Homesteading By The Numbers
.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.
Vacay Vibes
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!).
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.
Crystal Crane Gang
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.
Sniffing sagebrush on the wind.
Equal parts dogs and people. My kinda slumber party.
Morning medicine.
3 Things
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.
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.
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.
(Un)Official Summer
Summer is no luxury. It's just the way things are, for a certain number of days per year. Still, it's full of a lot of things that I like very much. Like, in zero particular order, these real-life happenings from my holiday weekend:
"Swimming" being a legitimate possibility on the day's agenda.
Hard physical labor in the heat, followed by a super-cold milk shake.
BBQs with mini ramps. All the friends hanging out, all night, every night.
Something new blooming in the garden every day.
Wildfire smoke setting the evening skies ablaze.
A cool shower right before bed.
Backyard campfires, followed the smell of woodsmoke on your hoodie for days.
