can talk about it.
On the note of media recommendations, I also suggest that you read For the Time Being by Annie Dillard and listen to "The Trapeze Swinger" by Iron and Wine. Both have been stirring me pretty deeply this week.
If this seems disjointed, it's probably because it is. I'm fighting a creative block for a story I'm working on, and I think I'm using this to chip away at it. So I'll get back to that, and you can get back to your cross-stitching or whatever it is you were doing before you started reading this. I might post something else on here tomorrow. If not, see you after Virginia.
But now we have been here more than a month, and everything has about it an air of reality and at least semi-permanence. I still haven't found a job, but that's okay because the weather's beautiful and I'm writing a lot these days.
And the job thing should be turning around soon enough. Tomorrow or Friday I have a phone interview with a small publishing company looking for an assistant editor, and that could lead somewhere exciting. If it doesn't, then I will keep searching and applying and asking and talking.
On a possibly related note, I worked at the West Hollywood Book Fair this past weekend, and it may have been the high point of my time in LA so far. I got to manage two stages, listening to the panels all day and interacting with the authors and talking about books and checking in with people who may help me find a job. Not to mention acting all official with a clipboard and radio, which is always fun.
On an impossibly related note, a few conversations and random thoughts after horrifying dreams have helped me see again how terribly insecure I am. Maybe more thoughts on that later, but first I go to Virginia.
My cousin Peter's wedding is this weekend near Monticello. I leave here around midnight Friday and come back midnight Monday. I'm really looking forward to this, spending time with family. Not to mention weddings are good and airports are always exciting. I even have a brand new book I've been saving just for this trip.
Today we drove out to the coast, walked down Venice Beach and to the Santa Monica Pier. There are some iconic spots out there, lots of things we've seen in movies, and the ocean was beautiful, but altogether it made me grateful again for the area we're living in now.
Last night we saw Where the Wild Things Are with a Q&A with Spike Jonze. That's my favorite movie we've seen out here, among my favorite movies so far this year. You should watch it. Then maybe we can talk about it.
On the note of media recommendations, I also suggest that you read For the Time Being by Annie Dillard and listen to "The Trapeze Swinger" by Iron and Wine. Both have been stirring me pretty deeply this week.
If this seems disjointed, it's probably because it is. I'm fighting a creative block for a story I'm working on, and I think I'm using this to chip away at it. So I'll get back to that, and you can get back to your cross-stitching or whatever it is you were doing before you started reading this. I might post something else on here tomorrow. If not, see you after Virginia.
Friday, September 25, 2009
I am sitting in the Fairfax Branch of the Los Angeles Public Library. I've been here for a few hours now, working on a story and applying to graduate school and e-mailing friends and listening to this gorgeous girl read a story about farm animals in the Storytime corner. I realize that it'd be creepy of me to sit with the kids, so I'm contenting myself with open ears and the occasional glance over my shoulder.
Tomorrow will be our three-week anniversary with LA. I would like to tell you that in these three weeks I have found the world's greatest job and sold my first manuscript. But that's not quite true.
I have, though, grown comfortable enough to change my Current City on Facebook. Apparently that's a pretty big deal. And I am increasingly comfortable with street names and directions, even if only in our immediate area. I've been riding my bike around a lot, which is a perfect way to get to know a city, and I think I have been running four times since we've been here. That's a post-high school record for me.
I got my very own library card last week, even if it's not officially in my name. Thanks David.
We have become regulars at a place called Millions of Milkshakes. Britton's fond of Oreo, but I can't get past the chocolate and peanut butter. Chunks of peanut butter. It's amazing.
We've been to several movies for free at the Director's Guild, which is a gift. They have a full schedule next month, so it looks like we won't be paying for very many movies. Again, thanks David.
We went to a fancy-pants party up on a hill overlooking the city, at a house that neighbors Leonardo Dicaprio, Tobey Maguire, Stan Lee, and a few of the Walmart guy's granddaughters. I thought about trying to meet one of them so I don't have to pay for graduate school, but then I realized that we would always argue about whether or not their family business is destroying America.
That party had delicious little plates of food that kept walking by, including these Swiss and bacon sliders that were greasy and wonderful.
Next Saturday is the West Hollywood Book Fair, which is apparently quite the event. A couple nights ago I went to a meeting to volunteer for it. Because I'm under fifty, I'm willing to run around a lot, and I know how to work a projector, it looks like they'll be able to put me to good use. And every bookstore in the area is represented there, which is good news as far as jobs go.
That's the direction I'm leaning in right now. If I don't catch a lucky break with a job at a magazine or a publishing company, a bookstore would be part-time perfect while I'm working on stories to submit. There's this one called Book Soup that is loads of fun, and I'm trying to get a job there for now. We'll see.
Speaking of stories to submit, I'm in the process of sending a handful out right now. Here's to hoping.
It's looking like both of LA's baseball teams will be in the playoffs come October. That would be exciting. For me, at least. I'm not sure Britton would care so much.
Britton's been trying to get in contact with people to start working soon. He finished a resume that looks really good, all professional and stuff. I'm excited for him. I think he has a lot on the way.
By the way, Britton put up the rest of our trip pictures a few days ago. These include Glacier, the Oregon coast, and the Redwoods. You can look at those here: http://www.facebook.com/juliawalkerthomas?ref=ts#/photos.php?id=502624614. The first one there is for a new photo-a-day thing he's starting, which will be fun to follow, then the three after that are the newest ones from our trip.
I finished the application process for Oregon State University's Creative Writing graduate program today. It's a pretty competitive program, but if that works out I'll be starting in about a year. In the meantime, I plan to keep learning this area, riding my bike, drinking shakes, writing, making new friends, trying to keep my eyes open in every possible sense, and maybe going for a few more runs.
For those of you who were hoping I would hate it here and move back to Florida, I apologize. This has been pretty wonderful.
So now, if you will excuse me, I plan to close my eyes and listen to Storytime Girl read about talking piglets.
Tomorrow will be our three-week anniversary with LA. I would like to tell you that in these three weeks I have found the world's greatest job and sold my first manuscript. But that's not quite true.
I have, though, grown comfortable enough to change my Current City on Facebook. Apparently that's a pretty big deal. And I am increasingly comfortable with street names and directions, even if only in our immediate area. I've been riding my bike around a lot, which is a perfect way to get to know a city, and I think I have been running four times since we've been here. That's a post-high school record for me.
I got my very own library card last week, even if it's not officially in my name. Thanks David.
We have become regulars at a place called Millions of Milkshakes. Britton's fond of Oreo, but I can't get past the chocolate and peanut butter. Chunks of peanut butter. It's amazing.
We've been to several movies for free at the Director's Guild, which is a gift. They have a full schedule next month, so it looks like we won't be paying for very many movies. Again, thanks David.
We went to a fancy-pants party up on a hill overlooking the city, at a house that neighbors Leonardo Dicaprio, Tobey Maguire, Stan Lee, and a few of the Walmart guy's granddaughters. I thought about trying to meet one of them so I don't have to pay for graduate school, but then I realized that we would always argue about whether or not their family business is destroying America.
That party had delicious little plates of food that kept walking by, including these Swiss and bacon sliders that were greasy and wonderful.
Next Saturday is the West Hollywood Book Fair, which is apparently quite the event. A couple nights ago I went to a meeting to volunteer for it. Because I'm under fifty, I'm willing to run around a lot, and I know how to work a projector, it looks like they'll be able to put me to good use. And every bookstore in the area is represented there, which is good news as far as jobs go.
That's the direction I'm leaning in right now. If I don't catch a lucky break with a job at a magazine or a publishing company, a bookstore would be part-time perfect while I'm working on stories to submit. There's this one called Book Soup that is loads of fun, and I'm trying to get a job there for now. We'll see.
Speaking of stories to submit, I'm in the process of sending a handful out right now. Here's to hoping.
It's looking like both of LA's baseball teams will be in the playoffs come October. That would be exciting. For me, at least. I'm not sure Britton would care so much.
Britton's been trying to get in contact with people to start working soon. He finished a resume that looks really good, all professional and stuff. I'm excited for him. I think he has a lot on the way.
By the way, Britton put up the rest of our trip pictures a few days ago. These include Glacier, the Oregon coast, and the Redwoods. You can look at those here: http://www.facebook.com/juliawalkerthomas?ref=ts#/photos.php?id=502624614. The first one there is for a new photo-a-day thing he's starting, which will be fun to follow, then the three after that are the newest ones from our trip.
I finished the application process for Oregon State University's Creative Writing graduate program today. It's a pretty competitive program, but if that works out I'll be starting in about a year. In the meantime, I plan to keep learning this area, riding my bike, drinking shakes, writing, making new friends, trying to keep my eyes open in every possible sense, and maybe going for a few more runs.
For those of you who were hoping I would hate it here and move back to Florida, I apologize. This has been pretty wonderful.
So now, if you will excuse me, I plan to close my eyes and listen to Storytime Girl read about talking piglets.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Something about a stamp and a chapter
This is where I give you a nice little summary of the trip, and then I tell you everything that I learned, in three easy points that all start with the same letter.
And this is where we all laugh. Because after 8,886 miles, 34 days, 27 states, and Canada, I am too full. Too many people, too many places. Anything I write here in attempts at summary will be random and disjointed, and we’d probably be better off sticking with what I’ve already written.
So instead of an overall summary, I think I’ll share what’s on my mind right now, and then we’ll be done.
I keep thinking about the guidestones in Georgia, the size and angles and mixture of languages, and the echoing refrain to “Leave room for nature--leave room for nature.” I’ve thought about that a lot on this trip, as we’ve seen places where nature is thriving, and we’ve seen places, namely Niagara, that would do well to hear this. The guidestones set a tone for much of my thought process on this trip, and I like that. I would love to visit those again someday.
I keep thinking about all the different animals. Moose across the lake in Glacier, mountain goats on one of our hikes, seals, otters, entire herds of elk, and deer. Tons and tons of deer. Did I tell you about the night in Coos Bay? We were standing outside the house and saw some deer walking through the yard. Britton’s friend said they eat the apples that were growing there, so we grabbed a few and rolled them toward the deer. They never stopped being suspicious and jumpy, but we still got really close. Then a third deer stepped into the yard. The bigger of the first two made several really strange snorting sounds, stamped the ground, then chased the intruder out. It was crazy to watch. Such beautiful animals. Then our friend’s dog came out and scared them all away.
And lobster. Delicious, delicious lobster.
I keep thinking about the rhythms that we grew into on this trip. Packing and unpacking the car, driving, stopping, being amazed, meeting new people, reading out loud while Britton cooks, listening again and again to mewithoutYou’s newest CD. All of these things sort of fell on each other and formed a flow that offered a certain sense of familiarity, even when everything was new and we had no idea what to expect. I hope aspects of that rhythm will continue here, even after we’ve unpacked and cleaned the cars.
Speaking of continuing, that’s something that keeps making me smile. A few different times heading down the coast, I would think of the fact that our trip was almost over. And then immediately I would remember that this was not just a trip, it was a move. We’re not settling back into an old routine now, we’re starting something entirely new.
I keep thinking about the fact that the timing, a little over a month, is about right. It was long enough to remind us we were doing something big, but it wasn’t so long that we started taking it for granted. The past couple years of college were pretty intense for me, learning new things and letting my worldview and assumptions be challenged. And for Britton the past couple years have been filled with travel and newness all over the world. I feel like if we kept going, place after place after place, we would start missing out on something big. It feels good to have the brakes on for a bit, to look around this city and wonder about our involvement here.
I keep thinking about Kennedy, the drunk guy on the ferry back from Block Island, who was trying to squeeze between me and the lady to my right. He was funny, and it was entertaining to watch him and interact with him, but I feel sad for him. The comments from his friends suggested that that level of drunkenness was pretty common for him. They were used to it…he was like a mascot for them. But I wonder if they ever worry about him. I wonder if there’s ever talk of quitting or rehab or meetings or anything like that. I think about my dad and wonder if Kennedy has a family somewhere, wishing he could get sober long enough to show up for a wedding or graduation or a simple lunch.
We have seen a good deal of brokenness on this trip. I haven’t written about it before because, well…I’m not really sure why. But it’s there. We’ve seen married couples that don’t respect each other, social groups for whom drunkenness is a nightly sport, people driven by one thing or another to a sort of nameless bitterness that affects how they carry themselves and how they interact with others. We’ve seen poverty, unnecessary strife, exploitation of nature…I could go on.
But I won’t. Because from coast to coast, in cities and parks and homes and campsites, the good far outweighed the bad. We’ve seen more generosity than I could have imagined. That generosity came in the form of beds, homes, gift cards, conversation, directions, information, and food. Tons and tons of food. I have met so many new people, most of whom I may never see again, who are absolutely precious, with whom interacting has been a pleasure and an inspiration for me.
There is so much goodness. No matter what you hear on the news or in church, there is so much goodness. And beauty. If you look for it, you will see it. In stars and mountains and oceans, in busy streets and local shops, in smiles and random talks with strangers, in food and significant conversations with friends and family. Love is expressed in so many different ways by so many different people, and if you are willing to see it I guarantee that you will.
I am learning that people are at their finest when they are enjoying nature, and that if we are friendly to others then they will generally be friendly in return. I am learning that love and beauty are expressed in endlessly different ways, and that we as a nation are not nearly as divided as some would have us believe.
And I am learning that I have so much to learn. I’ve been reminded of this over and over, as stars or mountains or oceans or moons or wonderful people have made me feel terribly small. Again, in a good way. I think being reminded of our smallness can help us see and experience so much more.
So here we are, in Los Angeles. The driving has stopped for now, but hopefully the learning will continue. I’m feeling excited, about writing and the city and new friends. We went to a place called Millions of Milkshakes last night. I’m excited about that. And about the beautiful library we visited today, where I imagine I will spend many, many hours in the future.
There is so much more. I know that tomorrow, or even tonight when I’m going to bed, I will think of something else I want to add here. But I don’t think I will. I feel a sense of finality about this text and I want it to be true.
I’ll keep writing on this site. Stories, random thoughts, ideas, we’ll see. But there’s sort of a stamp on this one, turning a page or closing a chapter or something like that. Feel free to keep checking in. I’m sure I’ll write more about the trip in the future, as I remember people or specific thoughts or something worth mentioning. But if you’ve been checking in for general updates, then you can consider this the end.
I would love it if you’d stick around, though. It’ll be loads of fun.
One more time before I go: thank you so much to everyone we’ve seen on this trip. I can’t tell you how much we appreciate it, from Bradenton and Jacksonville and everywhere up to Maine, to Michigan and across to Tacoma, to Oregon and down to California, right here to David and Neil who are continuing to amaze us with generosity. And people I’ve been catching up with on here, I’ve loved the feedback and the different stories you’ve shared. Thank you all.
And love.
And this is where we all laugh. Because after 8,886 miles, 34 days, 27 states, and Canada, I am too full. Too many people, too many places. Anything I write here in attempts at summary will be random and disjointed, and we’d probably be better off sticking with what I’ve already written.
So instead of an overall summary, I think I’ll share what’s on my mind right now, and then we’ll be done.
I keep thinking about the guidestones in Georgia, the size and angles and mixture of languages, and the echoing refrain to “Leave room for nature--leave room for nature.” I’ve thought about that a lot on this trip, as we’ve seen places where nature is thriving, and we’ve seen places, namely Niagara, that would do well to hear this. The guidestones set a tone for much of my thought process on this trip, and I like that. I would love to visit those again someday.
I keep thinking about all the different animals. Moose across the lake in Glacier, mountain goats on one of our hikes, seals, otters, entire herds of elk, and deer. Tons and tons of deer. Did I tell you about the night in Coos Bay? We were standing outside the house and saw some deer walking through the yard. Britton’s friend said they eat the apples that were growing there, so we grabbed a few and rolled them toward the deer. They never stopped being suspicious and jumpy, but we still got really close. Then a third deer stepped into the yard. The bigger of the first two made several really strange snorting sounds, stamped the ground, then chased the intruder out. It was crazy to watch. Such beautiful animals. Then our friend’s dog came out and scared them all away.
And lobster. Delicious, delicious lobster.
I keep thinking about the rhythms that we grew into on this trip. Packing and unpacking the car, driving, stopping, being amazed, meeting new people, reading out loud while Britton cooks, listening again and again to mewithoutYou’s newest CD. All of these things sort of fell on each other and formed a flow that offered a certain sense of familiarity, even when everything was new and we had no idea what to expect. I hope aspects of that rhythm will continue here, even after we’ve unpacked and cleaned the cars.
Speaking of continuing, that’s something that keeps making me smile. A few different times heading down the coast, I would think of the fact that our trip was almost over. And then immediately I would remember that this was not just a trip, it was a move. We’re not settling back into an old routine now, we’re starting something entirely new.
I keep thinking about the fact that the timing, a little over a month, is about right. It was long enough to remind us we were doing something big, but it wasn’t so long that we started taking it for granted. The past couple years of college were pretty intense for me, learning new things and letting my worldview and assumptions be challenged. And for Britton the past couple years have been filled with travel and newness all over the world. I feel like if we kept going, place after place after place, we would start missing out on something big. It feels good to have the brakes on for a bit, to look around this city and wonder about our involvement here.
I keep thinking about Kennedy, the drunk guy on the ferry back from Block Island, who was trying to squeeze between me and the lady to my right. He was funny, and it was entertaining to watch him and interact with him, but I feel sad for him. The comments from his friends suggested that that level of drunkenness was pretty common for him. They were used to it…he was like a mascot for them. But I wonder if they ever worry about him. I wonder if there’s ever talk of quitting or rehab or meetings or anything like that. I think about my dad and wonder if Kennedy has a family somewhere, wishing he could get sober long enough to show up for a wedding or graduation or a simple lunch.
We have seen a good deal of brokenness on this trip. I haven’t written about it before because, well…I’m not really sure why. But it’s there. We’ve seen married couples that don’t respect each other, social groups for whom drunkenness is a nightly sport, people driven by one thing or another to a sort of nameless bitterness that affects how they carry themselves and how they interact with others. We’ve seen poverty, unnecessary strife, exploitation of nature…I could go on.
But I won’t. Because from coast to coast, in cities and parks and homes and campsites, the good far outweighed the bad. We’ve seen more generosity than I could have imagined. That generosity came in the form of beds, homes, gift cards, conversation, directions, information, and food. Tons and tons of food. I have met so many new people, most of whom I may never see again, who are absolutely precious, with whom interacting has been a pleasure and an inspiration for me.
There is so much goodness. No matter what you hear on the news or in church, there is so much goodness. And beauty. If you look for it, you will see it. In stars and mountains and oceans, in busy streets and local shops, in smiles and random talks with strangers, in food and significant conversations with friends and family. Love is expressed in so many different ways by so many different people, and if you are willing to see it I guarantee that you will.
I am learning that people are at their finest when they are enjoying nature, and that if we are friendly to others then they will generally be friendly in return. I am learning that love and beauty are expressed in endlessly different ways, and that we as a nation are not nearly as divided as some would have us believe.
And I am learning that I have so much to learn. I’ve been reminded of this over and over, as stars or mountains or oceans or moons or wonderful people have made me feel terribly small. Again, in a good way. I think being reminded of our smallness can help us see and experience so much more.
So here we are, in Los Angeles. The driving has stopped for now, but hopefully the learning will continue. I’m feeling excited, about writing and the city and new friends. We went to a place called Millions of Milkshakes last night. I’m excited about that. And about the beautiful library we visited today, where I imagine I will spend many, many hours in the future.
There is so much more. I know that tomorrow, or even tonight when I’m going to bed, I will think of something else I want to add here. But I don’t think I will. I feel a sense of finality about this text and I want it to be true.
I’ll keep writing on this site. Stories, random thoughts, ideas, we’ll see. But there’s sort of a stamp on this one, turning a page or closing a chapter or something like that. Feel free to keep checking in. I’m sure I’ll write more about the trip in the future, as I remember people or specific thoughts or something worth mentioning. But if you’ve been checking in for general updates, then you can consider this the end.
I would love it if you’d stick around, though. It’ll be loads of fun.
One more time before I go: thank you so much to everyone we’ve seen on this trip. I can’t tell you how much we appreciate it, from Bradenton and Jacksonville and everywhere up to Maine, to Michigan and across to Tacoma, to Oregon and down to California, right here to David and Neil who are continuing to amaze us with generosity. And people I’ve been catching up with on here, I’ve loved the feedback and the different stories you’ve shared. Thank you all.
And love.
Monday, September 7, 2009
All Good Things
For a while now I’ve been dreading this update, because this one ends in LA. Which means that, as far as this trip is concerned, this will be the last significant update I write. That thought brings a little sadness, but it’s a fleeting and unique sort of sadness, which I might explain later. But first we go back to Oregon.
I think I left you at the trailer in Coos Bay, so we’ll pick it up there. We had a great time: fresh apples, crazy blueberry bushes, just about the best loaf of sourdough bread ever, and beautiful cliffs on the coast. Then more of the coast. Britton and I followed the Pacific all the way down Oregon to California, and it was absolutely brilliant. We stopped at so many of the viewpoints, and each one was unique. I scribbled this while at one of those points: “I feel like Oregon’s throwing everything it has at us, willing us into staying here…And the bigness of the Pacific is getting to me now, looking out at the huge rock islands in the distance, waves crashing all over them. Each spot out here is unique. The coastline is exceedingly beautiful and endlessly creative, and there’s no way to capture this in a one day drive.”
Which is true: there is so much there, and everything is unique and new and worth visiting for a while. So Britton and I repeatedly took note of the trail that follows the entire coast, mentally adding that to our nature to-do list. Someday, maybe.
Oh and the fog. You should’ve seen the fog at parts of the beaches. It gave this brilliant sense of mystery and obscurity to everything we saw, seeming to heighten the cliffs and exaggerate the rock islands and give it all an eerie sort of movement. I loved it.
And then everything changed in California. We crossed the stateline, and almost immediately the little coast road we were on turned into a freeway, and gas jumped up fifty cents. My first impression of California wasn’t the greatest, highlighted by the fact that they were the only state that had its own border check, but that feeling went away really, really quickly.
Here’s why: first, the coast continued. Believe it or not, California has the same ocean as Oregon. And it is still beautiful. Who knew? Then there came the redwoods. Oh my goodness, I think visiting a redwood forest should be added to every single person’s list of goals or dreams or buckets or whatever you call them. The redwoods joined one of the themes of this trip, in making me feel very, very small. A good kind of small. Like it all fits together in an unexplainable sort of way.
And it’s not just the size. Sure, there’s that…if you stand at the bottom of one and walk around it, you can’t help but be amazed at how long it takes. Then you look up and realize you can’t even see the top of it. It just keeps going and going and going. But if you can somehow stop being amazed by the bigness of it all, you won’t be able to get over the silence. All of these giants standing together somehow are able to carry the most beautiful silence you can imagine. It’s a heavy, living stillness that’s full of growth and agelessness. I love it. And I love the way the trees translate sunlight. Or, often, how they don’t. Then the occasional breeze blows through. You can feel it, and you can see some movement in the leaves way up, and you think you can hear it, but then it’s gone and you wonder for a second if you really heard anything because everything is so incredibly quiet. Then a family comes running up the trail and there’s never any doubt about hearing them, so you keep going.
Oh man. Then Britton and I found a campsite in the park. It was already beautiful with all the trees and the secluded little spot for the tent, then we noticed a tree. It had fallen over and hollowed out, so we realized we didn’t need our tent because there was a giant shell of a redwood right in our campsite. And who wants a tent when you have that? So after dinner and a ranger talk about history and geology and such, then a campfire and some reading, we unfolded our sleeping bags and slept inside the tree. You should’ve seen it in the morning, when the sunlight reached inside, I could not believe how red it was. Hence the name.
We continued through the parks, following the Avenue of the Giants, which may be the most beautiful detour ever. Then we joined back up with the coast and kept driving south. By this point it was quite dark, and the road continued to wind like crazy, especially when we cut off 101 to catch the beginning of the 1. It was around this time that we hit our second deer. (The first, in case you’re a newcomer, was in Michigan.) I was driving this time too, and once again the deer ran away and my car was barely scratched. I was grateful for this, but realized that it was probably about time to stop, so we pulled into one of the viewpoints and slept in the car.
At some point that night Britton woke me up and pointed to the moon, which was hanging over the Pacific and getting ready to set. That was absolutely gorgeous.
Then San Francisco the next day. We explored the city for a bit, ate at a barbeque joint called Memphis Minnie’s, then spent several hours in a park looking toward the Golden Gate Bridge, reading and meeting people and enjoying the view and waiting for Caroline and Grahm. There was a brilliant monument to the USS San Francisco that I thoroughly enjoyed reading about, but I won’t go into that too much here. Be sure to look it up, though, if you’re interested in that sort of thing.
We went back into the city to meet up with Care and Grahm, who had taken their own trip from Florida, in Britton’s car, so we could have both cars out here. We all walked back to Memphis Minnie’s, because Britton and I had enjoyed it so much the first time, and had all sorts of fun visiting and telling stories about our respective trips. And eating barbeque.
The four of us headed down the coast a little bit after dinner, then found a place to park the cars and ran across the street to camp out on the beach. It may not have been technically legal, but if you could have seen the incredible cave we pitched the tent under, you would understand. Caves and camping and roaring oceans go really, really well together.
We did all sorts of driving the next day, until we were only a couple hours north of LA. It was great to see so much of the coast and make a list of places worth visiting again. The highlight of that day was definitely the ongoing conversation in the car with Caroline, about travel and history and family and business and nature and literature and God and beauty and children’s books, a conversation that is so much of what family and roadtrips should be. I loved it.
That night we camped out on the beach again. It was similar to the night before, minus the cave and plus a fire. Campfires and oceans are pretty wonderful together too.
And then yesterday, September 5, we woke up and drove into Los Angeles. We were coming down the coast, so David gave us directions that brought us all the way up Sunset Boulevard and into their neighborhood in Hollywood.
David and Neil have been showing us around this part of the city, with walks up some beautiful hills that look over everything, and a walk to the Hollywood Bowl last night, a trip to the airport today to drop off Care and Grahm, and a movie tonight at the Director’s Guild. We’ve taken in so much, about history and street names and neighborhoods and directions, but it’s not overwhelming in the way that I had worried about. It’s still overwhelming, but in a good way. It makes me want to stick around and get situated, because I really like it here.
We’ve seen all sorts of love and generosity on this stretch. From the time with Caroline and Grahm, and the fact that they drove out this soon so we could have both cars, to the overwhelming generosity from David and Neil. I would wish this situation on anyone I know moving to a new city: a chance to stay with two incredibly friendly people with delicious food and a seemingly endless knowledge of the area. Not to mention the patience to share that knowledge, even when we ask the name of a street five different times. This kind of generosity is overwhelming to me, in a very very good way, and I have a feeling that I will continue to be at a constant inability to express my gratitude.
But I will try, here, to do just that. So thanks to Caroline and Grahm for joining us on this last stretch and being with us here. And thank you, thank you, thank you to David and Neil. For everything. A thousand thank you’s. Oh yeah -- I think I spelled Neil’s name wrong on here before, so I apologize for that, if you’re reading. I guess I apologize even if you’re not reading. Maybe I should just tell you.
And thanks to the rest of you, who are reading. It’s been a lot of fun for me writing these and hearing feedback. At some point in the next few days I’ll write up some thoughts about the last month as a whole and post them here. But for now, Los Angeles sends its best.
And love.
I think I left you at the trailer in Coos Bay, so we’ll pick it up there. We had a great time: fresh apples, crazy blueberry bushes, just about the best loaf of sourdough bread ever, and beautiful cliffs on the coast. Then more of the coast. Britton and I followed the Pacific all the way down Oregon to California, and it was absolutely brilliant. We stopped at so many of the viewpoints, and each one was unique. I scribbled this while at one of those points: “I feel like Oregon’s throwing everything it has at us, willing us into staying here…And the bigness of the Pacific is getting to me now, looking out at the huge rock islands in the distance, waves crashing all over them. Each spot out here is unique. The coastline is exceedingly beautiful and endlessly creative, and there’s no way to capture this in a one day drive.”
Which is true: there is so much there, and everything is unique and new and worth visiting for a while. So Britton and I repeatedly took note of the trail that follows the entire coast, mentally adding that to our nature to-do list. Someday, maybe.
Oh and the fog. You should’ve seen the fog at parts of the beaches. It gave this brilliant sense of mystery and obscurity to everything we saw, seeming to heighten the cliffs and exaggerate the rock islands and give it all an eerie sort of movement. I loved it.
And then everything changed in California. We crossed the stateline, and almost immediately the little coast road we were on turned into a freeway, and gas jumped up fifty cents. My first impression of California wasn’t the greatest, highlighted by the fact that they were the only state that had its own border check, but that feeling went away really, really quickly.
Here’s why: first, the coast continued. Believe it or not, California has the same ocean as Oregon. And it is still beautiful. Who knew? Then there came the redwoods. Oh my goodness, I think visiting a redwood forest should be added to every single person’s list of goals or dreams or buckets or whatever you call them. The redwoods joined one of the themes of this trip, in making me feel very, very small. A good kind of small. Like it all fits together in an unexplainable sort of way.
And it’s not just the size. Sure, there’s that…if you stand at the bottom of one and walk around it, you can’t help but be amazed at how long it takes. Then you look up and realize you can’t even see the top of it. It just keeps going and going and going. But if you can somehow stop being amazed by the bigness of it all, you won’t be able to get over the silence. All of these giants standing together somehow are able to carry the most beautiful silence you can imagine. It’s a heavy, living stillness that’s full of growth and agelessness. I love it. And I love the way the trees translate sunlight. Or, often, how they don’t. Then the occasional breeze blows through. You can feel it, and you can see some movement in the leaves way up, and you think you can hear it, but then it’s gone and you wonder for a second if you really heard anything because everything is so incredibly quiet. Then a family comes running up the trail and there’s never any doubt about hearing them, so you keep going.
Oh man. Then Britton and I found a campsite in the park. It was already beautiful with all the trees and the secluded little spot for the tent, then we noticed a tree. It had fallen over and hollowed out, so we realized we didn’t need our tent because there was a giant shell of a redwood right in our campsite. And who wants a tent when you have that? So after dinner and a ranger talk about history and geology and such, then a campfire and some reading, we unfolded our sleeping bags and slept inside the tree. You should’ve seen it in the morning, when the sunlight reached inside, I could not believe how red it was. Hence the name.
We continued through the parks, following the Avenue of the Giants, which may be the most beautiful detour ever. Then we joined back up with the coast and kept driving south. By this point it was quite dark, and the road continued to wind like crazy, especially when we cut off 101 to catch the beginning of the 1. It was around this time that we hit our second deer. (The first, in case you’re a newcomer, was in Michigan.) I was driving this time too, and once again the deer ran away and my car was barely scratched. I was grateful for this, but realized that it was probably about time to stop, so we pulled into one of the viewpoints and slept in the car.
At some point that night Britton woke me up and pointed to the moon, which was hanging over the Pacific and getting ready to set. That was absolutely gorgeous.
Then San Francisco the next day. We explored the city for a bit, ate at a barbeque joint called Memphis Minnie’s, then spent several hours in a park looking toward the Golden Gate Bridge, reading and meeting people and enjoying the view and waiting for Caroline and Grahm. There was a brilliant monument to the USS San Francisco that I thoroughly enjoyed reading about, but I won’t go into that too much here. Be sure to look it up, though, if you’re interested in that sort of thing.
We went back into the city to meet up with Care and Grahm, who had taken their own trip from Florida, in Britton’s car, so we could have both cars out here. We all walked back to Memphis Minnie’s, because Britton and I had enjoyed it so much the first time, and had all sorts of fun visiting and telling stories about our respective trips. And eating barbeque.
The four of us headed down the coast a little bit after dinner, then found a place to park the cars and ran across the street to camp out on the beach. It may not have been technically legal, but if you could have seen the incredible cave we pitched the tent under, you would understand. Caves and camping and roaring oceans go really, really well together.
We did all sorts of driving the next day, until we were only a couple hours north of LA. It was great to see so much of the coast and make a list of places worth visiting again. The highlight of that day was definitely the ongoing conversation in the car with Caroline, about travel and history and family and business and nature and literature and God and beauty and children’s books, a conversation that is so much of what family and roadtrips should be. I loved it.
That night we camped out on the beach again. It was similar to the night before, minus the cave and plus a fire. Campfires and oceans are pretty wonderful together too.
And then yesterday, September 5, we woke up and drove into Los Angeles. We were coming down the coast, so David gave us directions that brought us all the way up Sunset Boulevard and into their neighborhood in Hollywood.
David and Neil have been showing us around this part of the city, with walks up some beautiful hills that look over everything, and a walk to the Hollywood Bowl last night, a trip to the airport today to drop off Care and Grahm, and a movie tonight at the Director’s Guild. We’ve taken in so much, about history and street names and neighborhoods and directions, but it’s not overwhelming in the way that I had worried about. It’s still overwhelming, but in a good way. It makes me want to stick around and get situated, because I really like it here.
We’ve seen all sorts of love and generosity on this stretch. From the time with Caroline and Grahm, and the fact that they drove out this soon so we could have both cars, to the overwhelming generosity from David and Neil. I would wish this situation on anyone I know moving to a new city: a chance to stay with two incredibly friendly people with delicious food and a seemingly endless knowledge of the area. Not to mention the patience to share that knowledge, even when we ask the name of a street five different times. This kind of generosity is overwhelming to me, in a very very good way, and I have a feeling that I will continue to be at a constant inability to express my gratitude.
But I will try, here, to do just that. So thanks to Caroline and Grahm for joining us on this last stretch and being with us here. And thank you, thank you, thank you to David and Neil. For everything. A thousand thank you’s. Oh yeah -- I think I spelled Neil’s name wrong on here before, so I apologize for that, if you’re reading. I guess I apologize even if you’re not reading. Maybe I should just tell you.
And thanks to the rest of you, who are reading. It’s been a lot of fun for me writing these and hearing feedback. At some point in the next few days I’ll write up some thoughts about the last month as a whole and post them here. But for now, Los Angeles sends its best.
And love.
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Pictures!
Hello again. The real update's below this one, but here's some links to pictures that I keep forgetting to put up here. All of these are on Facebook, but they should be available to people without Facebook accounts. Let me know if you have any problems.
First are the ones from our camera: http://www.facebook.com/photos.php?id=502624614
So far there are 7 albums there, starting on the second page with "Things to take pictures at." Britton took most of these because I forget to do that and never really know where to aim it. It's interesting to note how different phases of the trip can be marked by what clothes we're wearing, as they seem to be on a several-day rotation.
Then there are the ones Julia put up: http://www.facebook.com/photos.php?id=502624614#/photos.php?id=82800479
Britton and I make our entrance toward the end of the Block Island album, then continue through the two GART albums. GART, I'm pretty sure, stands for Great American Road Trip. Indeed. Anyways, take a look around, let me know what you think. Feel free to send some comments to Britton and Julia, too, because they've both taken some really good pictures.
Enjoy. And love.
First are the ones from our camera: http://www.facebook.com/photos.php?id=502624614
So far there are 7 albums there, starting on the second page with "Things to take pictures at." Britton took most of these because I forget to do that and never really know where to aim it. It's interesting to note how different phases of the trip can be marked by what clothes we're wearing, as they seem to be on a several-day rotation.
Then there are the ones Julia put up: http://www.facebook.com/photos.php?id=502624614#/photos.php?id=82800479
Britton and I make our entrance toward the end of the Block Island album, then continue through the two GART albums. GART, I'm pretty sure, stands for Great American Road Trip. Indeed. Anyways, take a look around, let me know what you think. Feel free to send some comments to Britton and Julia, too, because they've both taken some really good pictures.
Enjoy. And love.
"Ocean in view! O the joy!"
You have no idea how badly I wanted to make an udder pun when I was writing about the organic farm. I couldn’t bring myself to it, but I had to tell you now. Moving on.
Britton didn’t think I said enough about our hiking day in Michigan, so I wanted to mention that again. It was a rainy day, but the heavy trees guarded us from the brunt of it, so it was cool and misty, in an incredibly green forest. That day we came to two memorable waterfalls, one of which led to some rocky shallows that were perfect for a cold swim. Terribly cold. It really was a highlight.
Everything in Michigan was a highlight. We were staying with Britton’s friend Jonathan, at Jonathan’s grandparents’ house. While there we had three of our fullest nights of sleep yet, monstrous meals that never really seemed to end, and the birth of a new addiction to Dairy Queen’s Blizzards. I think we stopped at Dairy Queen four times in the last week and a half. So thank you Jonathan. And thank you, Upper Peninsula. You were great.
From Michigan we drove down to Minneapolis to catch Rob Bell on his speaking tour. This is the guy we met at his church back in Grand Rapids. The tour is called Drops Like Stars, and it’s pretty profound--definitely good to see if you’re at all interested. I didn’t find it quite as mind-blowing as his earlier topics, but it was worth the trip for sure. Minneapolis, though, was kind of sad (except for the free burgers and shakes at Applebee’s) and we weren’t too upset to leave.
After sleeping in a Panera parking lot outside the city and waking up for some breakfast and Internet, we started one of our biggest driving days yet. We cut through the rest of Minnesota and started crossing North Dakota, which was a bear and a half. At one point we drove through Fargo. It felt like some sort of Coen pilgrimage that went vaguely unfulfilled, so we kept driving. We found a small campground/RV park in Jamestown. That was nice, we met some friendly people (two guys who gave us free firewood, one girl who may have been a dream). It was definitely for travelers rest, though, not so much of a destination.
And so the next day we continued, out of North Dakota and into Montana. It feels like a cliché to write about the sky in the big sky states, but I can’t help myself. The clouds were incredible. Even in parts of Minnesota and North Dakota, they were layered in a way that created unending depth. The top was a dome of the deepest blue, lightening on the sides until it streaked with clouds that extend well beyond forever. It absolutely overwhelmed the earth. I felt as if one of those hills might bring us to the edge of the land, with nothing but sky reaching into a cloudy, blue infinity. It brought me back to the stars in Michigan, where for just a few moments I was fully aware of my smallness.
Then the ground started making a comeback. By this point it was getting dark, but even so we could feel the endless Salt Plains giving way to the Rockies. The silhouetted mountains grew and we followed them up, up, up until we were about a mile from an entrance to Glacier National Park. We slept there on the side of the road, where it was dark and cold and even in the dark the mountains were everywhere. The next morning we drove into Glacier, using the annual pass we bought back in Maine.
Without knowing it, we had driven into a secondary entrance. While the main areas of the park were flooded with tourists and traffic, we had stumbled into one of Glacier’s best kept secrets. That day we found a campsite then hiked up a three mile ridge trail that circled around and offered views in every direction. You should’ve seen this: from the top we had the rest of Glacier to the north and the west, the Rockies continuing to the south, and the abruptly flat Salt Plains to the east. Those mountains were about the most awe-inspiring things I have ever seen. We spent a couple hours at the top, reading and napping and staring and wondering and…oh man, those mountains were ridiculous.
But I have to keep going. The next day we drove around to the main entrance to Glacier, then followed the Road to the Sun across the park. My mom biked that road, apparently. I think that’s insane. Despite the traffic and crowds, Glacier was exceedingly beautiful. The mountains were still overwhelming, and we took a hike that followed a gorgeous lake to a couple of different waterfalls that were inspiring and charming and thunderous in all the ways that good waterfalls are. We saw a few moose (mooses? meese?) across the lake. My dad’s binoculars came in handy.
We went to Ranger talks both nights in Glacier. This is when campers and visitors can go to an amphitheater to see a park ranger give a presentation. The first ranger was funny and strange and engaging and he talked about birds. He even had a little bird puppet with a can of whipped cream up its butt. I’m not telling you anymore about that, because I kind of like the way that last sentence sits there unexplained. The second ranger was nervous and soft-spoken and talked about art. Apparently when Glacier was founded about 100 years ago, the railroad used to pay artists to live in Glacier and write or paint or take pictures that they could use as promotion back east. I thought that sounded like fun. I want someone to start a new national park so they can pay me to live there and write about it.
There is a certain feel about national parks that stirs all sorts of things in me. I have an ongoing theory that people are more pleasant when they’re enjoying nature together, and that was on full display at Glacier. All these people from all over the country, and the world, saying hello while passing on the trail, stopping for a chat in the campsite, visiting with each other before the ranger talk. Everyone seemed friendly, and everyone was so happy to be there that it affected everything--especially how they interact with each other. It’s a wonderful thing.
Stay away from the hotels, though. On the second night, our campsite wasn’t offering a ranger talk, so we had to go up the road to the lodge to hear the art girl. The lodge crowd was entirely different: freshly showered, reserved, not showing much of a desire to meet new people. Stick with the camping crowd; everyone’s excited to be there and pleasant and vaguely tired and often quite dirty and terribly wonderful.
Side note: speaking of the camping crowd, some of the families we saw in Glacier reminded me so much of my family, especially my family in the late nineties when we took our RV trip out west. There were the parents who were always busy, cooking and cleaning and planning and setting up for their kids who are having the time of their lives exploring and biking and running and climbing. This made me think about my dad a lot. At one point in Glacier, I couldn’t stop; everything reminded me of him. I think it was good, though. There was sadness, but it was a full, nostalgic sort of sadness. He would have loved it there.
Oh yeah. Glacier was also home to my two favorite moon nights on this trip so far. The first night, we left the ranger talk in time to see a thin sliver rising up toward one of the mountains, hovering over the lake across from where we camped. That was incredible, watching the moon and its reflection slide up and behind the giant silhouetted peak. That lake was freezing, by the way. We had gone swimming earlier in the day and it was shocking. Painfully refreshing, maybe.
The second night we left the ranger talk by the lodge and walked down to a different lake. The moon was slightly bigger this time, and it was higher so it hung over the mountains perfectly. We rested by the lake for a bit, watching the reflections and the ripples and the shadowy mountains and the ghostly moon. Those were two nights I won’t forget for a very long time.
Okay. We left Glacier, finished Montana, cut through northern Idaho, and entered Washington. This was a surprise: Eastern Washington, much like the states preceding it, was blanketed in endless fields and farms and slight, rolling hills. Everything was brown and dry. The fields gave way to a rocky sort of desert, everything still quite brown. But then we started going up. The Cascade Mountains waited in the background, and we rose toward them, winding through rocks and cliffs and the occasional lake. Then we crested the mountains and everything changed. We had stretches of road where I could drive at 70 miles per hour for thirty minutes without once touching the accelerator, winding down, down, down as everything started turning green and wet, exactly what you’d expect out of Washington. We passed through fruit country and picked up some fresh apples and cherries, then continued toward Tacoma, a little outside Seattle.
This is worth a new paragraph. We drove to Tacoma to visit Ellie, a friend of Britton’s from YWAM. Ellie lives on a gorgeous little farm, with beautiful flowers and different types of plants and tomatoes that taste like sunshine and chickens and roosters that insist on waking you up for forty-five minutes every morning to greet the sun with them. We spent three nights there, along with Autumn and her mom. Autumn is another friend of Britton’s from YWAM that happened to be visiting at the same time. Our stay there included delicious meals, Trivial Pursuit, a beach with a lighthouse, Coraline, a glass museum, a great bookstore, and all sorts of wonderful conversation.
Then after three nights, it was time to cut south. This is significant to me because our trip is largely three-directional. First we went north, then west, and now we’re headed south--the final leg. I was a bit sad when we realized there was no more west without water, but California beckons.
We left Tacoma, spent a couple hours in Seattle, then drove to Portland. With no offense to the East Coast, Portland is without a doubt my favorite city in the country so far. We rode our bikes for a while--did you know Portland is rated the most bike-friendly city in the country?--then found a Chipotle, caught a movie, slept in a church parking lot again, and met a friend or two with some exciting future possibilities. There’s a certain feel about the city that I am absolutely in love with. If LA doesn’t work out and I’m not ready to move home, then I’ll be looking for any excuse to move to Portland.
Graduate school? I think yes.
Our second day there we rode the streetcar for a bit, read in a park, then went back to Powell’s Books. Powell’s is possibly my favorite indoor space ever, but it’s really overwhelming. They give you a map when you walk inside. I think I would need to live in Portland and visit often to really appreciate it. After that we grabbed some fish and chips with a new friend we’d met that morning. We planned to sleep in our car again that night, or possibly join one of the homeless campouts downtown, but we decided to start driving instead. We headed down past Eugene before we started getting tired, so we found a place to sleep on the side of the road.
We woke up this morning and drove out to the coast, where we picked up 101 and headed south some more, down to Coos Bay where we spent the day. Another of Britton’s YWAM friends lives here. She and her family drove us to the coast, where we climbed some rocks and watched the Pacific crash and spray and wave and dance. It’s beautiful.
That was a big moment, our first view of the Pacific. We followed a huge section of the Lewis and Clark trail through North Dakota and Montana, even up toward Portland, so today I kept thinking of that “Ocean in view! O the joy!” moment at the end of their journey. Maybe we weren’t quite frontier explorers with Indian guides or anything, but it still felt significant and fulfilling. And it was beautiful watching the waves tear across the rocks, flooding crevasses and creating little rivers, then retreating back out only to splash around and do it all over again.
We’re still in Coos Bay, writing this from the back of a little camping trailer we’re sleeping in tonight. Tomorrow we’ll keep heading down the coast, savor Oregon a little longer, then say goodbye and cross our final state line into California. Redwoods are waiting on the other side, which is exciting. Exact schedule after that point is still a little hazy, but we now have an official deadline: we have to be in LA by Saturday, because Caroline and Grahm are meeting us with Britton’s car out there then flying back on Sunday. That’s awesome of them, and it’ll be good having both our cars out there so soon.
Still not sure about the whole housing and work things. We have some awesome friends, David and Neil, who are being really generous and offering their space for a few nights until we get things going, and they’ll help us get situated in the city, but we’re definitely looking at any availabilities right now, so let me know if you hear of anything.
I think it’s time to wrap this up. I keep getting really encouraging feedback from people reading our updates, and that means the world to me. A friend from Jacksonville even told me that his family gathers around to read these, which makes me exceedingly happy. So thank you all. Especially those of you still reading this one, because I just scanned over it and realized that I’m writing a small novel.
I’m excited about using this space after the trip, when there’s not a pressure to fit so much in. I have stories and thoughts and ideas I want to write on here. And I will eventually. But for now, reading time. Then bedtime. Then some California time.
Goodnight all. Remember love.
Britton didn’t think I said enough about our hiking day in Michigan, so I wanted to mention that again. It was a rainy day, but the heavy trees guarded us from the brunt of it, so it was cool and misty, in an incredibly green forest. That day we came to two memorable waterfalls, one of which led to some rocky shallows that were perfect for a cold swim. Terribly cold. It really was a highlight.
Everything in Michigan was a highlight. We were staying with Britton’s friend Jonathan, at Jonathan’s grandparents’ house. While there we had three of our fullest nights of sleep yet, monstrous meals that never really seemed to end, and the birth of a new addiction to Dairy Queen’s Blizzards. I think we stopped at Dairy Queen four times in the last week and a half. So thank you Jonathan. And thank you, Upper Peninsula. You were great.
From Michigan we drove down to Minneapolis to catch Rob Bell on his speaking tour. This is the guy we met at his church back in Grand Rapids. The tour is called Drops Like Stars, and it’s pretty profound--definitely good to see if you’re at all interested. I didn’t find it quite as mind-blowing as his earlier topics, but it was worth the trip for sure. Minneapolis, though, was kind of sad (except for the free burgers and shakes at Applebee’s) and we weren’t too upset to leave.
After sleeping in a Panera parking lot outside the city and waking up for some breakfast and Internet, we started one of our biggest driving days yet. We cut through the rest of Minnesota and started crossing North Dakota, which was a bear and a half. At one point we drove through Fargo. It felt like some sort of Coen pilgrimage that went vaguely unfulfilled, so we kept driving. We found a small campground/RV park in Jamestown. That was nice, we met some friendly people (two guys who gave us free firewood, one girl who may have been a dream). It was definitely for travelers rest, though, not so much of a destination.
And so the next day we continued, out of North Dakota and into Montana. It feels like a cliché to write about the sky in the big sky states, but I can’t help myself. The clouds were incredible. Even in parts of Minnesota and North Dakota, they were layered in a way that created unending depth. The top was a dome of the deepest blue, lightening on the sides until it streaked with clouds that extend well beyond forever. It absolutely overwhelmed the earth. I felt as if one of those hills might bring us to the edge of the land, with nothing but sky reaching into a cloudy, blue infinity. It brought me back to the stars in Michigan, where for just a few moments I was fully aware of my smallness.
Then the ground started making a comeback. By this point it was getting dark, but even so we could feel the endless Salt Plains giving way to the Rockies. The silhouetted mountains grew and we followed them up, up, up until we were about a mile from an entrance to Glacier National Park. We slept there on the side of the road, where it was dark and cold and even in the dark the mountains were everywhere. The next morning we drove into Glacier, using the annual pass we bought back in Maine.
Without knowing it, we had driven into a secondary entrance. While the main areas of the park were flooded with tourists and traffic, we had stumbled into one of Glacier’s best kept secrets. That day we found a campsite then hiked up a three mile ridge trail that circled around and offered views in every direction. You should’ve seen this: from the top we had the rest of Glacier to the north and the west, the Rockies continuing to the south, and the abruptly flat Salt Plains to the east. Those mountains were about the most awe-inspiring things I have ever seen. We spent a couple hours at the top, reading and napping and staring and wondering and…oh man, those mountains were ridiculous.
But I have to keep going. The next day we drove around to the main entrance to Glacier, then followed the Road to the Sun across the park. My mom biked that road, apparently. I think that’s insane. Despite the traffic and crowds, Glacier was exceedingly beautiful. The mountains were still overwhelming, and we took a hike that followed a gorgeous lake to a couple of different waterfalls that were inspiring and charming and thunderous in all the ways that good waterfalls are. We saw a few moose (mooses? meese?) across the lake. My dad’s binoculars came in handy.
We went to Ranger talks both nights in Glacier. This is when campers and visitors can go to an amphitheater to see a park ranger give a presentation. The first ranger was funny and strange and engaging and he talked about birds. He even had a little bird puppet with a can of whipped cream up its butt. I’m not telling you anymore about that, because I kind of like the way that last sentence sits there unexplained. The second ranger was nervous and soft-spoken and talked about art. Apparently when Glacier was founded about 100 years ago, the railroad used to pay artists to live in Glacier and write or paint or take pictures that they could use as promotion back east. I thought that sounded like fun. I want someone to start a new national park so they can pay me to live there and write about it.
There is a certain feel about national parks that stirs all sorts of things in me. I have an ongoing theory that people are more pleasant when they’re enjoying nature together, and that was on full display at Glacier. All these people from all over the country, and the world, saying hello while passing on the trail, stopping for a chat in the campsite, visiting with each other before the ranger talk. Everyone seemed friendly, and everyone was so happy to be there that it affected everything--especially how they interact with each other. It’s a wonderful thing.
Stay away from the hotels, though. On the second night, our campsite wasn’t offering a ranger talk, so we had to go up the road to the lodge to hear the art girl. The lodge crowd was entirely different: freshly showered, reserved, not showing much of a desire to meet new people. Stick with the camping crowd; everyone’s excited to be there and pleasant and vaguely tired and often quite dirty and terribly wonderful.
Side note: speaking of the camping crowd, some of the families we saw in Glacier reminded me so much of my family, especially my family in the late nineties when we took our RV trip out west. There were the parents who were always busy, cooking and cleaning and planning and setting up for their kids who are having the time of their lives exploring and biking and running and climbing. This made me think about my dad a lot. At one point in Glacier, I couldn’t stop; everything reminded me of him. I think it was good, though. There was sadness, but it was a full, nostalgic sort of sadness. He would have loved it there.
Oh yeah. Glacier was also home to my two favorite moon nights on this trip so far. The first night, we left the ranger talk in time to see a thin sliver rising up toward one of the mountains, hovering over the lake across from where we camped. That was incredible, watching the moon and its reflection slide up and behind the giant silhouetted peak. That lake was freezing, by the way. We had gone swimming earlier in the day and it was shocking. Painfully refreshing, maybe.
The second night we left the ranger talk by the lodge and walked down to a different lake. The moon was slightly bigger this time, and it was higher so it hung over the mountains perfectly. We rested by the lake for a bit, watching the reflections and the ripples and the shadowy mountains and the ghostly moon. Those were two nights I won’t forget for a very long time.
Okay. We left Glacier, finished Montana, cut through northern Idaho, and entered Washington. This was a surprise: Eastern Washington, much like the states preceding it, was blanketed in endless fields and farms and slight, rolling hills. Everything was brown and dry. The fields gave way to a rocky sort of desert, everything still quite brown. But then we started going up. The Cascade Mountains waited in the background, and we rose toward them, winding through rocks and cliffs and the occasional lake. Then we crested the mountains and everything changed. We had stretches of road where I could drive at 70 miles per hour for thirty minutes without once touching the accelerator, winding down, down, down as everything started turning green and wet, exactly what you’d expect out of Washington. We passed through fruit country and picked up some fresh apples and cherries, then continued toward Tacoma, a little outside Seattle.
This is worth a new paragraph. We drove to Tacoma to visit Ellie, a friend of Britton’s from YWAM. Ellie lives on a gorgeous little farm, with beautiful flowers and different types of plants and tomatoes that taste like sunshine and chickens and roosters that insist on waking you up for forty-five minutes every morning to greet the sun with them. We spent three nights there, along with Autumn and her mom. Autumn is another friend of Britton’s from YWAM that happened to be visiting at the same time. Our stay there included delicious meals, Trivial Pursuit, a beach with a lighthouse, Coraline, a glass museum, a great bookstore, and all sorts of wonderful conversation.
Then after three nights, it was time to cut south. This is significant to me because our trip is largely three-directional. First we went north, then west, and now we’re headed south--the final leg. I was a bit sad when we realized there was no more west without water, but California beckons.
We left Tacoma, spent a couple hours in Seattle, then drove to Portland. With no offense to the East Coast, Portland is without a doubt my favorite city in the country so far. We rode our bikes for a while--did you know Portland is rated the most bike-friendly city in the country?--then found a Chipotle, caught a movie, slept in a church parking lot again, and met a friend or two with some exciting future possibilities. There’s a certain feel about the city that I am absolutely in love with. If LA doesn’t work out and I’m not ready to move home, then I’ll be looking for any excuse to move to Portland.
Graduate school? I think yes.
Our second day there we rode the streetcar for a bit, read in a park, then went back to Powell’s Books. Powell’s is possibly my favorite indoor space ever, but it’s really overwhelming. They give you a map when you walk inside. I think I would need to live in Portland and visit often to really appreciate it. After that we grabbed some fish and chips with a new friend we’d met that morning. We planned to sleep in our car again that night, or possibly join one of the homeless campouts downtown, but we decided to start driving instead. We headed down past Eugene before we started getting tired, so we found a place to sleep on the side of the road.
We woke up this morning and drove out to the coast, where we picked up 101 and headed south some more, down to Coos Bay where we spent the day. Another of Britton’s YWAM friends lives here. She and her family drove us to the coast, where we climbed some rocks and watched the Pacific crash and spray and wave and dance. It’s beautiful.
That was a big moment, our first view of the Pacific. We followed a huge section of the Lewis and Clark trail through North Dakota and Montana, even up toward Portland, so today I kept thinking of that “Ocean in view! O the joy!” moment at the end of their journey. Maybe we weren’t quite frontier explorers with Indian guides or anything, but it still felt significant and fulfilling. And it was beautiful watching the waves tear across the rocks, flooding crevasses and creating little rivers, then retreating back out only to splash around and do it all over again.
We’re still in Coos Bay, writing this from the back of a little camping trailer we’re sleeping in tonight. Tomorrow we’ll keep heading down the coast, savor Oregon a little longer, then say goodbye and cross our final state line into California. Redwoods are waiting on the other side, which is exciting. Exact schedule after that point is still a little hazy, but we now have an official deadline: we have to be in LA by Saturday, because Caroline and Grahm are meeting us with Britton’s car out there then flying back on Sunday. That’s awesome of them, and it’ll be good having both our cars out there so soon.
Still not sure about the whole housing and work things. We have some awesome friends, David and Neil, who are being really generous and offering their space for a few nights until we get things going, and they’ll help us get situated in the city, but we’re definitely looking at any availabilities right now, so let me know if you hear of anything.
I think it’s time to wrap this up. I keep getting really encouraging feedback from people reading our updates, and that means the world to me. A friend from Jacksonville even told me that his family gathers around to read these, which makes me exceedingly happy. So thank you all. Especially those of you still reading this one, because I just scanned over it and realized that I’m writing a small novel.
I’m excited about using this space after the trip, when there’s not a pressure to fit so much in. I have stories and thoughts and ideas I want to write on here. And I will eventually. But for now, reading time. Then bedtime. Then some California time.
Goodnight all. Remember love.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
From somewhere in Michigan...
Welcome back!
Tuesday morning we said our goodbyes to the girls, then continued driving into Wisconsin. That was bittersweet. It’s been fun having them with us, and Julia was absolutely brilliant in the way she planned this last leg of our trip. We never would have seen the lobster island or dairy people or organic farm without her. I have to say, though, that the extra space is refreshing. And something about dropping them off seemed significant, like the closing of another chapter. The West is coming.
Wisconsin was surprisingly beautiful. Rolling farmlands that ended right at Lake Michigan. We found a little park near the water to cook lunch, then continued up toward Michigan. The last couple hours of that drive were in a national forest--without a doubt the most beautiful drive since the Blue Ridge Parkway. Lots of curves, lots of hills, rapidly dropping temperatures, and a beautiful mixture of trees that reflected and translated the sunlight as it slid toward the horizon. After the sun finally dragged all the color from the sky, we pulled over to look up for a little bit. The altitude conspired with the lack of traffic and light pollution to bring us the most beautiful blanket of stars I remember ever seeing. I’ve never seen the Milky Way so clearly, or felt the curve of the Earth so profoundly. This is a cliché thing to say about stars, but I was humbled…thoroughly rooted in my smallness.
There were a lot of deer too. Somewhere in the darkness one of those deer decided it would be fun to jump toward the bright lights speeding through the woods. In a terrifying moment that seemed to last much longer than it should have, we saw his feet get caught by our car, then watched as he rolled over our hood and flipped to the ground on the other side. We searched the grass all along that stretch of road, but we couldn’t find him. It’s likely that he limped into the woods pretty injured, but there’s a slight possibility that we caught him at the perfect moment mid-jump and he ended up with nothing more than slight bruising and severe disorientation. Somehow my car wasn’t altered beyond a couple of tiny scratches and some hair caught in the front. I’m grateful for that, considering all the stories we’ve heard about cars being totaled by collisions with deer.
Our drive ended in Ramsay, Michigan, where we’re staying with a friend of Britton’s from Bradenton. Yesterday we drove up to a mountain where we took a lift to the base of a ski jump, then rode an elevator and climbed some stairs to the very top. It was a stunning view, with forest in every direction, including parts of three different states, and Lake Superior presiding all superior-like in the background. The wind was tearing through there, and the top of the jump swayed back and forth pretty dramatically. I never realized quite how intense ski jumping is until I looked over the edge of that jump. I can’t imagine sliding over that ledge on a pair of skis, but those people make it look so easy. The office at the base showed us a little video of a tournament there from the 70s, and we watched the skiers glide over the edge like it was nothing, speeding to the bottom and then soaring all the way to the field below. It was pretty beautiful how smooth the whole process looked. Except for those guys who crashed. Not quite so smooth.
The rest of the day included a small cave, a hike to a couple of waterfalls, a long overdue oil change, and an Internet stopover at a coffee shop down the road. Of course my entire Internet time was spent on e-mails and Facebook, so I’m writing this back in the basement where we’re staying. I’ve realized that if I want to do some actual writing or post a lengthy update, I have to write it before we reach the Internet or it’ll never happen. When I wrote that last sentence I thought of an old man saying “I lost my Internets” and it made me think of the Help Desk at UNF. Hi friends.
Today we took a long hike through the woods in some rain. We followed the trail to a few different waterfalls, deciding to go swimming near the last one. That was fun and refreshing, but it was also, for this Floridian, mind-numbingly cold. We’re dry now, though, back at the house with a load in the laundry and an early dinner cooking upstairs. We’ll leave here tomorrow morning, spend Friday night in Minneapolis, then make our most dramatic cut west yet. That stretch will involve camping in Glacier, which I’m excited about. Then to Seattle, where we’ll start working our way down the coast.
Thanks for reading. I’ve been getting tons of feedback from you all, and that means a lot to me. It’s good to know people are reading these. So until next time, have fun and watch out for the deer.
And love.
Tuesday morning we said our goodbyes to the girls, then continued driving into Wisconsin. That was bittersweet. It’s been fun having them with us, and Julia was absolutely brilliant in the way she planned this last leg of our trip. We never would have seen the lobster island or dairy people or organic farm without her. I have to say, though, that the extra space is refreshing. And something about dropping them off seemed significant, like the closing of another chapter. The West is coming.
Wisconsin was surprisingly beautiful. Rolling farmlands that ended right at Lake Michigan. We found a little park near the water to cook lunch, then continued up toward Michigan. The last couple hours of that drive were in a national forest--without a doubt the most beautiful drive since the Blue Ridge Parkway. Lots of curves, lots of hills, rapidly dropping temperatures, and a beautiful mixture of trees that reflected and translated the sunlight as it slid toward the horizon. After the sun finally dragged all the color from the sky, we pulled over to look up for a little bit. The altitude conspired with the lack of traffic and light pollution to bring us the most beautiful blanket of stars I remember ever seeing. I’ve never seen the Milky Way so clearly, or felt the curve of the Earth so profoundly. This is a cliché thing to say about stars, but I was humbled…thoroughly rooted in my smallness.
There were a lot of deer too. Somewhere in the darkness one of those deer decided it would be fun to jump toward the bright lights speeding through the woods. In a terrifying moment that seemed to last much longer than it should have, we saw his feet get caught by our car, then watched as he rolled over our hood and flipped to the ground on the other side. We searched the grass all along that stretch of road, but we couldn’t find him. It’s likely that he limped into the woods pretty injured, but there’s a slight possibility that we caught him at the perfect moment mid-jump and he ended up with nothing more than slight bruising and severe disorientation. Somehow my car wasn’t altered beyond a couple of tiny scratches and some hair caught in the front. I’m grateful for that, considering all the stories we’ve heard about cars being totaled by collisions with deer.
Our drive ended in Ramsay, Michigan, where we’re staying with a friend of Britton’s from Bradenton. Yesterday we drove up to a mountain where we took a lift to the base of a ski jump, then rode an elevator and climbed some stairs to the very top. It was a stunning view, with forest in every direction, including parts of three different states, and Lake Superior presiding all superior-like in the background. The wind was tearing through there, and the top of the jump swayed back and forth pretty dramatically. I never realized quite how intense ski jumping is until I looked over the edge of that jump. I can’t imagine sliding over that ledge on a pair of skis, but those people make it look so easy. The office at the base showed us a little video of a tournament there from the 70s, and we watched the skiers glide over the edge like it was nothing, speeding to the bottom and then soaring all the way to the field below. It was pretty beautiful how smooth the whole process looked. Except for those guys who crashed. Not quite so smooth.
The rest of the day included a small cave, a hike to a couple of waterfalls, a long overdue oil change, and an Internet stopover at a coffee shop down the road. Of course my entire Internet time was spent on e-mails and Facebook, so I’m writing this back in the basement where we’re staying. I’ve realized that if I want to do some actual writing or post a lengthy update, I have to write it before we reach the Internet or it’ll never happen. When I wrote that last sentence I thought of an old man saying “I lost my Internets” and it made me think of the Help Desk at UNF. Hi friends.
Today we took a long hike through the woods in some rain. We followed the trail to a few different waterfalls, deciding to go swimming near the last one. That was fun and refreshing, but it was also, for this Floridian, mind-numbingly cold. We’re dry now, though, back at the house with a load in the laundry and an early dinner cooking upstairs. We’ll leave here tomorrow morning, spend Friday night in Minneapolis, then make our most dramatic cut west yet. That stretch will involve camping in Glacier, which I’m excited about. Then to Seattle, where we’ll start working our way down the coast.
Thanks for reading. I’ve been getting tons of feedback from you all, and that means a lot to me. It’s good to know people are reading these. So until next time, have fun and watch out for the deer.
And love.
The American frontier was declared closed in 1890. Nonsense!
This one’s a bit of a doozy, so I’ll be splitting it up. Enjoy.
I think I left you after the organic farm, so we’ll pick it up there. Did I tell you about the toilet situation? They compost their waste, so we had to sprinkle woodchips on our poop. That was fun. I liked the farm a lot. They definitely put us to work, but it was a good experience. I told you about that already, though, so time to move on.
We headed to Buffalo, New York from there. Julia’s aunt, who is generous and all sorts of fun, hosted us for a night. She greeted us with one of the biggest boxes of pizza I’ve ever seen, of which we didn’t eat half. There was also a mountain of buffalo wings. Buffalo wings in Buffalo; I can cross that off the list. We got laundry, Internet, and showers there--all three were much needed. Then we greeted the next day with an epic breakfast that lasted for a couple hours. I worked in a quick bike ride after breakfast, then we packed up the car and pointed it toward Canada.
Crossing the border was fun. We expected to be prime suspects for a thorough car search, with the guitar strapped to the bikes on top and the car packed with randomness. But we got through easily enough, after becoming slightly smitten with the border guard. Quick side note: the border guard coming into Canada was gorgeous. The tollbooth attendant directly after was funny and entertaining. Coming back into America, the border guard was miserable and the tollbooth attendant was unmemorable. I think Canada may be desperate for a positive first impression, whereas America doesn’t seem to care too much. Maybe more thoughts on that later.
To Niagara--our whole reason for visiting Canada. Whoever visited Niagara Falls and decided not to make a national park out of it should be thoroughly punished. Seriously. It’s an absolutely stunning display of nature that is being crowded by buildings and vendors and ridiculous commercialization. The human desire to witness natural grandeur is exploited for the sake of tremendous profit. Britton and I spent about an hour talking about how we would treat the land if we owned it--how we would do as little as possible that would change the falls or the land anywhere close to it.
But it was still beautiful, in those moments when the city could be shut out. The falls themselves were humbling, and the crowds were surprisingly diverse, so there were some interesting people-watching moments. Overall, though, I can’t say I was too sad to leave Niagara. So we headed north, eventually deciding to pull into a novelty shop that sold souvenirs and postcards and such. Get this: in line at this random souvenir shop in Canada, we ran into Emmanuel, a friend who went to the same church as us for years back in Bradenton. We spent a while in the parking lot visiting with him and his family. His brother studied our map with me and showed us the best way to get to Michigan, and Emmanuel spontaneously decided to give us his GPS and his North American atlas. He said we could just mail it back to him later if we think of it. How awesome is that? Britton and I had kind of resisted the idea of using a GPS, thinking it might feel like cheating. Which it might be, a little bit. But it’s amazing how much it’s come in handy already. We try to use maps and general direction as much as possible, but once we’re actually to our destination city, the GPS saves us a lot of time in finding specific places.
Back to Canada. We found a delicious little restaurant that insisted on being Austrian, no matter how German it felt. Then we continued on to Michigan in the drive that would never end. We had recently found out we might not have a place to stay, so we weren’t sure where we’d be sleeping that night . There were some options in Detroit, but we needed to be in Grand Rapids by morning. It was after three in the morning by the time we got there. Britton and I dropped off Julia and Erin at a cheap motel, then continued driving to the church we wanted to visit. Sometime around four we fell asleep in the parking lot by the front doors.
Let me tell you about this church, Mars Hill. The teaching pastor, Rob Bell, is an absolutely brilliant man who pulls context from all sorts of places in history and culture and science and…oh, so much. Over the past couple years I’ve probably learned more from him than any other single person. A lot of my friends have asked me how I can still consider myself a Christian in spite of all my questions about God and frustrations about church. Mars Hill is a big part of that answer. There is so much hope and life pouring out of the people there. I remember reading an article from a newspaper in Grand Rapids that traced significant increases in literacy and decreases in child poverty in the city back to the people at that church. And Bell’s message, about peace and love and a massive movement toward complete restoration, is endlessly inspiring for me. He offers an alternative to the escapist, it’s-all-gonna-burn mentality that has caused so much damage. If you’re at all interested in this, or if you want to hear someone explain it so much more eloquently than me, consider leaving aside your personal feelings about Christians for about an hour, going here (http://marshill.org/teaching/index.php), and listening to the message from August 16th. Then send me a message or call me or something. I’d love to talk more about it.
We got to talk with Bell for a few minutes after the service. When we started telling him about our trip, he was like “Oh, so you were the ones brushing your teeth in the parking lot this morning! I knew you were roadtrippers!” I thought that was funny. Then we told him we plan to see him on his speaking tour in Minneapolis, and he said if we have any problem getting tickets we should ask for his tour manager and we’ll get in for free. Meeting a brilliant, innovative person who happens to be a personal hero of mine and finding him to be completely approachable and kind…something about that gives me a great deal of hope in humanity.
Okay. Back to the trip. We picked up the girls at a beach on Lake Michigan, then drove around the lake to Chicago. After dinner with a friend of Julia’s north of the city, we found out that our place to stay for that night had fallen through. The girls weren’t crazy about the idea of sleeping outside at someplace random, and we didn’t want to pay for a hotel, so we spent about an hour in a Dunkin Donuts parking lot, calling everyone we could think of and posting messages online and thinking about all our options. Thank you to all of you who responded, by the way. We had a whole team of friends calling old colleagues and classmates and such, until we ended up getting in touch with a friend of a friend of Julia’s, who let us stay in his parents’ basement. That was exciting to me, driving in the middle of the night to a complete stranger’s house and camping out in the basement.
Chicago was brilliant the next day. I use that word a lot, brilliant. I hope that doesn’t cheapen it. Britton and I took our bikes on the red line to downtown, then spent the day riding around the skyscrapers and the parks and the lake. It’s such a rush, biking with city traffic in the middle of all those buildings. The only thing that might make that day better would be Chipotle. Oh wait--we did that too. Thanks for the free food, Chipotle customer service people. The guacamole was spectacular, as always. And the burrito settled like a brick, as always. A fresh, spicy, delicious brick.
Britton and I were reading in Millennium Park that night when we found ourselves in the middle of the Monday night concert. People brought picnics and snacks and such to watch a local band play in a gorgeous amphitheater. Incredible architecture. Great music too--a sort of modern jazz band, with a couple saxes, a guitar, bass, and drums, then a trumpet that carried through the amphitheater so beautifully. You should have heard that trumpet. Britton sat next to a girl visiting from Germany. I sat next to a Canadian couple; he teaches music in an elementary school, she plays harp in the Toronto Symphony Orchestra. Everyone was extremely friendly, interacting and passing food and enjoying the night together.
Later Britton and I biked to a jazz lounge near where we were staying. The place was The Green Mill, the band was Marco Polo. The music was technically sound and at parts quite brilliant, but overall it seemed to be lacking some of the inspiration that makes jazz jazz. We sat at the bar next to George, who’s been a train engineer (“Not a conductor! Not a conductor!”) for thirty-something years. He told us about the places he’s traveled to for work and all the crazy hitchhiking and such he did in the 70s. He was a really interesting man who seemed like he could entertain for hours with his stories.
That place also had the friendliest bouncer in the world. He was soft-spoken and kind all night. During a break out front I saw him reading a collection by Rumi, a 13th century Persian poet. It was great hearing him talk about which ones he liked and why they meant so much to him. Then it was funny watching him hide the book and get all nervous and official every time his boss came around. I can’t wait for him to find what he’s looking for.
Pause here. Time to go pee or grab a snack or step outside, then we’ll continue.
I think I left you after the organic farm, so we’ll pick it up there. Did I tell you about the toilet situation? They compost their waste, so we had to sprinkle woodchips on our poop. That was fun. I liked the farm a lot. They definitely put us to work, but it was a good experience. I told you about that already, though, so time to move on.
We headed to Buffalo, New York from there. Julia’s aunt, who is generous and all sorts of fun, hosted us for a night. She greeted us with one of the biggest boxes of pizza I’ve ever seen, of which we didn’t eat half. There was also a mountain of buffalo wings. Buffalo wings in Buffalo; I can cross that off the list. We got laundry, Internet, and showers there--all three were much needed. Then we greeted the next day with an epic breakfast that lasted for a couple hours. I worked in a quick bike ride after breakfast, then we packed up the car and pointed it toward Canada.
Crossing the border was fun. We expected to be prime suspects for a thorough car search, with the guitar strapped to the bikes on top and the car packed with randomness. But we got through easily enough, after becoming slightly smitten with the border guard. Quick side note: the border guard coming into Canada was gorgeous. The tollbooth attendant directly after was funny and entertaining. Coming back into America, the border guard was miserable and the tollbooth attendant was unmemorable. I think Canada may be desperate for a positive first impression, whereas America doesn’t seem to care too much. Maybe more thoughts on that later.
To Niagara--our whole reason for visiting Canada. Whoever visited Niagara Falls and decided not to make a national park out of it should be thoroughly punished. Seriously. It’s an absolutely stunning display of nature that is being crowded by buildings and vendors and ridiculous commercialization. The human desire to witness natural grandeur is exploited for the sake of tremendous profit. Britton and I spent about an hour talking about how we would treat the land if we owned it--how we would do as little as possible that would change the falls or the land anywhere close to it.
But it was still beautiful, in those moments when the city could be shut out. The falls themselves were humbling, and the crowds were surprisingly diverse, so there were some interesting people-watching moments. Overall, though, I can’t say I was too sad to leave Niagara. So we headed north, eventually deciding to pull into a novelty shop that sold souvenirs and postcards and such. Get this: in line at this random souvenir shop in Canada, we ran into Emmanuel, a friend who went to the same church as us for years back in Bradenton. We spent a while in the parking lot visiting with him and his family. His brother studied our map with me and showed us the best way to get to Michigan, and Emmanuel spontaneously decided to give us his GPS and his North American atlas. He said we could just mail it back to him later if we think of it. How awesome is that? Britton and I had kind of resisted the idea of using a GPS, thinking it might feel like cheating. Which it might be, a little bit. But it’s amazing how much it’s come in handy already. We try to use maps and general direction as much as possible, but once we’re actually to our destination city, the GPS saves us a lot of time in finding specific places.
Back to Canada. We found a delicious little restaurant that insisted on being Austrian, no matter how German it felt. Then we continued on to Michigan in the drive that would never end. We had recently found out we might not have a place to stay, so we weren’t sure where we’d be sleeping that night . There were some options in Detroit, but we needed to be in Grand Rapids by morning. It was after three in the morning by the time we got there. Britton and I dropped off Julia and Erin at a cheap motel, then continued driving to the church we wanted to visit. Sometime around four we fell asleep in the parking lot by the front doors.
Let me tell you about this church, Mars Hill. The teaching pastor, Rob Bell, is an absolutely brilliant man who pulls context from all sorts of places in history and culture and science and…oh, so much. Over the past couple years I’ve probably learned more from him than any other single person. A lot of my friends have asked me how I can still consider myself a Christian in spite of all my questions about God and frustrations about church. Mars Hill is a big part of that answer. There is so much hope and life pouring out of the people there. I remember reading an article from a newspaper in Grand Rapids that traced significant increases in literacy and decreases in child poverty in the city back to the people at that church. And Bell’s message, about peace and love and a massive movement toward complete restoration, is endlessly inspiring for me. He offers an alternative to the escapist, it’s-all-gonna-burn mentality that has caused so much damage. If you’re at all interested in this, or if you want to hear someone explain it so much more eloquently than me, consider leaving aside your personal feelings about Christians for about an hour, going here (http://marshill.org/teaching/index.php), and listening to the message from August 16th. Then send me a message or call me or something. I’d love to talk more about it.
We got to talk with Bell for a few minutes after the service. When we started telling him about our trip, he was like “Oh, so you were the ones brushing your teeth in the parking lot this morning! I knew you were roadtrippers!” I thought that was funny. Then we told him we plan to see him on his speaking tour in Minneapolis, and he said if we have any problem getting tickets we should ask for his tour manager and we’ll get in for free. Meeting a brilliant, innovative person who happens to be a personal hero of mine and finding him to be completely approachable and kind…something about that gives me a great deal of hope in humanity.
Okay. Back to the trip. We picked up the girls at a beach on Lake Michigan, then drove around the lake to Chicago. After dinner with a friend of Julia’s north of the city, we found out that our place to stay for that night had fallen through. The girls weren’t crazy about the idea of sleeping outside at someplace random, and we didn’t want to pay for a hotel, so we spent about an hour in a Dunkin Donuts parking lot, calling everyone we could think of and posting messages online and thinking about all our options. Thank you to all of you who responded, by the way. We had a whole team of friends calling old colleagues and classmates and such, until we ended up getting in touch with a friend of a friend of Julia’s, who let us stay in his parents’ basement. That was exciting to me, driving in the middle of the night to a complete stranger’s house and camping out in the basement.
Chicago was brilliant the next day. I use that word a lot, brilliant. I hope that doesn’t cheapen it. Britton and I took our bikes on the red line to downtown, then spent the day riding around the skyscrapers and the parks and the lake. It’s such a rush, biking with city traffic in the middle of all those buildings. The only thing that might make that day better would be Chipotle. Oh wait--we did that too. Thanks for the free food, Chipotle customer service people. The guacamole was spectacular, as always. And the burrito settled like a brick, as always. A fresh, spicy, delicious brick.
Britton and I were reading in Millennium Park that night when we found ourselves in the middle of the Monday night concert. People brought picnics and snacks and such to watch a local band play in a gorgeous amphitheater. Incredible architecture. Great music too--a sort of modern jazz band, with a couple saxes, a guitar, bass, and drums, then a trumpet that carried through the amphitheater so beautifully. You should have heard that trumpet. Britton sat next to a girl visiting from Germany. I sat next to a Canadian couple; he teaches music in an elementary school, she plays harp in the Toronto Symphony Orchestra. Everyone was extremely friendly, interacting and passing food and enjoying the night together.
Later Britton and I biked to a jazz lounge near where we were staying. The place was The Green Mill, the band was Marco Polo. The music was technically sound and at parts quite brilliant, but overall it seemed to be lacking some of the inspiration that makes jazz jazz. We sat at the bar next to George, who’s been a train engineer (“Not a conductor! Not a conductor!”) for thirty-something years. He told us about the places he’s traveled to for work and all the crazy hitchhiking and such he did in the 70s. He was a really interesting man who seemed like he could entertain for hours with his stories.
That place also had the friendliest bouncer in the world. He was soft-spoken and kind all night. During a break out front I saw him reading a collection by Rumi, a 13th century Persian poet. It was great hearing him talk about which ones he liked and why they meant so much to him. Then it was funny watching him hide the book and get all nervous and official every time his boss came around. I can’t wait for him to find what he’s looking for.
Pause here. Time to go pee or grab a snack or step outside, then we’ll continue.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
"Well, we kinda face to the north and real subtle-like turn left."
I’m not splitting this one up, so it’s kind of a beast. Enjoy.
We said our goodbyes to the quaint patriotism of Plainville and headed up, up, up until we hit Portland, Maine. It might be because I’m already biased to cities that share its name, but I’m pretty sure Portland is my new favorite city on the East Coast. The feel of Maine’s sea life mixes well with the atmosphere of an active city, and it makes Portland an exciting place to visit. After taking a brief tour of the city, meeting people who live there, and hearing about the different projects they are involved in, I decided that I could see myself living there long-term if I end up back on the East Coast without returning to Florida. And if that whole newspaper thing on Block Island doesn’t work out. Did you forget about that? Me too. I should call them.
We spent the night at Brandon’s house. Brandon is a friend of Julia. Julia, in case you forget, is a friend of Britton’s who is masterminding this leg of the trip. There’s also Erin, an old friend of Julia’s and Britton’s, who we picked up back in Plainville. Erin and Julia are along for the ride until Chicago. Now back to Portland: Brandon’s roommate Leo cooked us pancakes and spent the entire day with us. We visited the Portland Headlight, a gorgeous lighthouse with cliffs and rocks and old ruins that offer hours of exploring and climbing. One of those rocks busted my toe, but otherwise they were quite nice. After that we took some sandwiches out to the beach where Brandon was lifeguarding. Pretty sure that’s a new word, lifeguarding. My computer doesn’t like it very much. Anyways, the beach was fun but not quite the Gulf. Three points for Florida. It was still beautiful, though…I’m basically in love with Maine.
That night another of Julia’s friends, Peter, cooked us fish tacos. That was a highlight, fish taco deliciousness with new friends on Peter’s porch, hearing him talk about working as a writer in Portland. Another highlight would be reverse charades, in which Peter acts out, in the most dramatic of fashions, the conversation of the thunderous upstairs neighbors. Awesome.
Fish tacos in our bellies, we continued up, up, up to Palermo Maine. There we stayed for two nights with a family that owns an organic dairy farm…once again, Julia’s friends. Our stay in Palermo included cheeseburgers, a bonfire, an early morning witness of the milking spectacle which I managed to sleep through, and raw, fresh, magically delicious milk. Britton and I shared about a gallon and a half before we left Palermo.
While staying with the cow people we drove up to Acadia National Park. This is one of the highest ranked and most visited parks in the country, even though it’s also one of the smallest. It’s a wonderful experience to see a bunch of your favorite things hodgepodged together, and that happened in Acadia. Ocean and islands and forests and rocky beaches and friendly people and giant climbable rocks over the surf, all hanging out together and spending the afternoon with us. It was brilliant.
And no, hodgepodged is probably not a real word.
We bid farewell to the cows and the magical raw milk and the Haskell family, formerly referred to as the cow people, and made our way up, up, up to Rockland, Maine. In Rockland we stuffed the bikes in the car, loaded up our backpacks, and took a ferry out to Vinalhaven.
I know I’ve called lots of things highlights, but Vinalhaven has quite possibly been the highlight. After about an hour on the ferry we started passing a series of epic rock formations, which grew to a series of little islands and ended with an exclamation mark at Vinalhaven. While surprisingly big, this island offered a contrast to Block Island in that there is only one little inn, no tacky tourism, and most of the people there actually live and work on the island. The town there exists because of lobsters. Big, delicious lobsters. More on that in a minute.
In Vinalhaven we stayed with Jamus, yet another friend of Julia’s. Jamus, a towering man with a man’s truck and a man’s beard, is a lobsterman who lives in a killer wooden house that’s buried in some woods up a hill from the town. Our first night there he brought home a pile of lobsters that, accompanied by some steak and sweet corn we brought from the mainland, are among the reasons Vinalhaven was such a hit. Oh my goodness. I’m not sure if it was the freshness of the lobster, the overabundance of everything, the curry that Jamus mixed in the melted butter, the fact that it was free, or maybe the beer, but that was just about my favorite meal ever. After basically gorging myself and slothing my way upstairs, I enjoyed one of the deepest and richest nights of sleep I’ve had in years. I’m running out of adjectives here, but I’ll say again that it was beautiful and wonderful and magical and delicious and absolutely perfect.
The rest of our time in Vinalhaven included diving and swimming in a rock quarry, fun music by friends of Jamus, sleeping in, and a brilliant hike with Britton. Vinalhaven was showing off on that hike, with its trees and the light pouring through the trees and the hills and hidden little islands surrounded by rocky water, and the barking seals and climbing otters and so much goodness. Britton and I hitchhiked to and from the trails. Here’s something interesting: each of the three times we’ve hitchhiked so far has been on an island, and each time has been with an older person who’s lived on that island since birth and can remember when hitchhiking was commonplace. That makes me happy.
Vinalhaven deserves more words, but I’m moving on for the sake of efficiency. Also because some of these experiences are basically sacred to me and I’m afraid I might ruin that by failing to do them justice with words. Maybe pictures will help…I’ll try to share some of those soon.
After spending a second night on the island, we ferried back to the mainland on Thursday to find that our car and bikes and such were right where we had left them. We repeated our new favorite ritual of packing everything and stuffing ourselves into the car, then we started heading south. I was a little sad to trade our up, up, up for some down, so I won’t celebrate it with repetition. After stopping again in Portland for lunch at a crazy little place called Duck Fat, we drove to Pennsylvania. There a few more of Julia’s friends live and work on an organic farm in the middle of nowhere. We happened to be visiting on a harvest day, so we woke up in time to pick string beans, pull up potatoes, and weed around some onions. These were absolutely wonderful people who were a joy to visit with while we worked and ate a lunch that came entirely from the farm.
Plug time: food tastes so much better when you know where it comes from. Do some research and I guarantee you can find similar people, who understand that food is more fresh and more tasty when it grows in an environment where nature is appreciated and respected. And after finding those people you can support them and enjoy their deliciousness. Specifically, if you’re ever at a farmer’s market near Scranton Pennsylvania, ask around for the Anthill Farm. Then give them my love. And when you’re in Palermo, Maine you can ask the Haskell’s for some milk nectar goodness.
So that brings us here. After lunch and a swim/bath in a nearby lake, we’re back on the road. This time we’re headed to Buffalo for a night. Tomorrow we visit Niagara, then through Canada into Michigan. Mars Hill on Sunday, then off to Chicago where we’ll bid farewell to the girls and continue in a westerly direction. We’re about at the close of this leg of the trip, and it feels significant that we’re turning to the left. I enjoyed this last week more than I know how to say, especially Maine, but there’s a familiar stirring inside me that’s pretty strong now that we’re off the coast. It’s a feeling I’ve grown used to these last few years, the West beckoning, and it feels good to finally be answering.
If you’re offended by made up words or overabundant adjectives or run-on sentences, then I apologize. But not really, because that’s kind of dumb.
That’s all for now. Thanks to everyone who checked in after the first post, and huge thanks to everyone we’ve met so far on the trip. You all have been incredible.
Love. Lots and lots of love, and more words to come later.
We said our goodbyes to the quaint patriotism of Plainville and headed up, up, up until we hit Portland, Maine. It might be because I’m already biased to cities that share its name, but I’m pretty sure Portland is my new favorite city on the East Coast. The feel of Maine’s sea life mixes well with the atmosphere of an active city, and it makes Portland an exciting place to visit. After taking a brief tour of the city, meeting people who live there, and hearing about the different projects they are involved in, I decided that I could see myself living there long-term if I end up back on the East Coast without returning to Florida. And if that whole newspaper thing on Block Island doesn’t work out. Did you forget about that? Me too. I should call them.
We spent the night at Brandon’s house. Brandon is a friend of Julia. Julia, in case you forget, is a friend of Britton’s who is masterminding this leg of the trip. There’s also Erin, an old friend of Julia’s and Britton’s, who we picked up back in Plainville. Erin and Julia are along for the ride until Chicago. Now back to Portland: Brandon’s roommate Leo cooked us pancakes and spent the entire day with us. We visited the Portland Headlight, a gorgeous lighthouse with cliffs and rocks and old ruins that offer hours of exploring and climbing. One of those rocks busted my toe, but otherwise they were quite nice. After that we took some sandwiches out to the beach where Brandon was lifeguarding. Pretty sure that’s a new word, lifeguarding. My computer doesn’t like it very much. Anyways, the beach was fun but not quite the Gulf. Three points for Florida. It was still beautiful, though…I’m basically in love with Maine.
That night another of Julia’s friends, Peter, cooked us fish tacos. That was a highlight, fish taco deliciousness with new friends on Peter’s porch, hearing him talk about working as a writer in Portland. Another highlight would be reverse charades, in which Peter acts out, in the most dramatic of fashions, the conversation of the thunderous upstairs neighbors. Awesome.
Fish tacos in our bellies, we continued up, up, up to Palermo Maine. There we stayed for two nights with a family that owns an organic dairy farm…once again, Julia’s friends. Our stay in Palermo included cheeseburgers, a bonfire, an early morning witness of the milking spectacle which I managed to sleep through, and raw, fresh, magically delicious milk. Britton and I shared about a gallon and a half before we left Palermo.
While staying with the cow people we drove up to Acadia National Park. This is one of the highest ranked and most visited parks in the country, even though it’s also one of the smallest. It’s a wonderful experience to see a bunch of your favorite things hodgepodged together, and that happened in Acadia. Ocean and islands and forests and rocky beaches and friendly people and giant climbable rocks over the surf, all hanging out together and spending the afternoon with us. It was brilliant.
And no, hodgepodged is probably not a real word.
We bid farewell to the cows and the magical raw milk and the Haskell family, formerly referred to as the cow people, and made our way up, up, up to Rockland, Maine. In Rockland we stuffed the bikes in the car, loaded up our backpacks, and took a ferry out to Vinalhaven.
I know I’ve called lots of things highlights, but Vinalhaven has quite possibly been the highlight. After about an hour on the ferry we started passing a series of epic rock formations, which grew to a series of little islands and ended with an exclamation mark at Vinalhaven. While surprisingly big, this island offered a contrast to Block Island in that there is only one little inn, no tacky tourism, and most of the people there actually live and work on the island. The town there exists because of lobsters. Big, delicious lobsters. More on that in a minute.
In Vinalhaven we stayed with Jamus, yet another friend of Julia’s. Jamus, a towering man with a man’s truck and a man’s beard, is a lobsterman who lives in a killer wooden house that’s buried in some woods up a hill from the town. Our first night there he brought home a pile of lobsters that, accompanied by some steak and sweet corn we brought from the mainland, are among the reasons Vinalhaven was such a hit. Oh my goodness. I’m not sure if it was the freshness of the lobster, the overabundance of everything, the curry that Jamus mixed in the melted butter, the fact that it was free, or maybe the beer, but that was just about my favorite meal ever. After basically gorging myself and slothing my way upstairs, I enjoyed one of the deepest and richest nights of sleep I’ve had in years. I’m running out of adjectives here, but I’ll say again that it was beautiful and wonderful and magical and delicious and absolutely perfect.
The rest of our time in Vinalhaven included diving and swimming in a rock quarry, fun music by friends of Jamus, sleeping in, and a brilliant hike with Britton. Vinalhaven was showing off on that hike, with its trees and the light pouring through the trees and the hills and hidden little islands surrounded by rocky water, and the barking seals and climbing otters and so much goodness. Britton and I hitchhiked to and from the trails. Here’s something interesting: each of the three times we’ve hitchhiked so far has been on an island, and each time has been with an older person who’s lived on that island since birth and can remember when hitchhiking was commonplace. That makes me happy.
Vinalhaven deserves more words, but I’m moving on for the sake of efficiency. Also because some of these experiences are basically sacred to me and I’m afraid I might ruin that by failing to do them justice with words. Maybe pictures will help…I’ll try to share some of those soon.
After spending a second night on the island, we ferried back to the mainland on Thursday to find that our car and bikes and such were right where we had left them. We repeated our new favorite ritual of packing everything and stuffing ourselves into the car, then we started heading south. I was a little sad to trade our up, up, up for some down, so I won’t celebrate it with repetition. After stopping again in Portland for lunch at a crazy little place called Duck Fat, we drove to Pennsylvania. There a few more of Julia’s friends live and work on an organic farm in the middle of nowhere. We happened to be visiting on a harvest day, so we woke up in time to pick string beans, pull up potatoes, and weed around some onions. These were absolutely wonderful people who were a joy to visit with while we worked and ate a lunch that came entirely from the farm.
Plug time: food tastes so much better when you know where it comes from. Do some research and I guarantee you can find similar people, who understand that food is more fresh and more tasty when it grows in an environment where nature is appreciated and respected. And after finding those people you can support them and enjoy their deliciousness. Specifically, if you’re ever at a farmer’s market near Scranton Pennsylvania, ask around for the Anthill Farm. Then give them my love. And when you’re in Palermo, Maine you can ask the Haskell’s for some milk nectar goodness.
So that brings us here. After lunch and a swim/bath in a nearby lake, we’re back on the road. This time we’re headed to Buffalo for a night. Tomorrow we visit Niagara, then through Canada into Michigan. Mars Hill on Sunday, then off to Chicago where we’ll bid farewell to the girls and continue in a westerly direction. We’re about at the close of this leg of the trip, and it feels significant that we’re turning to the left. I enjoyed this last week more than I know how to say, especially Maine, but there’s a familiar stirring inside me that’s pretty strong now that we’re off the coast. It’s a feeling I’ve grown used to these last few years, the West beckoning, and it feels good to finally be answering.
If you’re offended by made up words or overabundant adjectives or run-on sentences, then I apologize. But not really, because that’s kind of dumb.
That’s all for now. Thanks to everyone who checked in after the first post, and huge thanks to everyone we’ve met so far on the trip. You all have been incredible.
Love. Lots and lots of love, and more words to come later.
Saturday, August 8, 2009
Week One Again
Alright. Eggs and pancakes in my belly, time to continue. We left the guidestones and headed north to Virginia, where we picked up the Blue Ridge Parkway. This has been one of the highlights for me so far. We caught the parkway at sunset, with a pink, nearly full moon rising over the mountains to the east. Every curve offered a new view of the dusk sky: clouds alight with the fading sun, fields and mountains bathed in the colors of coming night. We passed dozens of deer on the side of the road, and I found it impossible to stop being amazed. Sometime after eleven we pulled to the side of the road and set up our sleeping bags. The cool air, bright moon, and near absolute silence dragged us into a full night of sleep. It was magical.
In the morning we left the parkway and headed down the mountains to Monticello. We walked around a museum for a little bit but decided not to pay the twenty bucks to get into the actual house. Sorry Tom.
That's Tom Jefferson, for those of you who don't know. We're best buds.
We were in DC by early afternoon. With a perfect parking spot in front of the Capitol, we took our bikes down the mall and around the different monuments and such. DC is always a paradox for me. I get caught up in the nostalgia, but then I remind myself that these were politicians in their own day, that there is all sorts of corruption buried under the romantic language and the gorgeous architecture. The nostalgia comes back, though, as soon as I see the diverse crowds on the steps in front of Lincoln. The architecture and history and engraved speeches mean something in that moment. And seeing it all on bikes made it even better. Try it sometime.
That night we stayed with a group of strangers living in what they call an intentional community. There were about twenty people in this house, named Maitri House, meaning "loving kindness." They share possessions and co-raise each other's kids. Most of them are vegetarian or vegan, and they get almost all their food from a side garden or from dumpster diving. Really interesting people...it was beautiful sharing dinner with them, and I should be able to stay in touch with at least one of them.
I think that brings us to Thursday, when we drove to Rhode Island. On the way we found a gas station on Crooks Lane in New Jersey and a brilliant little sandwich shop in New York, but otherwise that was just a big drive we had to knock out. From Rhode Island we took a ferry to Block Island, about 25 miles offshore. Britton's friend Julia, who we were picking up on the island, got us into a sunset kayak tour for free. If the Blue Ridge Parkway wasn't the highlight so far, then the kayak trip was. Beautiful skies, beautiful water, beautiful conversation with beautiful people...not to mention the kayaks. Again, magical.
We spent all day Friday exploring the island, swimming in a lake and visiting the beach. An interesting development came up when Julia told us about her friend who was leaving his job at the newspaper, and that eventually led to a phone conversation with the editor. So there is a very very very very slight possibility that, at some point after we reach LA, I might move to Block Island to work at a newspaper. We'll see.
We ferried off the island in time to catch the sunset over the ocean. On the boat we befriended a few drunk folks, including a rather rambunctious fellow who was about ready to fight me for not letting him sit next to a lady he fancied. After the ferry we loaded up again and drove here to Connecticut where we met Erin and spent the night with her family and her patriotic neighborhood.
Sarcasm: Now we have the fun of figuring out how to fit four people and all of our stuff into my car, which is exciting and wonderful.
Not sarcasm: Then we have the fun of Erin's mom emptying her refrigerator to make us dinner, which is exciting and wonderful.
From here we drive to Maine for a couple days, then...somewhere else. I kind of forget. But I'll keep updating here, and I'd love to stay in touch with you more individually. Facebook, phone, email (beaudenton at gmail)...let's talk.
Hopefully some of these updates will be shorter and more focused, but there was a lot to catch up on this time around. Love.
In the morning we left the parkway and headed down the mountains to Monticello. We walked around a museum for a little bit but decided not to pay the twenty bucks to get into the actual house. Sorry Tom.
That's Tom Jefferson, for those of you who don't know. We're best buds.
We were in DC by early afternoon. With a perfect parking spot in front of the Capitol, we took our bikes down the mall and around the different monuments and such. DC is always a paradox for me. I get caught up in the nostalgia, but then I remind myself that these were politicians in their own day, that there is all sorts of corruption buried under the romantic language and the gorgeous architecture. The nostalgia comes back, though, as soon as I see the diverse crowds on the steps in front of Lincoln. The architecture and history and engraved speeches mean something in that moment. And seeing it all on bikes made it even better. Try it sometime.
That night we stayed with a group of strangers living in what they call an intentional community. There were about twenty people in this house, named Maitri House, meaning "loving kindness." They share possessions and co-raise each other's kids. Most of them are vegetarian or vegan, and they get almost all their food from a side garden or from dumpster diving. Really interesting people...it was beautiful sharing dinner with them, and I should be able to stay in touch with at least one of them.
I think that brings us to Thursday, when we drove to Rhode Island. On the way we found a gas station on Crooks Lane in New Jersey and a brilliant little sandwich shop in New York, but otherwise that was just a big drive we had to knock out. From Rhode Island we took a ferry to Block Island, about 25 miles offshore. Britton's friend Julia, who we were picking up on the island, got us into a sunset kayak tour for free. If the Blue Ridge Parkway wasn't the highlight so far, then the kayak trip was. Beautiful skies, beautiful water, beautiful conversation with beautiful people...not to mention the kayaks. Again, magical.
We spent all day Friday exploring the island, swimming in a lake and visiting the beach. An interesting development came up when Julia told us about her friend who was leaving his job at the newspaper, and that eventually led to a phone conversation with the editor. So there is a very very very very slight possibility that, at some point after we reach LA, I might move to Block Island to work at a newspaper. We'll see.
We ferried off the island in time to catch the sunset over the ocean. On the boat we befriended a few drunk folks, including a rather rambunctious fellow who was about ready to fight me for not letting him sit next to a lady he fancied. After the ferry we loaded up again and drove here to Connecticut where we met Erin and spent the night with her family and her patriotic neighborhood.
Sarcasm: Now we have the fun of figuring out how to fit four people and all of our stuff into my car, which is exciting and wonderful.
Not sarcasm: Then we have the fun of Erin's mom emptying her refrigerator to make us dinner, which is exciting and wonderful.
From here we drive to Maine for a couple days, then...somewhere else. I kind of forget. But I'll keep updating here, and I'd love to stay in touch with you more individually. Facebook, phone, email (beaudenton at gmail)...let's talk.
Hopefully some of these updates will be shorter and more focused, but there was a lot to catch up on this time around. Love.
Week One
I'm writing this from Plainville, Connecticut, capital of tacky patriotism and colorful knickknacks. The house we're visiting is in a circle of homes that seem to be competing for the prize of most indescribably odd. In the middle of the circle is a giant stage and pavilion. I imagine that's where they hold trial when one of the neighbors forgets to hoist an American flag.
It's beautiful here, though. The weather is somewhere around perfect, the new friends are entertaining, and the next leg of the trip is about to begin. This is the first chance I've had to stop and write about where we've been. So here we go...let's start from the beginning.
And the beginning comes from last weekend in Bradenton. Caroline and Grahm threw a going away party on Saturday in their new house, with great friends and delicious food and all sorts of goodness. The next day the family all went over to my mom's house to see us off, including Kathryn just back from Jacksonville and Ryan and Leah with baby Wyatt. In those two days I enjoyed and appreciated my family more than I know how to say here. And I can't think of a better way to start the trip.
So we left Sunday afternoon in time to join a bunch of Jacksonville friends for dinner and conversation and, of course, some riveting telephone pictionary. Thank you again to everyone who was there and especially to the girls who opened their house for us.
We visited with friends in Jacksonville until 3 in the morning, when we left for Macon. Dawn on the backroads in southern Georgia was absolutely beautiful, offering our first experience with below-Florida temperatures. We had breakfast and showers in Macon, then continued on to Atlanta where we visited with some of Britton's family and our friends Mathias and Amanda. Atlanta was vaguely stressful, and I was ready to move on, but it was wonderful to spend time with our friends and their growing baby boy.
Tuesday morning we left Atlanta in search of the Georgia Guidestones, which Britton had read about in a magazine. More on those in a minute, but first there's a lake. We were trying to find those guidestones--some might say we were lost, but I prefer to say exploring--when we stumbled on a forested park at the side of a lake and we absolutely had to stop. We used Grahm and Care's camp stove to make sandwiches and soup for lunch, then went for a swim before getting back to our exploring. Glorious.
Okay. So let me tell you about these guidestones. A few decades ago a group of people, led by a Mr. Christian, decided to build a sort of Stonehenge in the middle of nowhere, with a message in about ten different languages. The idea is that, after mankind has pretty much killed itself off, a group of survivors will be wandering through Georgia and will stumble upon these rocks that tell them how to rebuild their society. We'll try to put pictures up soon, but for now I'll just say that it was strange. Maybe surreal. And oddly inspiring. More on that another time.
This is getting entirely too long and I don't want to overwhelm you. Part two after breakfast.
It's beautiful here, though. The weather is somewhere around perfect, the new friends are entertaining, and the next leg of the trip is about to begin. This is the first chance I've had to stop and write about where we've been. So here we go...let's start from the beginning.
And the beginning comes from last weekend in Bradenton. Caroline and Grahm threw a going away party on Saturday in their new house, with great friends and delicious food and all sorts of goodness. The next day the family all went over to my mom's house to see us off, including Kathryn just back from Jacksonville and Ryan and Leah with baby Wyatt. In those two days I enjoyed and appreciated my family more than I know how to say here. And I can't think of a better way to start the trip.
So we left Sunday afternoon in time to join a bunch of Jacksonville friends for dinner and conversation and, of course, some riveting telephone pictionary. Thank you again to everyone who was there and especially to the girls who opened their house for us.
We visited with friends in Jacksonville until 3 in the morning, when we left for Macon. Dawn on the backroads in southern Georgia was absolutely beautiful, offering our first experience with below-Florida temperatures. We had breakfast and showers in Macon, then continued on to Atlanta where we visited with some of Britton's family and our friends Mathias and Amanda. Atlanta was vaguely stressful, and I was ready to move on, but it was wonderful to spend time with our friends and their growing baby boy.
Tuesday morning we left Atlanta in search of the Georgia Guidestones, which Britton had read about in a magazine. More on those in a minute, but first there's a lake. We were trying to find those guidestones--some might say we were lost, but I prefer to say exploring--when we stumbled on a forested park at the side of a lake and we absolutely had to stop. We used Grahm and Care's camp stove to make sandwiches and soup for lunch, then went for a swim before getting back to our exploring. Glorious.
Okay. So let me tell you about these guidestones. A few decades ago a group of people, led by a Mr. Christian, decided to build a sort of Stonehenge in the middle of nowhere, with a message in about ten different languages. The idea is that, after mankind has pretty much killed itself off, a group of survivors will be wandering through Georgia and will stumble upon these rocks that tell them how to rebuild their society. We'll try to put pictures up soon, but for now I'll just say that it was strange. Maybe surreal. And oddly inspiring. More on that another time.
This is getting entirely too long and I don't want to overwhelm you. Part two after breakfast.
Sunday, July 26, 2009
A Week Away
This is a familiar ritual. I decide it's time to get some sleep, so I turn off the lights and lay in bed for about an hour. Then, after rolling around and re-situating pillows and trying to shut up my mind, I find myself here, typing about the thoughts that are keeping me awake.
Tonight those thoughts are about exploring. This is undoubtedly because we leave for California in one week, but I wasn't thinking about roadtrips or LA. I was thinking about ships and New Worlds and the ocean blue in 1492. I was thinking about what it would feel like to step onto a foreign shore, aware of the possibility that no one had ever stepped there before. In one of those recent costume dramas about European queens with big dresses, I forget which one, there's a thoroughly compelling scene in which a famous explorer comes back from the New World and describes to the queen what it was like to approach an uncharted continent and explore it. I watched that wanting so badly to be that explorer...minus all the exploitation and murder and thievery and such that would follow. It would be a rush, doing something that no one from your land had ever done before. Something new.
I have this persistent fear that I will wake up in forty years and realize that my life has been completely ordinary. Maybe that's part of what is driving me out West. More than that, though, more than fear, I think I'm compelled by hope...hope that I will learn and grow and find something new and be inspired and inspire and share. And maybe a little curiosity. Top it off with some general restlessness, and we've got a move to California.
So we leave next Sunday. Our trip will take us to familiar places in Florida and Georgia, then unfamiliar places around the country, with bikes in D.C., sailboats and lobsters in Maine, potential new friends in Michigan, a farm in Winnipeg, camping in Montana, coffee in Seattle, hiking in Oregon, and eventually, sometime in September, Los Angeles. I'm not yet sure what's waiting at the end of the trip, but I'm thrilled about the people we'll meet and the new things we'll see on the way.
I've been ignoring this space intentionally for the past few weeks. I was using the time to catch up with family and old friends, to reflect on the last four years in Jacksonville, and to dream about the next stage in LA. Somehow I feel like a blog might have taken away from all of that. But I'm excited about using this to share our trip with you, to whatever extent that is possible. And maybe I'll get back in the habit of writing up the occasional random thought or story to put on here as well.
That being said, I think I'll try to sleep again. Goodnight.
Tonight those thoughts are about exploring. This is undoubtedly because we leave for California in one week, but I wasn't thinking about roadtrips or LA. I was thinking about ships and New Worlds and the ocean blue in 1492. I was thinking about what it would feel like to step onto a foreign shore, aware of the possibility that no one had ever stepped there before. In one of those recent costume dramas about European queens with big dresses, I forget which one, there's a thoroughly compelling scene in which a famous explorer comes back from the New World and describes to the queen what it was like to approach an uncharted continent and explore it. I watched that wanting so badly to be that explorer...minus all the exploitation and murder and thievery and such that would follow. It would be a rush, doing something that no one from your land had ever done before. Something new.
I have this persistent fear that I will wake up in forty years and realize that my life has been completely ordinary. Maybe that's part of what is driving me out West. More than that, though, more than fear, I think I'm compelled by hope...hope that I will learn and grow and find something new and be inspired and inspire and share. And maybe a little curiosity. Top it off with some general restlessness, and we've got a move to California.
So we leave next Sunday. Our trip will take us to familiar places in Florida and Georgia, then unfamiliar places around the country, with bikes in D.C., sailboats and lobsters in Maine, potential new friends in Michigan, a farm in Winnipeg, camping in Montana, coffee in Seattle, hiking in Oregon, and eventually, sometime in September, Los Angeles. I'm not yet sure what's waiting at the end of the trip, but I'm thrilled about the people we'll meet and the new things we'll see on the way.
I've been ignoring this space intentionally for the past few weeks. I was using the time to catch up with family and old friends, to reflect on the last four years in Jacksonville, and to dream about the next stage in LA. Somehow I feel like a blog might have taken away from all of that. But I'm excited about using this to share our trip with you, to whatever extent that is possible. And maybe I'll get back in the habit of writing up the occasional random thought or story to put on here as well.
That being said, I think I'll try to sleep again. Goodnight.
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