Best Day Ever

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I believe in everyday fun, but hard work and purpose are at the heart of who I am. So when I tried to think about which, of all the great days from this summer, was the very greatest, one day kept coming back to me.

Three Rivers, Oregon. I woke up in the woods in a ’56 canned ham trailer. The dog was wedged in between our sleeping bags and the sunlight was everywhere. We ate thick bread with tomatoes, avocado and olive spread and drank our coffee black from the percolator, as we do. A dog walk to the Deschutes River revealed ghostly flyfisherman standing in quiet pools. The smell was dry dirt and pine sap. It was a very summer-in-the-mountains smell that I know from my wildchildhood in the Colorado high country.

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After the walk, we went to work on the property digging fence posts until the early afternoon. This involved the hauling of lumber, the gathering of water, the measuring, the digging of holes and the mixing of Quikcrete. One by one, we set the posts, and as the fence got longer, the pile of lumber got shorter. It was such a satisfying task out there in the hard, dry heat and made me feel so positively tired and good, the way sitting at my desk type type typing never does—although I love that too in a different way.

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After working, we went back to the river and swam for hours. The cold water and warm sun felt so great, even now I can feel that exhilaration of opposites. The local country folk floated by on large constellations of innertubes and cheers-ed their beers at us. It was the very definition of a summer day, and I’m gonna stick it in my cap of fine pure moments from summer and beyond. It’ll be there whenever I need it, forever, I reckon.

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On another note, because—hey, this world is crazy (and how lucky am I to have had even one lovely summer day?)—I thought it was worth saying explicitly, like, out loud:

I do stand for love. I do stand against hate. I do stand against anyone who espouses supremacy over another human being. My grandparents fought the Nazis. My great grands emigrated from Poland to get away from the Nazis. In my work, in my family, and in my life, I’m intolerant of intolerance, and moving away from fear and paranoia is my default state. Thanks for reading. Thanks for being a member of the human race!

3 Things

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106 Degrees: Last Thursday, the afternoon cranked up to 106 degrees. Due to that—and the wildfire smoke, the day took on a dreamy quality. Ungodly heat, plus red smokey skies and a white-hot sun hanging in the hazy air. After work, we all cruised the Columbia in Josh’s boat. It was cooler out on the water and felt very far away from Portland. The Portland Riviera, maybe? We swam and sunned as the sun dipped, turning the sky all sorts of florescents as it went.

Green sauce at ChickPeaDX: For your falafel—a verdant cilantro elixir with the zing of life. You see, on the sticky eve of day like one million of the disgusting heat, you need zing.

Pup days of summer: Watched over Bhalu the puppy for a day. He brought happiness (and pee!) into the house. It was great. I forced him into my lap where he squirmed and licked everything. He was a little monster. The wild fuzz on his ears looked like metal-band hair, which reminded me of Lefty (RIP) and my eyes got all misty.

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Canada Mega Post

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I’m a healthier, happier person after spending 5 days in interior B.C.—everyday another exploration in the forest, and everyday another constitutional swim in cold, clear water. Those lakes were so clear that my shadow spooked me more than once, way down where it was on the bottom of the lake. Overhead, the sky was very blue, except where it wasn’t because of billowing plumes of smoke. Wildfires are real, and they’re a way of life in Canada.

Up in Canada, where we basked and wandered, eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches at will. The only hurry was which recreational activity to do next. I’d pester Mark to rush so we could go outside. Because that’s just what you do up there.

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Piney did dog things like play with the Canadian dogs and splash-and-bite the Canadian lakes. In Nelson, he met Pillow, Bree and Kale—a husky, Great Pyrenees and Australian shepherd respectively. In Trout Lake, he ran off into town with Al’s Siberian Husky, Rider, and got a taste of that wild freedom afforded to the country pup. He liked what he tasted … too much. In Revelstoke, he ripped around a beatific farm with Qimmiq, a low-riding Aussie with a whistle-pig squeal. Although Piney will have many more adventures and live happily every after, he still just wishes we left him in Canada.

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Meanwhile, at Kootaney Lake. 

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All the hips in Nelson, B.C. 

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Had lovely hangs with my ol friend Mark Fawcett and his new pup Kale Chip on their private beach. Life is good in Nelson.

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My pal Al Clarke built this baby cabin with his 2 hands. I know him from 20 years ago, back when we were both traveling the world as itinerant snowboarders. He’s a legend and quintessential mountain man. How lucky that we get to hang together again all these years later!

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Typical Trout Lake views.

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Backyard secrets of the North country. 

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Stu’s fabulous farm, where I foraged a handful of black raspberries and plucked 3 delicious pea pods off their vine.

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Revelstoke National Park was stupid beautiful. There was a grizz wandering the area, but we didn’t see him. Only us up there with the wind and wildflowers. 

Summer Assessment

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Hi from the dog days of summer, which spin around with “drought, sudden thunderstorms, lethargy, fever, mad dogs, and bad luck.” According to ancient tomes, they do anyway.

Sure, the Dog Star has risen and the solar eclipse approaches, but this was a regular old weekend, cosmically speaking. I didn’t do anything special, and that was special. Because you should be allowed to relax in the summer.

Garden wise, the very first tomatoes are ripe on the vine, but I had to throw out the brussel sprouts. They were full of aphids—I’ve been warring with bugs for weeks now. They are very small, but they won.

Puppy, wise, Piney swam for the first time. A momentous milestone in the development of a tiny canine brain. Importantly, he did not swim to fetch a ball or stick or save a drowning human. There was no goal to the wild paddling—just fun. He splashed around in circles and bit the water and I laughed with delight because … because what’s better than fun?

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Favorites 7.18.17

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Driving at sunset. To be out moving through the landscaping at at time of night when you might otherwise be bound—couch-bound, restaurant-bound, bar-bound et cetera. Here, amidst the softy, glowy light, the music sounds better, and hope is renewed.

THIS episode of Snap Judgement. Two first-person tales that I’m still thinking about. Life and death. Star-shaped acid tabs. Ghosts, parachutes and marshmallow skies. Let ’em rip and let me know what ya think.

Tapenade. Bagels. Bowtie pasta. Put it on anything. Have I told you about my love of olives and other briny fruits of the warm, sun-washed lands?

Big West Linn with buds. If you live and skate in Portland, then you know that West Linn park was returned to its almost former glory with some patching and fresh coping. I hadn’t been out there since back in the day, which is to say back when we all skated there a lot because it was new and legendary and there were so few other places, besides. These days, I keep it to skating “small stuff.” However, we went to West Linn on Sunday and I had an amazing time. There on old familiar ground, the memories the and muscle memory returned. I took it easy. Cruised. Pumped walls and peered up at the coping. Thanks world. Thanks skateboarding. You’re just what I need sometimes.

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Homesteading By The Numbers

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.5 acres of forest.

2 trips to home depot.

2 95-degree days.

21 fence posts.

18 bags of Quikrete.

4 5-gallon buckets of river water.

1 BLT and a beer with Annie.

4 mosquito bites.

1 full moon.

2 daybreak slumbers destroyed by the neighbor’s defiant rooster.

3 dunks in the Deschutes River.

1 chocolate coconut-icecream milkshake at a wooden table in the shade.

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Vacay Vibes

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This is what we’ve been waiting for. We were here all winter. The darkness and ice kept coming back. It was hard work. And now the sun and the heat and the motherfucking vacation days are here.

The trick to summer is finding the perfect balance of lazy days and crazy days. For 4th of July weekend, we split it half and half, which is a very nice and very exact interpretation of “balance.” Two days were spent sleeping in, skating, and watering the vegetable garden, with an emphasis on BBQs and cold beer. Two days were spent with our belongings on our back, walking up the side of an active volcano (google it—she’s supposed to blow sometime this century!).

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Here, you’ll find a lot of pictures of the hiking and tent camping we did. We put sunscreen on whatever we could and just walked and walked. The trail took us through a landscape that was equal parts Legend and The Sound Of Music. Wildflowers and secret babbling brooks shadowed by angular snowcapped peaks. A legendary landscape fit for fräuleins, fairies and unicorns.

With tired legs and campfire smoke in our clothes, we drove back into town on the afternoon of the Fourth. Just in time to do nothing. Just in time feel good. Just in time to relax in the backyard while the wind chime chimed. Just in time to ride lazy bikes to Jesse’s house and watch people skate a mini ramp and then ride lazily home to bed.

Fireworks? I care not.

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Go Skate Season

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Summer resolution: prioritize skateboarding. The less I do it, the less I feel like doing it. This is true of anything you love that takes effort but ultimately gives you a higher purpose. When I think about life, and especially life in the summertime, some of my best memories are of skating, sweating it out in the heat with my buds. Of course, these memories are all wrapped up in everything that makes skateboarding great. Hanging with friends and laughing. Being outside under the big, bright sky—sun showering down, a glimpse of cottonwood fluff on the breeze. Doing something active and fun, something that’s hard and you have to practice at, something that makes you fall down and get back up again in a way that lets you realize your own freedom and power.

Anyway, I leave you with some pics from the past week. Golden hour at the mini ramp. Burgers and buds at Canby. Go Skate Day hill bombs through the moments of daylight. This is the stuff that makes summer (and life) great.

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Crystal Crane Gang

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Welcome to another installment of “rainy Northwest weekend.” This time around, me and Katie and Danielle and Chelsea drove way out east to a magical mineral pool. With Portland’s frenzied state, I don’t typically like to call out my magical respites—’cause they’re a secret. But just this once, because I love you—the hot springs goes by the mystical name of Crystal Crane. If you have a spare 11 hours in which to do this drive roundtrip, then I salute you.

Anyway, here, out on the high desert with the mountains off in the distance, there was nothing to do but soak. And so we did. The pool was plenty big to swim around, and warm enough to turn your cheeks a sort of deep magenta after about 20 minutes. When an evening rainstorm blew through and pelted our skin with icy droplets, it felt good. Later, inside the cabin drinking wine from a can, I felt almost supernaturally relaxed. If only I could dip in a steamy mineral pool every night before bed.

The next morning, we got up early and, amidst the racket of golden-breasted birds, soaked again. The sun was rising, the steam was rising—it was a sweet, liminal moment at the beginning of summer.

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Sniffing sagebrush on the wind.

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Equal parts dogs and people. My kinda slumber party.

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Morning medicine.

3 Things

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A new home: Our search for a camper-trailer elicited this 1957 bauble. It’s not huge/gaudy like RVs can be. It’s small, light, and practical. It is, in fact, just right. There’s a shower and a marine-grade RV toilet, along with a couch that converts to a bed. And all the inside is finished with warm, beautiful wood (not a piece of formica or barf-print fabric in sight!). I can’t wait to recline in the nighttime cool beneath the moon shadow of ponderosa pines and peep out the firmament of summer meteor showers.

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Down the street: Two days after something awful happened down the street from my house, I walked by. The air was blue and heavy—still carrying all the sadness for what can’t be fixed. And yet. And yet! Look at all the love.

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Family visit: My family came and filled up my house for a week. Mornings, we ate peanut-butter toast and yelled at the dogs to quiet down. Afternoons, we sat out back drinking cold wine and laughing. I tossed the frisbee with nephew Pat while my puppy leapt back and forth ’tween us and never, ever caught on to the keep-away game. We ate so much good food, all fresh and full of living vegetables. Everyone was in good spirits and good health. On that note, how lucky am I?! I know it, and I whisper it inside every quiet moment.