Book Club

The Green Witch

This month we got in touch with our inner witchy side. Our Alpine Trails Book Club book selection was The Green Witch: Your Complete Guide to the Natural Magic of Herbs, Flowers, Essential Oils, and More and we paired it with a fall hike to the spooky historic Old Robe Canyon where an old railroad track lay in ruins. It was a perfectly cool and sunny day to explore and get in touch with nature.

The trail begins with a quick jaunt down many switchbacks to the base of the canyon. Huge bigleaf maples towered above our heads with just a few bright yellow leaves clinging to life. Branches, crooked and spiky and blanketed in moss, hovered above like the skeletal fingers of green giants. It was one of the first frosty days of the year and the shed leaves were outlined in a delicate ice, frozen in time. Horsetail shot above our heads in what was decidedly the most dense horestail forest we’ve all seen, and we imagined plucking them to use as broomsticks.

My husband and Evie (in her brand spanking new pink boots) ran ahead to keep warm as I caught up with my lovely coven of three teachers. They exchanged their woes of teaching through Zoom (I don’t know how they are doing it!), and how their kids are handling an on-going global pandemic along with the normal grade school challenges. I know these kids are better off for having these amazing and supportive teachers, but I may be a little biased in that these ladies are some of my very favorite people.

I gushed to them about my newest endeavor – going back to school to study landscape design. One of the classes I’m taking is evergreen plant identification and I’m learning the Latin names of over 100 plants. It makes me feel SO smart and fancy. Many of the plants I’m studying are native plants that we see on the trail. I point and yell them out like I’m casting a spell: Vaccinium ovatum! Polystichum munitum!

But, as we learned this month in our primer to green witchery, being a green witch is not about casting spells. It is all about making an intentional and singular connection with nature. It is not a religion, but rather a way of noticing and gathering energy from the world around us. The author encourages aspiring green witches to attune themselves to nature through grounding, working with the seasonal cycles, and finding the magic that already exists all around us.

Magic implies something out of the ordinary. But to a green witch the mundane is magical. When she senses, responds to, and gently nudges the flows of natural energy around her, nothing could be more natural. She’s performing natural magic. Nature itself is magical. The everyday is sacred to the green witch.”

Arin Murphy-Hiscock, The Green Witch

Our short walk brought us to the most interesting part of the trail. Here the canyon and river narrowed and the roar had us raising our voices to hear each other. We walked along man-made walls and train beds carved from the stone that felt like ancient ruins. Huge rusted nails rose from wood ties that have been there for over 120 years. The people who built a railroad here where looking to capitalize on the nearby mines of Monte Cristo and chose a location that was doomed to fail. To us it seemed obvious that this tight canyon was a terrible place to build a railroad, but perhaps we are much more in tune with nature than the white men of yore.

Nevertheless, we enjoyed our trip into the past. We found some nice boulders next to a waterfall to gather on for a snack and chat about the book. We all agreed that the book had some great practical ideas for things to keep ourselves sane during the winter months ahead. I shared how I had been in a rut lately and the book inspired me to clean my whole house all at once and get out my diffuser with some cedar essential oil. Just performing something that I usually unwillingly do anyway, but doing it in an intentional and ritualistic way made all the difference in my mood. I will from now on reframe “cleaning” as a “cleansing ritual.”

Meditation is encouraged in the book along with acknowledging and celebrating the seasons. The author guides us with a lovely fall meditation:

Once you have reached a place of comfort deep inside the earth, breathe that energy in, and feel it fill your body.

Feel the soil’s energy at this time of the autumnal equinox. Feel the energy of completion and contentment that vibrates the earth. Reach out and sense the fullness, the feeling of achievement as it flows through roots and stems. Explore the gentle, slower movement of energy throughout the soil and the roots of plants as the cycle of producing fruit and seed comes to an end on the surface of the earth.

Sense the feelings of contentment, of life, of pleasure and satisfaction, of appreciation and offering that pulse through the land.

Remain cradled by the energy of the soil as long as you like, enjoying the feeling of plenty and serenity around you.“

Arin Murphy-Hiscock, The Green Witch

It was too cold to linger for too long, but before we headed back I had the group take a few minutes to ourselves. I know for me, it seems like I hardly ever give myself permission to take time to just be. I used the time to sit, close my eyes, and listen to the water rushing by while telling my brain it was okay to just relax. It was a little effective and felt nice to pause for a moment in my busy life.

As we returned to the trailhead, I marveled in how well Evie did on the hike. She walked the whole way by herself and we didn’t have to bribe her too much. The group chatted about their own kids and how we were going to celebrate the upcoming holidays and how everything will be different this year. It is a crazy and stressful time we are living in, and for me personally, knowing that I have these amazingly strong and compassionate friends along with some tools in my toolbox in celebrating my inner green witch for the coming months helps to put my mind at ease.

The Green Witch

by Arin Murphy-Hiscock

The green witch “is a naturalist, an herbalist, a wise woman, and a healer. She embraces the the power of nature; she draws energy from the earth and the universe; she relies on natural objects… she calls on nature for guidance; and she respects every living being, no matter how small.” YASSS! I literally gasped when I saw this book. It is basically a guide book to being an outdoor woman who wants to connect with nature on a deeper level. You’ll learn how to ground yourself, perform seasonal rituals, tap into the energy of flowers, use crystals, start a witch garden, and craft, cook, and heal with your new witchy finds.

Non-fiction // Published: 2017 // My Rating: 4 out of 5 stars

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Book Ends

Book Club Archive

*This post contains affiliate links. However, I always encourage finding books at your local library or favorite indie book store.

Book Club

Frankenstein

Halloween is my absolute favorite time of year. This year I wanted to share what I consider one of the best books of all time with the group, Frankenstein. I ambitiously chose an eight mile round trip hike to the ghost town of Monte Cristo before I knew that I would need to bring my 3 year-old daugther, Evie, along. I’ve hiked the trail several times before, but many trails I’ve hiked over the years are starting to converge in my brain. I could have sworn that the trail was a super flat and wide old road the whole way and that the big river crossing was at the end of the trail. I brought Evie’s stroller knowing that pushing her would be the only way I could move her eight miles and return before dark.

I met our group at the trailhead, stressed about the hike. Evie charmed them all with her “ballerina witch” costume as I preemptively and profusely apologized for bringing her and the stroller. If the others were worried they didn’t show it. They told me not to worry and Mala sweetly insisted on pushing the stroller. As usual, it soon became clear that my recall of the trail was off.

The trail was briefly flat like I remembered until it narrowed and climbed up away from the crumbling river bank. The trail follows the old road to Monte Cristo, a boom town that thrived during the gold rush of the late 1800’s and early 1900’s. It boasted a population of 2,000 people at its peak with saloons, mercantiles, a post office and a barber shop along its main street. Later it became a tourist destination with a lodge that attracted many visitors until it burned down in 1983 and the town fell into abandon.

A train ran from Monte Cristo to Everett in its boom times and the corridor between the two was notorious for damage caused by flooding. The railway evolved into a road and then later into a trail as the Stillaguamish carved its way through the hillsides. It was not surprising to see that the trail had been redirected further up the bank. I found a picture I took of the trail in 2008 with rusty railroad tracks suspended midair over an eroded bank. Either that section is gone or the trail is now routed above it.

Needless to say, getting my toddler through the rugged terrain and across the river (the river crossing was much earlier on the trail than I remembered) was a challenge. My amazing book club friends (including Rebecca’s dad and daughter) didn’t even bat an eye as they got into formation and made an assembly line across the strands of the braided river and creeks. We passed the stroller and then my kiddo across and then helped each other to the opposite bank.

The river level was quite low, but I’m positive a few of them had soaked feet and never complained about it. We took a break on the rocky sandbar mid-braid and had a snack while we took in the first views of the stunning mountain scenery topped with a layer of fresh fall powder. I was happy to call our trip here and just play and chat in this gorgeous spot, but the rest of the group was determined to see the ghost town. I told them it would be a long hike with Evie but they were all up for it. We crossed over an existing bridge on the far fork of the river and continued on.

Photo: Sulina Rodriguez

I soon abandoned the stroller in the trees and let Evie walk the uneven terrain with her good hiking pal, Sulina. I carried her a bit and Rebecca carried her on her shoulders for a long time. Sulina asked to use my camera and I obliged, happy to see her in her element. After what felt like a very long journey, we finally approached the old wooden ‘Monte Cristo’ sign leading us to the town site.

We then split up to take in the sights. There are still several structures standing and an old rusty train turntable on wheels that still works. High peaks loom over it all, dusted in a fresh blanket of snow. I chose this hike because I couldn’t think of a better place for Frankenstein’s monster to hide out if he so happened to be in the Cascades rather than the Alps.

  • Photo: Sulina Rodriguez

Modern portrayals of Frankenstein’s monster (Victor Frankenstein is actually the name of the scientist who creates him) are much different than in the book. Yes, he is still a monster in the book and Victor is terrified of him, but he is intelligent and curious as well. After invoking fear into all of those who laid eyes upon him, he retreats to a structure in the woods next to a cottage. He doesn’t understand why others are so scared of him based on his appearance alone, but when he sees himself in a pool of water he understands their disgust.

He silently takes care of the family in the cottage by gathering wood for them and learns to speak, read and write while observing the family, unknown to them. When he finally reveals himself to the blind father of the family, he is hopeful he will be able to befriend them. The rest of the family returns and in horror drives the monster away. He returns to his creator and demands that he create a companion for him. When Victor refuses and there is no hope for the monster to be happy, he sets off on a rampage to make Victor’s life miserable. The monster’s behaviors are unsavory, but I have great empathy for him – he just wanted a friend.

Mary Shelley’s gothic novel is rooted in the scenic beauty of Europe and is said to be written based on her many travels. The idea for the book was famously thought up over a bet to create the best horror story during a ‘year with no summer’ with her pals at Lake Geneva (the same bet that spurred another classic, Dracula). Even the name Frankenstein is thought to come from the German castle of the same name that she traveled nearby and most likely saw looming above her.

You may be forgiven for classifying the book as science fiction or horror, but it actually reads quite like an adventure travel book. Part of the story is told in epistolary form from the perspective of a captain on an expedition to the North Pole. Another perspective is of Victor’s who chases his monster through gorgeous wilderness, bent on killing his shameful creation. The last perspective is of the monster as he toils with himself becoming the uncivilized terror that everyone expects him to be.

Dear mountains! My own beautiful lake! How do you welcome your wanderer? Your summits are clear; the sky and lake are blue and placid. Is this to prognosticate peace, or to mock at my unhappiness?“

Mary Shelley, Frankenstein (Victor Frankenstein when returning to his home, Lake Geneva)

Back in Monte Cristo, we gathered together and ate our much deserved lunches. Rebecca heated up water for us all and we enjoyed some tea and cocoa. Evie sipped her cocoa from her favorite pink fox mug. We didn’t linger as it was getting late in the day and we still had a long trip ahead of us back to the trailhead. But even in the short time I couldn’t help but be grateful for these amazing friends with me. These are friends who don’t simply expect me to be a trip organizer, but who extend grace and kindness when I need help.

I love Frankenstein so much because it is a reminder that we are all human and that every soul deserves to have love and friendship, no matter what they look like or where they are from. It is also a reminder that our actions matter. Just like the kind actions of my friends on this day filled my heart with gratitude and love, the opposite is true as well. Anger, bigotry, and racism only fuels violence and hate just as the terrified reactions to the monster made him turn into a terrifying monster. As I am writing this many months later in the depths of a worldwide pandemic and after days of unrest in America’s cities because of another unwarranted killing of a black man by police, it is more important than ever to remember this. Let’s be kind to each other.

What do you mean? What do you demand of your captain? Are you then so easily turned from your design? Did you not call this a glorious expedition? And wherefore was it glorious? Not because the way was smooth and placid as a southern sea, but because it was full of dangers and terror; because, at every new incident, your fortitude was to be called forth, and your courage exhibited; because danger and death surrounded it, and these you were to brave and overcome. For this was it a glorious, for this was it an honourable undertaking.”

Mary Shelley, Frankenstein (Captain Walton)

Frankenstein

by Mary Shelley

This classic gothic novel tells the story of Victor Frankenstein, a young scientist who creates a horrific being through unorthodox methods. The curious and intelligent monster does not understand why everyone is so terrified of him until he sees himself in a pool of water. Ashamed, he flees to the woods and hides from the world. He learns to read and write while he silently helps and protects a nearby family. When he approaches the blind father, he thinks he may have finally found a friend who is not influenced by his appearance. When the rest of the family returns in terror, however, he is again driven away. Lonely and confused, he begs his creator to make him a companion. Victor, anguished by the creation of one monster refuses to do so again. The monster then turns on his creator and banishes himself to the far reaches of the land while Victor follows him determined to kill his own creation in revenge.

Fiction (Classic) // Published: 1818 // Ashley’s Rating: 5 out of 5 stars

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Book Ends

  • Frankenstein was written by Mary Shelley when she was just 18 years old and was based on many places she had visited.
  • There is a Frankenstein Castle in Germany that Mary is known to have traveled nearby in her journeys. It is rumored that a man who was born there dabbled in alchemy and did experiments with dead bodies. There is not much to back this story up, but I do still love it.
  • Mary didn’t make up the idea of electricity sparking life on her own. She was inspired by Galvanism, a concept that was developed in the late 18th century after a scientist used an electric current to make a frog’s leg twitch.

Book Club Archive

*This post contains affiliate links. However, I always encourage finding books at your local library or favorite indie book store.

Reading List

Reading List: Little Adventurers

This list is for the littlest adventurers in your life. These are some of my daughter Evie’s very favorite board books from her first years. Some of these books were gifts from family and friends, others I bought for her before she was born. They all have worn covers and spines and each one now has a special place in my heart.

This is Sadie by Sara O’Leary & Julie Morstad // A little girl with a big imagination shares her adventures

Adventures with the Barefoot Critters by Teagan White // Wildland creatures find adventure inside and outside for every letter of the alphabet

I Love You More and More by Nicky Benson & Jonny Lambert // Bear and cub explore and share how much love they have

Bunny Roo, I Love You by Melissa Marr & Teagan White // Mama soothes baby and makes her feel at home

Jamberry by Bruce Degen // A rhyming bear and his friend pick berries and have an extravaganza

All Aboard! National Parks by Haily & Kevin Meyers // Travel the US coast to coast visiting National Parks and learning what wildlife lives there

We’re Going on a Bear Hunt by Michael Rosen & Helen Oxenbury // A family romps through the mud, grass, forest, snow storm and more to find a bear

*This post contains affiliate links. However, I always encourage finding books at your local library or favorite indie book store.

Outdoor Life

Boulder River

“I am here today, mommy.” Uh huh, I say, distracted by making breakfast and packing up for our hike. “I am here today.” Yep, that’s right, I affirm while throwing our big and little backpacks into the back seat and buckling my not so little daughter up in her car seat. I speed off to the highway to get us to the trailhead for what would inevitably be a very slow toddler-paced hike.

Evie’s been really into waterfalls since I took her to Twin Falls a few months before. She walked by herself on that one, so I was sure we could go even farther on the Boulder River trail. I had high hopes as we pulled into the parking lot and got on the trail. We found her a good walking stick and she kept a good pace for all of five minutes.

She yelled “snail!” and pointed to a clump of green off the trail. She leaned over and stuck her nose down low into the foliage and sure enough, there was a big old slug. I told her it was actually called a slug and that we should see how many we can find on the trail.

I was excited to show her some of my favorite plants on the trail. Goat’s beard exploding in white like fourth of July fireworks, tiny little Pacific starflower, and my favorite of all, the maidenhair fern. “Can I touch it?” she asks and I always nod and say yes you may. Be gentle, please.

She picks up leaves and counts them out: one for her, one for mommy, and one for daddy. “Here you go, mommy.” She gives me leaves, sticks, pine cones, even a little yellow flower to put in my ear. When she twirls a rogue sword fern frond in her fingers, she yells, “oh, polka dots!” We put her treasures into her backpack until she stopped and asked for the moss out of her pack. I handed it to her and she smiled. “I want to touch it.” She just wanted to hold it.

She wants to sit on EVERY rock. To find the comfiest one, I suppose. Why else? Meanwhile, she’s still counting the slugs and I’m amazed at her ability to find them hiding in the leaves. We are up to six when she sits down in the middle of the trail. “I want a snack,” she says.

I find us a log to sit on and get out our lunch. We’ve been on the trail for hours and I assess how far I think we’ve gone. A mile, maybe a mile and a half. She is so content as she sits and eats her lunch, I can’t help but smile. This is it. This is toddler hiking. I am here today, I think. This is where we are right now.

After our lunch is eaten, I ask Evie if she wants to turn around. I’ve resigned myself to toddler pace and have actually been really enjoying it. But I knew the joy of the trail would only last so long and I was willing to turn back before our delightful hike turned not so delightful. But Evie was determined to see a waterfall. She got upset at the thought of turning around and insisted we keep going.

It was only another half mile or so, but that could take hours at toddler pace. So I picked her up and carried her a little ways. We found a hollowed out tree and took turns going inside. It completely blocked the sound of the river and was incredibly quiet. “It’s so dark in here,” she says and comes out, and then immediately says, “lets do it again!” I don’t think I’ve ever been inside a tree like that before.

We get to the waterfall and Evie is not really all that impressed. This day was all about the journey, not so much about the destination. I was okay with it. We made slightly better time on the way down the trail. While Evie investigated something on the side of the trail, I looked up into the trees. The sun lit up the trees in a warm glow. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. A breeze rustled my hair and my skin felt tingly. Hi, dad.

I am here today. This is where I am.

Outdoor Life

Morels & Gold Creek Pond

Early in the summer, Evie, my husband and I got to spend the weekend with my pals Laura and Ingunn and their families too. We met at Laura’s cabin near Snoqualmie Pass and huddled around a map that felt very much like a treasure map. We were looking for treasure of the fungi variety. We picked a spot, made a plan, geared up and headed out.

Evie was so excited to hang out with her mushroom-hunting friends for her first foray. They started out great- identifying mushrooms, pointing to them and yelling. It was effective in getting our attention, but the identification skills were a bit lacking, at least for Evie. None of the mushrooms she found were edible and a few pine cones even found there way in there.

We split up and worked our way through the woods. We found areas of disturbance that seemed ripe for morels, but we didn’t have any luck. Finally, as we all met back on the forest road, I spotted one right next to the road on an old leaf pile. Then we found another. It seemed that the best place to look was not deep in the woods, but rather in the unlikeliest spot. We scrounged up a handful along the way. Not enough for a feast, but perhaps enough for a fancy snack.

On the way back down the mountain we stopped to frolic in lupine and balsamroot and to try our luck at more morel spotting. We didn’t add to our stash but we did find an animal skull. We all gathered around it for inspection. Our best guess was that it was a fox skull. We left it on top of a tree stump like a sort of talisman and hoped for better luck next time.

Back at the cabin we settled in around the campfire for s’mores and stick bread. I set up our gatherings to take some photos and I found, of all things, a perfect little morel under the wooden bench. Of course this spurred a thorough search of the area for more, but there was only one.

My husband couldn’t stay the night, and the next day the group headed out farther for another foray (I later learned that they found lots more morels). I decided to head home with Evie and Nali instead and on the way stopped for a walk around Gold Creek Pond. I had high hopes that Evie could even walk the whole one mile on her own.

To my utter delight, she did! I’ll admit that I shamelessly bribed her with a “special treat” if she walked the whole way. It totally worked. On the way home we stopped for a strawberry milkshake to share. It was the first trail she hiked all on her own, her first strawberry shake, and her first mushroom foray. A special weekend for sure!

The Way Through the Woods by Long Litt Woon

Long Litt Woon moved to Norway from her home in Malaysia at age 18 for school. There she met her Norwegian husband and settled down. But when her husband dies suddenly in an accident, she looks for something to fill the newly opened gap in her life. She devotes herself to mushrooms by learning everything she can about them. She joined mushroom societies and became an expert in edible mushroom hunting. There is a huge culture of mushroom hunting in Norway and I learned so much about mushrooms from this book. Ultimately, Long seeks a distraction from her loss but she ends up gaining a supportive community along the way.

Outdoor Life

Mother’s Day Hike

For Mother’s Day this year, all I wanted was to go for a hike with Evie and my husband. I got a bonus in that my husband made me a chai latte and French toast (my favorites) for breakfast. Evie’s Uncle JoJo and Aunt KK were in town too and joined us as well. My husband got out Evie’s backpack and she got right in even though it was sitting on the floor. We were worried she wouldn’t want to get in it later if she spent too much time in there now.

We headed to Heybrook Ridge, a recently built trail that we haven’t been on yet. As we drove, a train paralleled us on highway 2. Evie got super excited and when the train went out of sight behind the trees, she would say, “where’s the train? Where’s the train?” She squealed with joy when it came back into view. We even watched it go over a bridge from the trailhead.

Evie wanted me to carry her on my back, but my husband told her that I get a break today and he would carry her. So sweet. She obliged and we headed into the mossy trees. The forest floor was carpeted in the green of starry Solomon seal, sword fern, bunchberry, and bleeding heart. The trail climbed with switchbacks up and up.

It didn’t take us long to get to the ridge. Clouds obscured the views of Mount Index across the valley, but while we were snacking they started to roll away. The clouds disappeared faster than Evie smothered peanut butter and jelly all over her face. Before we knew it, there was not a cloud in sight.

We lingered for a while, enjoying the company of others hiking with their families, basking in the sun, and marveling at Bridal Veil falls from afar. From here you wouldn’t guess that the falls gently cascade jagged rock that are so gentle that you can walk right up to it. It’s been years since I’ve been to the falls and Lake Serene. Maybe I’ll see if Evie is up for more stairs this summer.

On the way down Evie found a walking stick (still our wonderful magical hiking device) and walked almost all the way down to the trailhead. She is entirely fearless. We had to stop her several times and make her hold our hands on the steep terrain or she would have just kept on going, leaving us in the dust. I both love and hate this about her. She is fiercely independent, brave, and a little sassy. She scares the crap out of me sometimes, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. I’m a lucky mama.

Outdoor Life

Back to My Roots

As we walked my eyes darted from the trees to the leaves, moss, and rocks. I wanted to take it all in, study every detail. My dad knew everything about these woods. He had an eye for detail and he hiked this trail for decades. There was once a time when I would be looking for the differences between the Pennsylvania oak forests of my childhood and the coniferous forests of the Pacific Northwest Cascades, my adult home. But on this short hike I was desperate to find similarities. The way the granite sparkled on the trail, how the green moss gathered in clumps that were irresistible to touch, how mushrooms and lichen cling to the bark of the trees.

It had been five days since my dad passed away. Five days since we left the hospital in the wee hours of the morning under an almost full moon and a layer of frost. Five days since he squeezed my hand and gave me his bright and comforting smile. Five days since my sisters and I sang to him the last words he would hear in this world. Five days since the air was turned off, the mask removed, and peace enveloped him.

We spent five days with him before that day. At first he seemed well and we talked late into the night. We combed his hair and rubbed his feet and made sure he was comfortable. We watched Jeopardy, something we did together daily when I was a kid, and golf and a Phillies game, his favorites. We snuck sweets in for him and made him tell us all of his favorite things. Evie sat on his bed and blew him kisses. His room filled up with family daily. He greeted them all with his bright smile and cracked jokes. At one point we had the whole waiting room filled with family, laughter, and kids running around. We all sat around him and told our favorite stories and laughed and cried. My sisters and I told him that he was an amazing dad and we were so lucky to have him raise us all on his own. I made him promise he would always be with me and I told him I would take him everywhere, on every adventure and every mountain top.

Back on the trail, my Uncle Jack led the way as Evie yelled, “follow Uncle Jack!” We stopped at a small clearing near a large pine tree and he pointed down into the woods. That’s where your dad’s tree stand was, he told us. Everyone continued on walking and I lingered for a little bit. I was secretly hoping for a sign that he was there, like a visit from an animal or a sudden breeze. But there was nothing, no sign, just a comforting silence.

My dad often wrote poems for us and about spending time in the woods. As the family gathered in a circle to spread his ashes on his favorite mountain, my sisters and I read some of his poems aloud. We all held hands and my uncles and cousins shared their hunting stories and we prayed together. We brought some of the flowers from his memorial service and the kids took some of them and stuck them in the remaining patches of snow.

A month later, on another night with an almost full moon, I sat by the window and read my dad’s hunting journal. I didn’t know about the journal and I especially didn’t know he was such a great writer. My heart swelled as I read the entire thing in one sitting that night. He started it when I was 3 years old and kept it going for thirty years through the 80’s, 90’s and early 2000’s. Every winter he and his five brothers along with his nephews would go up to the hunting cabin on his favorite mountain. He enjoyed the hunting part and spending time in the woods, but mostly he loved getting the family all together.

There is a passage that he wrote that I think captures him perfectly.

“I spent several hours in my stand without seeing anything and decided to go back to the cabin to see if the others had any luck. On my way back along the trail several chickadees were in the laurel just a few feet away from me. I stopped to watch them move about from branch to branch. My rifle was tucked in under my right arm with the barrel pointed down toward the ground. I stretched my left hand out to see if I could coax the closest one to bite on my glove. He looked closely at it and flew instead onto my rifle barrel. He sat on the end for a half minute cocking his head back and forth looking at me as if to say Hello, what are you doing here? They are one of my favorite birds.”

I miss my dad terribly, but I feel fortunate that I got to spend time with him before he passed. It gives me great comfort that he was surrounded by family and treated with dignity and respect in his last days. I am forever grateful for my amazing family who helped us during this difficult time. No matter how far away I am I will always feel that pull back home. And until I return I’ll be seeking out the glittering granite, the pillows of moss, and acorns that bring me back to my roots.

“I can safely say that I never left after time in the woods without feeling all the better for being there.”

Outdoor Life

Return to Twin Falls

There was the time before my dad got sick and the time after he got sick. My dad was in the hospital two thousand miles away while I drove Evie and myself down I-5 through downtown Seattle. The sky was clear and blue, but something felt wrong. I panicked a little. I searched the skyline for something that was missing. Did the city always look so small and brown? It seemed that everything was dull and diminished, like someone turned the saturation down and zoomed out on my world.

A few days earlier I got word that my dad was in the ICU on a breathing machine. It wasn’t the first time. Three months earlier he had collapsed from a heart attack and lack of oxygen on Christmas Eve. He was sent home with a portable oxygen tank and some medications and seemed to be doing better in the new year. My sisters and I planned a big family trip to Cape May in March. Dad said it would be too cold to go to the beach, but I didn’t care. I didn’t want to wait any longer to see him. I felt terribly guilty for not being there on Christmas and the miles between us were palpable. It felt like there was a rubber band between us, stretched as far as it could go.

So I drove on to an old favorite trail in the foothills outside of Seattle, the one I took Evie on for her first hike ever. With all that was going on with my dad, I needed to be on the trails. I was also hoping that maybe Evie could walk it herself this time. We started at the icy trailhead and Evie immediately wanted me to carry her. So much for my plans. With a two year old I am getting very accustomed to a change in plans. I shrugged it off and happily carried her up to the falls.

Once we were at the upper falls, she was ready to walk. She put on her backpack and marched right up the icy stairs. Brave girl. When I managed to get her to stop and turn around, she hesitated, perhaps realizing just how far up she was on the slick ice. I recognized this reaction. The ‘oh crap’ feeling when you realize how steep the terrain is after turning around and looking down. I scooped her up and brought her back down, steady on the ice with my yaktrax.

After that taste of danger, she wanted more. She insisted on walking down the trail, forcing me to do a half hunch while holding both of her hands as she walked, and slid, down the trail. My back wouldn’t be the same for a week. We detoured down to the lower falls viewpoint and she got down all the stairs on her own while holding onto the lower wooden railing proclaiming, “it’s my size!” As she climbed back up we counted the stairs – 104! I was a proud mama.

On the way back down the trail we stopped for a closer look at the South Fork Snoqualmie. We played Evie’s favorite game of picking up rocks and throwing them into the water. I picked up the biggest rock I could handle and underhanded it with two hands between my legs as high as I could. We giggled and I taught her the word “kerplunk!”

On the drive home I called my dad and reported the impressive number of stairs that Evie climbed on her own. I called him everyday while he was in the hospital, usually during my commute home from work. He was always upbeat while we talked and after a few days he sounded much improved. But then suddenly he started getting worse. It was beginning to look like I would have another change in plans. Instead of a family vacation at the beach, we would all be heading back home to the hospital.

Book Club

The Light Between Oceans

I’ve been wanting to visit a lighthouse with the book club for a while now, so in April we finally did it. We didn’t go to just any lighthouse, but particularly one on an island. Our book pick was The Light Between Oceans about a young couple who lives in a lighthouse on an island all to themselves. We ferried our way north to San Juan Island for a weekend of exploring, camping, and lighthouse visiting.

I brought my husband and daughter this time and Evie relished in the cold, salty wind of the Salish Sea on the deck of the ferry boat. She ran circles around the inside passenger area and made some new pint-sized friends. I was happy to greet some of the book club members and we got caught up as we soaked up the views.

Upon landing in Friday Harbor, we decided to head directly to the charming little Griffin Bay Bookstore. We could have spent all day in there browsing the books, but we tore ourselves away to visit the Farmers Market and get some grub. We packed up our food and books and headed out to English Camp for a picnic. It was a perfectly comfortable spring day and after our lunch we all unceremoniously lined up and laid down in the grass.

We lounged and chatted for a long while and then decided to head to the campground to get set up for the night. While we drove, we found an adorable alpaca farm and just had to stop. Evie loved the alpacas and we touched everything in the gift store with an “ahhh.” We met the rest of our group at the San Juan County Campground and lingered on the shoreline nearby after setting up camp. We made sweet potato tacos from the Feast by Firelight camp cookbook. They were SO GOOD. They were also super easy and this is definitely my new go-to camp recipe.

Rebecca brought her daughter who is seven years old. She shared her fuzzy slippers with Evie rendering the two girls inseparable. After dinner, we headed back down towards the shore for sunset. Evie painted watercolors with her new BFF and I brought out a special dessert surprise. It was an applesauce cake, an old favorite family recipe of mine, glazed and lit up with candles for my BFF, Laura’s, birthday. We sang to her and indulged in the cake while sipping wine and watching the gorgeous sunset.

Soon the darkness brought a chill to the air and we snuggled up with blankets around the campfire for our book chat. In the book, the lightkeeper and his wife find a washed up boat with a man and a baby inside. They discovered the man was dead, but the baby was still alive. After a recent miscarriage that was preceded by many before, the young woman decides to keep the baby as their own without telling anyone. Her husband, a law-abiding man, was deeply conflicted with the decision his wife made.

As you can imagine, there is little room for this story to end well. While the plot is heartbreaking, I really enjoyed the sense of living on a secluded island as a lightkeeper. San Juan Island is tiny, but it still holds the largest town of all the San Juans with enough to easily fill up our day with activities. It was hard to imagine being in their shoes, the only people for miles and miles.

For the first time he took in the scale of the view. Hundreds of feet above sea level, he was mesmerized by the drop to the ocean crashing against the cliffs directly below. The water sloshed like white paint, milky-thick, the foam occasionally scraped off long enough to reveal a deep blue undercoat. At the other end of the island, a row of immense boulders created a break against the surf and left the water inside it as calm as a bath. He had the impression he was hanging from the sky, not rising from the earth. Very slowly, he turned a full circle, taking in the nothingness of it all. It seemed his lungs could never be large enough to breathe in this much air, his eyes could never see this much space, nor could he hear the full extent of the rolling, roaring ocean. For the briefest moment, he had no edges.

M.L. Stedman, The Light Between Oceans

The next day we headed to Lime Kiln State Park to visit its lighthouse which dates back to 1919. A short loop trail takes you up to several old and deteriorating lime kilns from the 1920’s. This must have been a busy place back in the day. Evie picked up the green rocks and inspected them as we explored the kilns.

Evie walked all by herself most of the way with her new friend. When she tired and wanted me to hold her, fellow book club member Mala carefully chose a stick and gave it to her to use as a walking stick. Evie’s face lit up and she charged down the trail with her new stick. Mala’s wise motherly gesture was greatly appreciated. Evie even acquired a second stick that transformed her into a little hiking machine.

The trail traversed a spectacular forest with massive old growth madrona trees, the largest I’ve ever seen. The girls climbed on them and posed for pictures, happy as little clams. Soon we were at the end of the loop trail and near the lighthouse. It wasn’t open that day (tours run from mid-May to mid-September) but we poked around a bit.

We wandered along the shore and found a nice spot to share lunch. We lingered lazily and spotted a sea otter and a seal. Rebecca and I picked our way down the rocks to some tide pools with our girls. They loved bending over and getting their faces down close to the water. The longer we looked, the more life we found: anemones, urchins, hermit crabs, gooseneck mussels.

After much exploration we headed back to Friday Harbor to get our spots for the ferry boats. We met one last time for coffee (or tea), a bite, and one last little pop-in to the bookstore before making the long journey home.

The Light Between Oceans by M.L. Stedman

Book Ends

Book Club Archive

Outdoor Life

Larch March to Blue Lake

I am worse than my nearly two-year-old. She smiles right to me as she climbs up the stove and I pull her down and say no for the millionth time. She’ll make perfect eye contact and touch something she’s not supposed to touch, putting just one finger on an item and then looking to me for approval. I give her my disapproving mom look for the trillionth time. Like her, I push and push at boundaries compulsively without seeming to learn a lesson. I find the limits of myself and my daughter and then I inch up against them, just just to make sure we can’t squeeze out a tiny bit more. This is how I once again found myself alone in the middle of the trail with a screaming toddler wondering why I keep doing this to myself. And then I did something I’ve never done before.

The forecast called for blue skies. When this happens on an October weekend day, it simply must be taken advantage of. I’ve been itching to see some larch and I knew this weekend would be my best, if not last, opportunity before the fall rain comes. I decided to take Evie up to the North Cascades, a good 3 hour drive from our house, to a short trail filled with brilliant larch. I had the genius idea to wake Evie up before dawn and slip her into the car seat where she would go back to sleep while I drove. She didn’t go back to sleep. So I gave her snacks and entertained her as much as I could on the long drive. She did really well until the last 20 minutes or so when she finally had enough. She cried until I pulled into the trailhead and looked back to tell her we’ve arrived. She was fast asleep.

I woke her up and gave her more snacks with the promise of adventure and golden trees. She seemed up for it and padded down the trail pointing at rocks and trees. Though the sun was out, there was frost on the ground and I showed her how the iced-over puddles crackle when you step on them. She was doing great and I had high hopes that she would walk far on her own. She didn’t. She walked a little ways and then asked me to pick her up. I asked if she wanted to get in the backpack and she said yeah. With her in the pack I hustled along to cover some ground until she changed her mind and wanted down. I let her down but then she wanted up, but not in the backpack. I held her in my arms and walked a little but told her that I couldn’t carry her like that the whole way. Then she had a full on meltdown while I cycled between putting her in the pack, carrying her in my arms, and letting her walk. Then I gave up and just sat with her for a while, trying to console her and making sure she was warm in the cold shade of the trees.

This seemed to work and we walked a little ways more. Then she started crying again just as we passed someone who said we were close to an open area with sun. I picked her up and walked to the sun, promising a break and a snack. Sure enough, we found the sun and some lovely views and even a log to sit on. I gave Evie her lunch and we watched people and dogs pass us by. We were not even a mile up the trail. I coaxed her along offering her more peanut butter and jelly sandwich on the way. Then she would hunker down and sit to eat her sandwich at a snail’s pace. Each time I took a deep breath, summoning patience. It’s the journey, not the destination. It’s the journey, not the destination. I repeated this mantra, pushing out the counter thought: did I drive us all the way up here for nothing?

It was only two miles to the lake and three hours had gone by now. I kept thinking we had to be getting close. If I could just get Evie in the pack we would be up there in no time. I decided that I just needed to get her into the pack. I filled her up with even more food and changed her diaper and then told her how we could see the golden trees and the big mountains and the pretty lake if she got into the pack. She refused. I began to worry. We were a ways up the trail and it was getting late in the day. I was going to have to get her in the pack eventually to get back down the trail. That’s when I planted the pack right in the middle of the trail and decided she was going in no matter what. Of course there were hikers going by from both directions that got to witness the lovely sight of me forcing my screaming child into a pack. I waved them around us and they gave me sad looks. A couple with their young kid came along and gave me some words of encouragement and then I did the thing I never do. I asked how much further it was to the lake. They looked at each other with a gaze that I recognized. They said, “oh man, you’re getting there. You’re doing great!” This was hiker code for, “oh man, this lady doesn’t know what she’s gotten herself into, poor thing.”

I finally got Evie in the pack and decided that I’d hike five more minutes up the trail. If she was still crying and screaming, I’d turn around and go back to the trailhead. If she stopped, I’d keep going to the lake. I walked for about 2 minutes and she was quiet. I glanced back and her head was hanging down, fast asleep. I hiked just a few minutes more into the magic of the golden larch and spectacular views all around. The larch gods blessed me with this quiet time all to myself the short way to the lake. I relished in it. I didn’t linger long at the lake though, and as I started back down the trail I felt guilty for being so happy that Evie was asleep. She was missing out on the best part, all that I had promised her.

Just before we left the larch forest and views, though, she woke up. She exclaimed whoa! and wow! as I pointed to the golden trees and pretty mountains around us. I let her touch the soft needles of the larch and she mimicked my enthusiasm. Pretty mountains and trees! she said in her tiny little voice. All of the worry, hesitation, and impatience I felt earlier melted away completely. Then she said, sing, mama!  So I sang. The ants go marching through the larch, hurrah, hurrah.

Maybe one day I’ll learn my lesson and find our limits. But until then I’ll keep pushing. Just a tiny bit.

 

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