Write to Remain

Autumn Awakening

2011-10-07T07:58:00.001-04:00

Upon my autumn carpet,

its beauty stops my journey.

My thoughts turn from what was to what is,

as I stoop to behold the ruby at my feet.

Red, vibrant, burning with fire,

its fall from grace not long ago.

My fingers slip beneath its delicate features

and I stand holding it gently.

It’s soft within my grasp,

still breathing life from a branch

stretched far overhead.

To my eyes, I lift my perfect treasure,

ready to admire its boastful beauty.

Behold, its ragged edges,

the small scars upon its surface!

Its velvety skin is torn and tattered,

bruisings of brown have begun their assault.

My treasure, thought to be perfect, is,

upon closer inspection, far from it.

My mind slows, and my vision yields.

Beauty lies not in our perfection, my heart whispers,

but in our flaws, by which our vulnerabilities are exposed.

It is in our weaknesses, that our strengths are revealed,

and our strengths shall carry us upon the breeze.

Though we fall,

our beauty does not end.

For all that lies within us, becomes one

with that which catches us,

that which is waiting,

patiently,
to welcome us home.

BEGIN

2011-09-17T12:51:00.004-04:00

It's time...

I did something two weeks ago, that I've been waiting a long time to do.
I got a tattoo.
I'm sure it was a surprise to some when they saw it, and maybe a disappointment to a few others.
Or maybe not so much a disappointment (at least I can hope), as that maybe a few were just left wondering, Why?
I didn't do it to provoke reactions. Though the reactions I have been given have been varied and somewhat interesting. Those in my life I expected more from, gave less. And those I thought would be closed off to the idea, actually threw their arms wide open and celebrated with me.
Begin. It's always been a favorite word of mine. To begin. Today. To be the person I hope to someday be. To begin. Today. Breathing a bit deeper, praying a bit longer, and dreaming a bit larger. To begin. Today. Picking up the pen and putting it to paper. To begin. Right now. From where I am. With what I am. In hopes of uncovering every last ounce of all that I am.

Water for the Soul

2011-07-13T11:58:00.004-04:00

Recently, I finished reading the most amazing book--Water for Elephants, by Sara Gruen.I have to say, this is the best book I have read in a long--LONG time.
The author's writing seemed to seep inside my very soul. The vocabulary was so rich and warm, you could almost taste the words upon every page. They fed my writer's spirit, and I found myself wishing I could write with such passion, such detail, such pull. I'm not one to write fiction....but, oh to be this good, if I could! How thrilling it would be to move the very hearts of my readers, the way my heart and soul were moved by reading this book.
Most of you know by now the setting and story line of Water. But here's the thing....I don't even like circuses. Clowns, big tops, the sight of all those animals cooped up together in un-natural surroundings. No. This has never been a scene for me to seek out, let alone spend time in.
Yet the world of the traveling circus, circa 1930, opened up in such a way when I opened this book, that I was immediately pulled in and loving the life of a stowaway carny. I only had to read the prologue to be completely captivated. After that, I found it physically painful to have to set the book down whenever "real" life demanded that I tend to those pesky duties and responsibilities that kept piling up, while I whittled my days away reading.
I have Hannah to thank for my reading this book in the first place. Without her, Water would most likely have sat upon the living room bookshelf, totally overlooked, and gathering dust indefinitely. Neither the front cover nor the back, with its short description, ever intrigued me. The book had been a gift given over a year ago, and I for the life of me, I couldn't figure out why.
But alas, my middle daughter pulled forth its spine from the collection gathered around it, one day during her spring break. She asked me what it was about, and I said, "I have no clue. I've never read it." Within an hour, she was gushing over the story that had been hidden within, and to my surprise, she had a hard time describing the beautiful prose she had unexpectedly uncovered....."Mom. The writing. The writing is so....so.....good."
Her breathlessness dumbfounded me. What was so powerful that it so completely captured the attention of my 17-year-old daughter? I found out two days later, when I too, picked up the book and cracked its cover. The author made us feel like we were the ones jumping on that circus train. I could feel the leathery skin of Rosie, and I swear I could feel the sting from August's cane. It was a ride I wasn't expecting--but when it was over, I realized I was better for the journey I took.
The best part was walking alongside Hannah through it all. We were able to share our experiences, our questions, our discoveries, and our disbelief over the turn of every page.
And when the story came to an end, it was better to have Hannah by my side, as I said goodbye to Jacob, Marlena, and Rosie.....and all the rest of our newly formed circus family. I will miss them terribly in the days ahead, but their memories will last forever.

Sew Alone

2011-04-04T12:14:00.001-04:00

I sit here in my quiet room, at the top of the stairs, inside a house that is equally quiet. No one has come to move me; I am still nestled against the wall, directly beneath the window, whose shade was drawn many months ago. I miss the sunlight, the noonday rays, which used to warm my weathered and wooden exterior. Perfectly-cut squares of material rest upon my table, pieces of a well-patterned quilt waiting to be stitched. Together, we sit in our darkened state, wondering what is to become of us, confused by why we’ve been left alone for so long.

It wasn’t always like this—dark and quiet. Back when the curtain was raised, life was busy and so was I. For forty years I sewed inside this house, purposely stitching together pieces of fabric, large and small. Not by myself, of course. Her hands were there to lead and guide our work. Her fingers were steady and skilled. She also had a gift for color, texture, and pattern. In her mind's eye, she envisioned the endless possibilities a bolt of fabric could become, and together we created them all.
In the early days we made clothes. Dresses for the girls, vests for the boys. The house was alive, children were everywhere, and life moved faster than the whirl of my needle. Laughter bounced off the walls, as feet padded up and down the stairs. Those footsteps, I remember so well. They were timid and slow when the feet were young, but before long they grew solid and strong. Eventually, they became bold and brave enough to bound the steps two at a time. The house was happy. She was happy. I was happy.
Time continued to pass, however, and one day the footsteps faded. All too soon, it was just her and me, spending quiet days inside the house, sewing uninterrupted as each day unfolded. She loved to sew, though. I could tell. For she sat with me in the morning, the afternoon, and sometimes late into night if the man of the house was still not home. Her fingers would fly with perfect precision, as she threaded two pieces of fabric together. With each dip and rise of my needle, we worked side by side--silent partners, weaving bits of material into masterpieces, day after day, year after year.
Of course, there were times when the laughter returned and small (but grand!) feet once again pitter-pattered past me. When they were here, she didn’t have time to sew. But, that didn't matter. The joy that filled the house filled me as well. Their laughter was contagious, their energy rejuvenating. Besides, I was never over-looked completely. Small hands would eventually find me, and slowly skim across my wooden surface. Little fingers would carefully inspect the colorful spools of thread, tucked neatly inside my cabinet door. The hands were curious, but gentle. It was like they knew how important I was to her. But I also knew how important she was to them. They would call to her from the top of the stairs and she would come, to play a game or look through a box of old people in old pictures stored safely on a closet shelf. At night she would climb the stairs to tuck them in or chase away an invisible monster, who had somehow come to hide beneath their bed. They were so young, and she was growing older, yet age never seemed to get in their way.
It was then that we started making the quilts, and we became quite good. We sewed large quilts to cover beds, and small quilts to cover babies. Together, we made quilts of every color and pattern. There were three, however, that I will never forget, and I knew they were going to be different from that day she came upstairs. In her arms she carried not crisp and clean store-bought packages, but three brown grocery bags, with a hand-written name on the outside of each one. When she reached inside the paper caverns, it wasn't purchased folds of fabric that she pulled out, but the tiniest of clothes, instead. They were pink and white, soft green and sky blue. She looked them over carefully, fingering each one, as her eyes seemed lost in faraway places. Then she picked up the scissors, and as I caught my breath, she began to cut. The shapes that emerged were odd and mismatched. No two pieces were alike. And yet, when she began to shape them together, like one would do a puzzle, they fit perfectly. It was like they were meant to become something new all along. What’s more, each quilt seemed to tell a story, a story about the joys and possibilities of life from the very beginning, and the pages that had already been written. When we finished those three quilts, we didn’t say a word. We just sat in silent awe, staring at the mosaic of memories laid out before us.
Those quilts were among our last pieces we created together. One day she went down the stairs, and just never came back. I think she meant to, for those squares of fabric are still here upon my table. But it’s been too long, too many days have passed. I have a list of growing questions, which I may find have no answers. Memories keep me company, now, as I sit here in the quietness of my room. There are pieces of her sewn inside me, stitched forever within my heart. I will never forget her. But I wonder if I will be. Yes, my days have darkened, but my hope remains, that someday, someone will come back. Perhaps the hands that pulled the shade so long ago, will return to lift it again. And if so, then maybe, just maybe, I might be cast in a whole new light.

Intercession

2011-03-13T18:57:00.001-04:00

I stand strong and tall, amidst an ocean of green. Yet I am weak, defenseless, against the waves of destruction you roll towards me.

My years upon this land are many. More than yours. More even, than all those who came before you.

Yet you are the one holding the number of my days.

Preserve me, and I’ll preserve you.

Cut me, and the bonds that tie us will forever be severed.

For my roots run deep—as deep as your own.

Beneath our surfaces, they intertwine.

That which nourishes me, nourishes you.

Can you really see where I end, and you begin?

Braided together, entangled, by the hand of the Great Designer--our connection has no beginning, but I fear its end.

Preserve me, and I’ll preserve you.

Protect me, and I’ll protect you.

Live with me, and I’ll live for you.

Honor me, and in return, You will find you have honored yourselves.

Taken for Granite

2011-02-02T09:44:00.005-05:00

A Place of Peace--Blissfield, Michigan

It’s been a long time since my last visit. There’s not much here for me, except a cold black marker reminding me of all that I have lost. When I come to this place, I don’t hear her voice, speaking words of wisdom or sound advice. When I step softly in front of her stone, I don’t have powerful memories break the surface of my mind. And when I crouch to trail my fingers across her name carved in granite, I don’t feel her presence sweep up and settle in beside me. Actually I don’t hear, see, or feel anything when I come to this place. Yet, here I am, once again. Is it out of duty that I stand before this sacred stone? Guilt? Or requirement?

No. I’m here only because of a small, slowly dying, sliver of hope. A hope that someday this place will have something more to offer me. I hope to find answers to long-ago asked questions. I hope for messages that will soothe my broken heart. And I hope for clues that will finally put an end to my endless cycle of pain.

Today the sky is overcast, adding nothing but further dullness to both my world and senses. The only color I see is the painted plastic flowers flanking the hard reality that sits before me. Why is it these store-bought floral stems always seem a tad too vibrant, a shade too bold? Why can they never match the true color of their living, breathing counterparts? Are their qualities overstated in a vain attempt to parallel the joy and beauty of a real bouquet? The wind stirs, ruffling the uniform-shaped petals, and upon its breeze I am startled by the warm, whispering sound of a voice I had almost forgotten. I catch my breath and strain to listen, leaning myself forward into the heavy air. Her words sweep gently past my ears, and I find myself suspended if only for a moment. “Be careful,” she says. “Do not become like them. Be not cold, plastic, rigid, or less than. Your life has purpose—live it. You have gifts—use them. Your dreams are credible—don't deny them. There is a world anxiously waiting for you.”

Her voice fades, and my eyes drift from the plastic flowers to her name etched in stone. Dark, embedded letters identifying the woman who still pulls at my heart, yet whose passing has left it cold and empty. My mind suddenly opens the vault of once-happy pictures, pictures of long-ago and put away. I thought by locking them up, the pain of losing her would lessen. I thought my world needed living pictures, walls filled with today’s snapshots, for me to heal. I was wrong. Closing the door to her memories, closed off a palate of hues my heart so desperately needed. With her images now slipping back in, color begins to seep back into the grey-shadowed landscapes of my life. Her memories bring beauty, give beauty, to all that I see. They are gifts. Her pictures splash against the stark white canvass of my heart; I can see her eyes, her smile, her tender face. She is here with me—in all her beauty—once again.

As my heart refills, the soil of my soul begins to stir. The roots she planted there so long ago push downward, as tiny shoots of inner strength stretch upward. I take a deep breath and tilt my head towards the heavens, praying for healing water to come. The grey clouds above me, concede, break open and a soft rain begins to fall. My face rejoices in the cool wet drops. I have cried a thousand tears for my yesterdays, and today I find there are no more to give. The rain, however, is willing to do the weeping for me. I stand there open, exposed, the dryness of my soul soaking up the restoring graces of life-giving water. My body shivers with the chill now dominating the air, but I feel a warm blanket wrap around my shoulders. I feel the soft touch of the hand placing it there. Her presence is strong, undeniable. She is everywhere, enveloping me in a layering of her love. She is doing what all mothers do best—she is comforting her hurting child.

Today I heard her voice. I saw her face. I felt her presence. This place—which had been cold and lacking—finally released the one gift it knew I truly needed. It wasn't an answer to a small human-size question, nor a clue to some long-standing mystery. Instead, I was granted peace. True peace. Peace which will surpass all understanding—given in a place never to be taken for granite again.

Are You Awake?

2011-01-15T11:48:00.019-05:00

“You’re stalling your life change.”

These words were catapulted at me from across neutral ground today. They held no trace of malice, only intention.

To hit their target, dead-center.

My shield of self-denial, shattered with the unexpected blow. Exposing a fragile truth, which had been deep, down, dismissed.

Instantly, all air vanished from my lungs, and the earth quaked beneath my feet.

I fell, breathless.

But in the deafening silence that remained, I felt a new wind brush fresh upon my face.

With a fragrance strong enough to awaken the sleeping dream within my soul.

And as I bowed to push myself upright, I found my feet rooted in the soil of determination.

Yet fluid with forward motion.

Ready to move me, once again, towards the change that patiently waits to become my life.

A Day Well Spent

2010-12-12T22:14:00.006-05:00

The family took a drive to Bath, MI yesterday, to spend the afternoon on Hazel Ridge Farm. This has become somewhat of a tradition for us each December......as HRF is the home of Robbyn and Giljsbert (Nick) van Frankenhuyzen. (He is the illustrator for several Sleeping Bear Press books, including the official Michigan Children's book, The Legend of Sleeping Bear.)
We picked up Cote and Eric along the way, and the six of us spent a laid-back three hours exploring the farm and the surrounding 40 acres (wooded trails and grassy meadows). We lingered over the painted originals hanging on the barn/studio walls, and drank hot apple cider while eating too many homemade buckeyes. We dared and dodged snowballs outside, using the trees and each other (and occasionally total strangers), as our protective shields. We laughed, and joked, and enjoyed our family, as we walked in wonder.
I have two favorite spots on this property......Nick's studio (especially the corner where his desk sits, with his paints, brushes, sketches all around), and the family's cabin which is nestled inside a cove of hefty pine trees, on the edge of a small frozen pond.

The studio inspires me to
pursue my own
passion.......writing. And the cabin inspires me to excavate and reveal and yes, even clutter up, my real life a bit.
The studio connection is easy to understand......seeing someone else use their God-given talents, and obviously loving what they do, encourages others to follow their own dreams.
But the cabin......this is a magical place that is almost too unique to describe in words. It is a one-room, rustic collage of a family's life lived out-loud.....rich with color, imagination, and no edge lines. They decorated the small space by their own rules, their own expectations, and the result is a place that vividly tells their story, without anyone having to utter a single word.....the cabin reads like a worn-out favorite book, of a family that has lived, breathed, and become in a tiny little space no bigger than most people's bathrooms.

Inside the cabin

If you ever get a chance to visit Hazel Ridge, go. Robbyn and Nick are warm and inviting, and as real as it gets. They host a Holiday Open House every year, usually the second weekend in December. The public is invited. But, I promise, you'll feel like family by the time you say goodbye.

Write of Passage - Day 14

2010-10-31T21:43:00.003-04:00

August 15, 2009: Juliet, IL - HOME
(270 miles)

"Don't cry because it's over. Smile because it happened." ~Dr. Seuss

Mementos of the Miles We Traveled

Our Rite of Passage ended today, not with a bang or a clanging cymbal, but more with just a quiet, reflective sigh. An almost inaudible release of breath. I'm not sure what I expected after two weeks on the road, how I thought this would all come to an end. Surely not as something so big and boisterous as a scene from a summer blockbuster movie. Or, on the flip side, a sugary-sweet moment from an after-school special. I wasn't thinking Cote and I needed to have one final gut-wrenching heart to heart, or climb one last metaphoric mountain in order to "properly" end to our 6,000 mile journey. Actually, neither of these dramatic conclusions even crossed my mind.

Instead, the morning of our last day passed by with Cote and I driving along in a kind of enclosed and knowing atmosphere. Our time was spent exchanging a few tender smiles, a couple somber looks, and occasionally reaching across the space between us just to squeeze each other's hand. Simple mother, daughter stuff. Nothing earth-shattering. (Nothing to really write about.....so the fact is, I didn't that day.) At times, we sat in complete silence, cocooned within our own thoughts, imagining I suppose what our homecoming would be like, and how we'd feel when we finally set foot back upon familiar ground.

To be honest, because of the quiet manner in which our Rite of Passage ended, I have been anxious for days now trying to figure out how to write about it. With no "ah-ha" moment to report......with no grand, over-the-top moral to close out the final chapter of our story......what was I going to say here? Was there anything even left to be said? Could I simply write that we pulled into our driveway, and stepped into the waiting and welcoming arms of our family? Would it be enough to say, yes, we had come to the end of our journey, and we will now be forever changed because of what we did? Would this simple truth be enough, for you, my reader, or would you be left disappointed, dissatisfied? Could I really just say, "The End," and then walk away and let it be just that.....the end?

After several days of berating myself, I finally decided that I could......and that I will.
And when I do........everything will be ok.

Because after all, Cote's whole Rite of Passage came to be about the art of living. Day to day. Every second, every minute. It wasn't about focusing on one pinnacle moment, one heart-stopping revelation, but instead the journey came to exemplify how all the moments of life string together like a priceless strand of pearls. As Cote so eloquently stated back when all of this first got started.....
"It's not about just showing up and climbing a tree, Mom. It's about seeing everything there is to see along the way. It's about the journey...what it takes to get there. And I want to see it all. I don't want to miss a thing."

Thus, her Rite of Passage came to be about living, plain and simple. And seeing the beauty in the every day. About exploring life's possibilities, and uncovering the deep well of strength inside herself she didn't yet know existed. For two weeks, Cote learned to immerse herself wholly into life, to rely on all of her senses.....sight, smell, and touch.......to really experience her surroundings. She learned to recognize that quiet inner voice, the one that often gets blasted by the repetitive and pounding noise constantly perforating our world. Her journey became a lesson in what to do and what not to do in life......like, participate.....one should do it, fully, daily. As opposed to just sitting on the sidelines and warming the bench. Cote discovered the difference between taking a quick and easy route, in order to experience the unexpected joys and surprises along a more difficult and challenging one. She learned there is a time to Play. A time to Explore. And a time to take Risks. And she learned there are times to be mindful and walk gently with life. To not to be so fast to enforce her own will, but instead be willing to let patience and perseverance be her guiding forces. Cote's journey had her acknowledging and accepting that fear does exists, but that she could confidently step forward with the faith she already possessed. Faith in herself, in others, and in a Power greater than she could ever begin to imagine. She tested her instincts, and she slowed down long enough to hear the sound of her own beating heart. For that is where her dreams reside, she discovered, and if she learns how to listen carefully enough, she'll then be able to follow the path that will take her to them. Life isn't played out like in the movies......with one big bang, one long-awaited revelation, or one magical solution to one overwhelming problem......life is spent learning how to adjust, and reinvent, and reset your compass when you miss the mark or veer off course. And it's about waking up every morning, really waking up. And then noticing the quiet moments that take your breath away. And its about remembering to always, always, be thankful. Even when things don't turn out right. Because, chances are, eventually, they will.

Overall, we'd traveled far (both inward and outward), yet in the end, Cote and I were able to come home again. At noon on August 15, 2009, we set down our suitcases and embraced the love and safety that was there waiting for us. Home isn't always four walls and a roof, however. We realized it's the place where unconditional love resides, the place where the lights are kept well lit, even when you're too far away to see them.

My hope is that as Cote begins her next great adventure.......the one that she will now travel without an immediate family member by her side.......she will remember the lights of home will always be left burning........there will be a beacon of light on the horizon of even her darkest of days......to remind her of the love that will always be waiting to embrace her and welcome her home.

Write of Passage - Day 13; Part 2

2010-10-27T20:29:00.001-04:00

August 14, 2009: Chamberlain, South Dakota - Joliet, Illinois (746 miles)

“I soon realized that no journey carries one far unless, as it extends into the world around us, it goes an equal distance into the world within.” – Lillian Smith

The Palace today

Cote and I had one of our biggest days of driving ever, today. We logged well over 700 miles, cutting east across the midwest. We made one mini-stop in Mitchell, South Dakota around 10:00 a.m., to check out the great Corn Palace, a unique landmark which over-time seems to have put this town on the map. Thirty years ago, I had my first visit here. Along with my mom, my dad and one older brother. Once again, the passage of time has altered the pictures I had stored away in my memory. Back then, I remember this building being the only thing in sight as I stood in awe before it. (Or at least, it was all I could see from my child-size view.) I remember how it seemed to sit in the middle of nowhere, popped right up out of the ground, huge and monstrous. "Palace" was right! "Palace" was fitting! And the fact that it was totally constructed out of corn, was just too mind-boggling for my 12-year-old brain to handle.

The Palace in 1978

Today, I found the building still impressive, but not nearly as much. The under-
taking to create such a carousel of corn murals deserved our time and attention, though. The "paint-by-number" pictures were cast by using 13 shades of corn, and other "cropped" material, and every year the building sprouts a new theme, a never-before shucked and shingled showcase of corn-fed art. As Cote and I looked over this year's canvases, it was hard to imagine the time and energy it took to construct such "paintings," one by one......only to have them dismantled, re-designed and replaced with a whole new set of kerneled-collages at the end of every twelve months. The whole concept seemed a little bit crazy and a tad bit sad. But I tipped my hat to their dedication and commitment.
This year, the Corn Palace committee seemed to have chosen a theme tailored-made just for us.......America's Destinations! The scenes were vibrant and detailed, and of course included both Mount Rushmore and Crazy Horse. We did one walk-through inside the building, bought a few gifts, and then wandered around its perimeter. We collected some stray kernels and bits of husks we found caught in the cracks on the sidewalk outside. Cote and I would later add these to our journals, our "write of passages" we'd been working on since we left home. Overall, we enjoyed our little detour to discover Mitchell, South Dakota's very own "Field of Dreams." They had built it, and we had come. Was it corny? Yes. Absolutely. But, it was also so very......a-maize-ing!

The rest of our day was spent in quiet driving. I was surprised to discover just how far away from Chicago we really were. Cote and I drove and drove, and yet the Windy City remained just beyond our grasp, always still farther down the road. When we left Mitchell, we jumped easily back onto Interstate 90 East, and soon crossed the border into Minnesota. A little over half way through the state, we came upon 35 South, and took this expressway to drop back down into Iowa. When we reached DesMoines, we turned east again, taking I-80, and for the first time since we left home, Cote and I found ourselves back on the same road that originally led us West. How strange it was to pass through this land again. To see it from a different perspective. To live it from another angle. As much as we didn't want to re-trace any of our steps during our entire two-week rite of passage, taking I-80 made the most sense today, being that our goal was to get as close to Chicago as possible by nightfall. But as we drove through the same vast cornfields and green, grassy landscapes, Cote and I realized it didn't matter that we'd come this way before. The scenery was the same, but we weren't. The two of us had grown over the past two weeks, we'd been changed by both our experiences and our discoveries. We were bolder in some ways, less afraid in others, and more certain of who we were and where we were going. There was a new confidence about us.......or maybe "new" for Cote and kind of "renewed" for me. The giddiness that had filled the air inside our vehicle back when we first set our sights west, had now been replaced with a quieter sense of reflection, respect, and remembrance. The landscape surrounding us may have been the same, but the two people driving through it would never be again.
Isn't this true for all of us? Can anyone really claim to be the exact same person he or she was just two weeks ago? Or even just yesterday for that matter? The roads we take in life change us every day. There are times we find ourselves speeding way too fast on the smooth, sleek highways, and other times when dirt roads have us slowed down to a mind-crazy crawl. Both routes have their drawbacks......pits, potholes, dust, and flying bugs that smash against our exteriors. But both have their beauty and blessings as well. Renewing rains often come and wash us clean, while brilliant rays of sunshine will warm us through the windows of our souls. The roads in life dent, they scar, they expand, and they define us. There are days when they push us beyond our limits, and days when we're simply stuck for a time along a lonely stretch of highway. But the journey never stops. The roads of life continue to beckon us, they turn and twist, and point the way towards new and exciting destinations......those places on the horizon where all our hopes and dreams and aspirations lie. We choose our roads, every day, marking miles and making memories. And when the time is right, if we're careful and patient and paying attention, we can turn and take that one specific road which will lead us back home again.

The stuff life can throw at us...

Conceivably Cote and I could have made it all the way home tonight. By the time we stopped in Juliet, we were only 4 hours from our front doorstep, 4 hours from the arms of our loved ones. But it was late, almost 9:00 p.m. To surprise our family and force them to celebrate our homecoming at 1:00 in the morning, didn't seem fair to them or right for us. So Cote and I found one final roadside motel, and pulled in for the night. We decided to savor our few remaining hours together, quietly, and mindfully. There was a hint of sadness in the air of our small room, as we huddled together and watched a video clip of our trip that I had made on my laptop. Cote and I relived our fourteen days of adventure through pictures pasted together and set to music. I had chosen the same songs that had played across our radio waves for the past two weeks, lyrics that had somehow captured the feelings we'd had while on the open road. By midnight, we finally gave in to the sleep that had been pulling on us for the past three hours. We sank softly into our covers and softly into the knowledge that with the dawning of tomorrow, our rite of passage would come to its end.
Yet we were filled with a peace in knowing a lifetime of miles still remained stretched out before us, far and wide and unknown.....

Write of Passage - Day 13

2010-10-17T14:46:00.002-04:00

August 14, 2009: Midnight - 1:00 A.M.
(Motel room in Chamberlain, South Dakota)

"I'll love you forever. I'll like you for always. As long as I'm living, my baby you'll be."
~excerpt from Love You Forever, by Robert Munsch

An unexpected conversation happened after I closed out my journal entry for the night. It was almost midnight, and Cote and I had stayed up much later than usual. I think, subconsciously, we both knew that our time was dwindling, we were only a day away from home and giving in to sleep would only cut into our remaining time together. Closing our eyes would bring morning that much sooner, our Rite of Passage to an end that much quicker.
Nevertheless, I felt myself fading, my resolve to stay awake weakening. I finally folded up our handy road map that I'd been mulling over, and turned to ask Cote if I could switch off the light. It was then that she climbed out of her own bed and came to me like a small child from years gone by. She wrapped her arms ferociously around me, and buried her head into the crook of my shoulder. She clung to me as if she were drowning and I was the only buoy in sight. And for the life of me, I couldn't think why.
"What's all this?"
"I want to tell you something."
"Ok......I'm listening."
Then she opened up a flood gate of emotion, a gate I don't think even she knew she had been pushing to keep closed. Cote said she had just finished up an exchange of emails with a friend from back home. They had been talking about relationships, ex-boyfriends in particular, and how when you're not in a healthy situation, you risk losing so much other stuff.......other good stuff.......in your life. That the "unhealthy" relationship often causes you to let "healthy" ones slip aside.
"When I was dating 'M', I didn't realize until just now, how much it was affecting our relationship.......you and me."
"What are you talking about, Cote?"
"Well, I just feel like you and I were fighting more. Maybe not 'fighting,' I guess, but just disagreeing more. And it was mostly over him."
She went on to tell me how this friend she was emailing then wanted to remind Cote how important family is.....much more, in fact, than any other outside relationship she might ever be in......because family will always be there for you.
"I see that now. I mean, I always knew it in the back of my mind, you know, but when I was typing my answer back, everything just kind of hit me. You've always been there for me, Mom, no matter what. My whole family has been, and I know you guys always will be."
"That's true, Cote. But let me tell you this.....you were never going to lose me. 'M' or no 'M.' I wasn't going anywhere. Yes, we've had our disagreements, but your relationship with him was all apart of growing up, and by dealing with what was right and what was wrong in that relationship, you found strength and truth inside yourself. These are good things, Cote. You learned so much about yourself over the past year and a half."
Our conversation continued, while I held her in my arms. I told Cote that when the right boy came into her life, he would encourage her relationships with her family and would want to join in them, be a part of them. And when that happened, her family bonds would become even stronger. Cote told me she was excited for a fresh start at MSU, which was only two short weeks away. (How can that be???) I said I was excited for her too, and that I had a feeling when she stepped onto campus, her "base" of friends was going to explode. Her life was about to blossom with an array of amazing new relationships.
We hugged and talked until 1 AM. In so many ways, I felt as if my daughter had finally fully "returned" to me. Yet in her journey back, I also sensed that she had somehow managed to scoot further towards the edge of the nest from which she was about to fly. Tonight felt like a turning point for us. Although we had always been close, it felt like something between us tightened, maybe even solidified. Our bond as mother and daughter now seemed unbreakable.......it was almost as if a protective covering had been poured over us, and had cemented into place. It's a feeling I hope to never lose.......nor ever take for granted.....

Write of Passage - Day 12

2010-10-10T22:23:00.050-04:00

August 13, 2009: Billings, Montana - Chamberlain, South Dakota (660 miles)

"Eastbound and down, loaded up and truckin'. We gonna do what they say can't be done." ~ Jerry Reid, Smokey and the Bandit, 1977

Today we put the hammer down and gave it hell. By the end of the day, Cote and I had put well over 600 miles between us and Yellowstone. This is not to say, however, that we were in a hurry to get home. No, not yet. There was still a lot for us to do, still much for us to discover about our world and ourselves. Cote's rite of passage (and mine?) was in full effect. It's just that when we woke up this morning, we had to face the fact that this was our 12th day gone from home. When we took into consideration that the past 26 hours had been spent traipsing around Yellowstone, Cote and I knew it was time to put some miles behind us. So we loaded up the car, and turned our attention east.

We set our sights on Mount Rushmore and the black hills of South Dakota. I hadn't been to this area in over 30 years, not since I was a young child, riding in the back seat of my parent's Oldsmobile. I tried to share some of my memories of Mount Rushmore with Cote while we drove during the early morning hours, but most of the images that surfaced were sketchy and faded, dulled by the passage of time. Only two memories remained detailed enough for me to describe.......the intense heat and a concrete wall. It was extremely hot the day we visited back in 1978. Sweltering. And, other than the four famous faces carved upon the mountainside, the only other image I could recall was of a waist-high, concrete wall. Thirty years ago it was what we had stood behind to view the national monument.

Turning off the highway at Rapid City, exiting to take the 2-lane road to Mount Rushmore, I somehow misread the map that informed us it would be another 27 miles before we would reach our destination. What the heck!?! I thought this was going to be a quick easy-off, easy-on, stop and look tourist attraction. Instead, our little "adventure" ended up being a 3-hour, unexpected mini-detour right smack in the middle of our day. It was early afternoon when Cote and I pulled up to the national monument, and the car thermostat registered 100 degrees when we shut off the engine. We climbed the seven concrete steps, and walked across the concrete courtyard, all devoid of any protective covering against the sun's intensive rays. We made our way "london-bridge style" under the stoic row of state flags, stopping long enough to find Michigan's and snap its waving picture. Then Cote and I finally approached the concrete wall that had been cemented in my childhood memories. Mount Rushmore, high above us, was still a sight to behold, it’s craftsmanship a work of art. Surprisingly however, after just two short minutes, Cote and I had a confession to make……we were both slightly unimpressed. Maybe it was the heat. Or maybe it was the “man-made-sculptureness” of it all.....but we both admitted to feeling a little let down. Looking back, I think what threw us the most was the contrast of landscapes we had experienced within a short 24 hours. Standing in front of the calculated carving of Mount Rushmore, we couldn't help but subconsciously compare it to all the “natural beauty” we had seen in Yellowstone. And after being a part of such untouched wilderness, it was hard now to feel connected with the national monument looming before us. In many ways, Mount Rushmore just seemed a bit too distant, a little too designed.

“Huh. What do you think?”

“It’s ok.”

“Yeah. Hmmmm. Well, are you ready to go?”

“Yep, ready when you are.”

So, with that we headed back to the car. We stopped to read some of the historical facts about Mount Rushmore etched into the concrete columns on our way out, trying to respect and pay tribute to those who dedicated so many years of their lives to this great endeavor. But as far as lingering any longer, Cote and I didn’t have the heart.

As we pulled to the end of the driveway, we were faced with yet another decision on this rite of passage. Should we turn back and make a beeline for I-90, concentrating our efforts to make up lost time, or should we keep going deeper into the black hills of South Dakota and check out one more monument.......the Native American legend, Crazy Horse?

"Let's go see it, Mom."

"But Cote, it's 17 more miles out of our way. It will be late by the time we start heading east again."

"So what......we're right here. If we don't go now, we might never get back this way again."

Of course the girl was right. After all, it had been 30 years since the last time I walked these hills, it could very well be another 30 before she did. And by then I might not be around to hear about it. So, once again I tucked my rational thinking away, and allowed the call of adventure to lead our way.
Seventeen, curving miles later, we pulled in. I hardly recognized the place, the grounds had changed so much since 1978. Thirty years ago, (if memory served me right), there had been only a short dirt driving leading to a ram-shackled visitor's center. The mountain "sculpture" was only a crude cutting of rock, a shaved 90-degree ledge which would eventually become the arm of Crazy Horse pointing towards the distant horizon. This was all I could remember, all there was to see.
Now, as Cote and I drove up the smoothly paved driveway, Crazy Horse mountain was at first blocked from our view. Beautiful buildings of various design, large log-style structures, dotted the landscape. People were milling all over, sipping drinks, looking at pamphlets, wandering the grounds. Besides the new wooden Welcome Center, timber-framed with huge plate glass windows, there was a souvenir-stuffed gift shop, a sit down restaurant, an open-air viewing deck, and a larger than life Native American museum. My excitement level jumped three notches when I realized what all this must mean! The work to bring Crazy Horse to "life" must be over!
I could hardly believe that after 30 years I was going to get to see the finished product. The images from my childhood, tucked away so long ago, would today be replaced with new and sharply detailed pictures of the great monument in full formation. And I would become one of those lucky enough to have witnessed the "before" and "after."

Walking out to the viewing deck, I had no idea how wrong I was going to be.

Crazy Horse was no where near being done. Not even close. Actually, after reading through our own pamphlets, Cote and I discovered that the monument didn't even have a projected completion date. Crazy Horse, which began in 1948, is a completely non-profit venture, the entire memorial is being funded only through goodwill donations. No federal monies have ever been accepted, nor ever will be, to help pay for its carving. This is all in order to keep the validity of the project in tact. Thus, progress has been slow. Very slow. Money, weather, and mountain engineering all contribute to the challenge of bringing this sculpture to life. Crazy Horse's arm is still one long, straight, horizontal ledge with no more noticeable detail that it had 30 years ago. The horse upon which this North American legend will someday ride, still has no shape or form beneath him. The only difference, (which is huge I will admit), is that now Crazy Horse has a face.....a solid, profound, and detailed face..........with eyes that I was surprised to find, could provoke a prickling of tears in my own. The facial features cut over time and with great determination from the coarse rock on this lonely mountainside, reflected hardship and pain.......yet also hope and strength and fortitude.

Cote and I explored all the sights at Crazy Horse, and especially took time to linger inside the massive museum. We were overcome by the history alive before us, the resolve to remember, and the whisper of forgiveness echoing softly from the pine-covered walls. We gazed through glass showcases at natural artifacts made from leather and beads, wood and stone. We ducked inside an authentic tipi, and we each made a donation after carefully choosing a rock from the famous "rock box" filled with stones brought down from the top of this legend-in-the-making mountain. We lost all track of time, for somehow on these Native American-inspired grounds, current time ceased to exist within us. Instead of being in a hurry, we felt a need to remember a time not-so-long ago. As we walked about, Cote spoke of her own Pottawatomie heritage and her desire now to research deeper into its history when we returned home. Strange as it may seem, we both felt a more profound connection here than we did just 17 miles up the road.

When we finally left Crazy Horse, I couldn't help but think about how anxious I had been to see the finished product when we first arrived. Now, as I drove away I thought about how my perspective had slowly changed while I spent time gazing upon this mountainous project. The work being done on Crazy Horse in many ways epitomizes the way life should be valued and the way life should be lived. Real life is a journey......a journey that must unfold in its own time, in its own way, in order to retain a true sense of authenticity. As much as we might look forward to seeing the fruits of our labor accomplished today, or push to reach the "prize" at the end of some hard-won race, we must resist the urge to place all our focus, all our longing, all our attention on that goal out upon the horizon, or wish for that day of achievement to come more quickly than it should. For life is about the stories being written in the smaller moments of every day. The essence of our lives comes more from the times we tend to overlook, than from those we often view as most critical. As I took one last look back at Crazy Horse, I thought of the people who have and who are dedicating their lives to making this work of art come to life. So many of them will never see the fruits of their labor......their eyes will never gaze upon the final image they are carving piece by piece ......yet they work on......knowing that someday, generations to come will behold a masterpiece unlike any other. And I have to believe that in their work lies a hope that these future generations will appreciate the sweat, the tears, the joy, and the determination that made this mountain masterpiece a reality.

Each of us could on some level say the same. We all sweat, we all cry, we all laugh, and we all push on.......every day, in our own way. We fight our own battles and face our own challenges, to reach our triumphs, and overcome our setbacks. We work to make a difference, big and small....in the lives of those we touch. And we are forever changed by the lives of those who touch us. Each of us has an untold story written deep inside our hearts, and I believe most of us are trying in some way to tell it, to share it, to have it carved into our own little piece of mountain. My hope is for Cote to tell her story, and that I might set an example by telling mine. For if we do, we'll add dimension, depth, and detail to our every day living........and in turn, we'll contribute our own unique and essential piece of puzzle to the whole big picture called Life.

Cote and I didn't immediately skirt back to Interstate 90 after leaving Crazy Horse. Instead we took a remote route east that would lead us through the heart of South Dakota's infamous Badlands. The road we chose was deserted, dry, desolate. The landscape was barren, eerie, yet captivating and beautiful in its own simple and monochromatic way. It was different than any road we had traveled so far. Our lonely stretch of highway went on for miles, through a land that time itself seemed to have forgotten.

We drove until 9pm, finally pulling over in Chamberlain, South Dakota at a Super 8 motel. Cote and I washed up and readied ourselves for bed, exhausted, but content with how we had spent our day. We ordered a small pizza from a local restaurant across the street, which tasted so bad I think the cardboard box it came in would have offered more flavor. But it didn't matter. Not tonight. There was a quietness in the air between us. I think Cote and I were both settling in with the idea that we were almost home. For another hour, she "Face-booked" while I journaled. After I closed my notebook, I spread the map out before me and found we were only about 50 miles from Mitchell, South Dakota, the town famous for its great Corn Palace. This was yet another childhood memory tucked away some 30 years ago, and now, after all this time, it would be the next stop on our continued rite of passage.

Write of Passage - Day 11

2010-09-11T16:09:00.008-04:00

August 12, 2009: Yellowstone - Billings, Montana (408 miles)

*I am dedicating this post to all those who are remembering 9-11 today. May we always find good, even in the most devastating of times, and remember that above all.....faith, hope, and love remain. ~Jolene

After the sun had fully broken above our majestic mountain, while its soft rays continued to spread and warm our morning sky, Cote snuggled back down beneath her blanket and returned to that distant world of sleep. It was ok, though. Having her close her eyes and feel so safe, trusting me to watch over her if only for a few more hours, felt good. We had shared the sunrise together, she had read today's letter, and now I had a moment to myself, even though she was curled up right beside me. Meditation and mindfulness filled the moments of silence that followed. It was easy to do, with such a sacred vista before me. I gave thanks for the coming new day, and for the time I would be afforded with my daughter. I was mindful of how precious they both were.
I snapped a few more pictures, then started the car up. Surprisingly, I had no urge to "go," even though I was wide awake, and that ritual is usually at the top of my morning to-do list. A hot cup of coffee would taste wonderful, though. But where could I find one? We had been "homeless" last night and it wasn't even 7 a.m. yet. There was nothing but mountains, fields, and valleys for miles in every direction, and all the Visitor's Centers were closed up tight. Chances of stumbling upon a cup of joe this early in the morning were slim to none, but like Dorothy, I had a magical road before me. Maybe not made of brick, like hers.....but Yellow-stone was proving to be just as full of surprises and unexpected delights. It couldn't hurt to get started, and see where the path would take us today.
Thirty minutes later, we pulled into the legendary Theodore Roosevelt Lodge and Riding Stable. Cote and I were 2 1/2 hours early, but this was where our horseback riding adventure would begin. The place was quiet and subtle, with a warm, rustic flair. Tiny log cabins dotted the perimeter, and hitching posts served as markers for cars instead of horses. Despite the number of vehicles, no one was moving about. The grounds were deserted, and as I left Sleeping Beauty locked inside the Edge and made my way up the wooden planks of the main lodge and dining hall, I felt like a ghost floating through an old western town.
The rocking chairs on the porch were empty but inviting, swaying slightly in the soft morning breeze. I reached for the handle of the large wooden door, thinking it would still be locked tight, but surprisingly found it give freely under my pull. The room before me was enormous. And wooden. Wooden walls, and ceiling, tables and chairs, and floor. Three young workers were silently setting up for an obviously much-anticipated and very large breakfast crowd. I gingerly stepped inside, and the smell of freshly brewed coffee greeted me as warmly as the morning sun had. Oh, was I ever in the right place! A corral of carafes were lined up on a table by the front window, beckoning me to partake. But I felt like an intruder inside this building. I was not a "legitimate" guest of the TR Lodge. Would the staff know I didn't belong? Or worse yet, be able to tell I was a total stowaway inside Yellowstone, and have me rightfully thrown out? An elderly cowboy smiled from behind the counter across the expansive room, and waved me over. I took a deep breath, and timidly closed the space between us. I was nervous to speak, nervous to make eye contact, afraid I'd give my secret away. But his demeanor was relaxed and welcoming, he was not at all shocked by my early morning arrival. He simply asked if he could help me.
"Um, yes. I know I'm early, but is this where I confirm reservations for horseback riding?"
"Yes, ma'am, you're in the right place. Let me give you the paperwork to fill out, and I'll pull up the rest of your information in our system. (He turned to his computer keyboard.)
"What's your name and where are you staying inside Yellowstone?"
"Um, last name's Witt and well, um, we're not staying here. My daughter and I stopped at the Canyon Corral yesterday and spoke to someone there about booking a ride for this morning."
"Ok. Well, let me see if your reservation shows up in the computer then. Hmmmm..........yep, here you are. I have two riders scheduled for 10 a.m."
"Yes, that's right. Do I pay for it now?"
"Yep, then you'll be all set. Plan on being at the stable across the yard about 15 minutes early."
"Alright. Thank you for your help." (I turned to go, but then decided to take one more chance.) "Um....by the way......could I buy a cup of coffee over there? It smells really good, and I could really use a cup."
"Oh, absolutely, but it's free. Help yourself."
"But, I'm not a guest here."
"That's no problem. Just go ahead and get yourself some. It's on the house."
"Thank you. Thank you very much."
Does it get any better than this?? Waking up in Yellowstone, the place to ourselves, a hot cup of coffee, still no urge to "go," and reservations to ride horses in two hours. What else could I ask? The sun was blazing bright when I stepped back outside, and through the windshield I could see Cote was still fast asleep inside the car. With two hours of free time to play with, I got in the car and found Lamar Valley on our handy-dandy Yellowstone map. The brochure said this area held the best opportunity of spotting wildlife for early morning risers. Let's go see what we can find, I thought.
Fifteen minutes later I woke Cote up when we rounded a curve and a mountain goat sunning himself high on top a hill came into view. The morning light glinted off his grey fur, and with the use of binoculars we brought him in close and could see he was totally disinterested in our arrival. It was a far-off and simple sighting. Yet, we were excited to see something so wild and free. Little did we know that "wild" and "free" were going to get up close and personal around the very next bend.
Bison. Buffalo. By the hundreds. Widespread and everywhere we looked. In the road blocking our path, standing their ground on the grassy shoulder, and grazing in the distant fields. It looked like a seen out of "Dances with Wolves." They were poised and picture perfect, filling every rocky hillside and soft green meadow in sight. We could see the breath of the ones right next to us, and hear their snorts as they moved about. From the safety of our car we studied them in detail. Thick woolly coats, large brown eyes, hunched, strong backs. The adults were bulky in size but graceful in movement, powerful yet unhurried as they foraged for their breakfast. The babies were timid, not as sure-footed, and nuzzled close to their mothers for safe-keeping.
I was amazed at their gracefulness, but even more, at their willingness to share their space. For truly we were the ones out of place here. This was their territory, their home. We were the uninvited guests. Nevertheless, we were allowed to linger and roam this wild and untamed world with them. The buffalo wowed us in return. As the minutes slipped by, Cote and I found ourselves slowing to match their pace, both in our breathing and in our minds. Life in the slow lane had plenty to offer, and I was beginning to realize how much there was for us to learn out here beside the buffalo. Their power was undoubtedly evident, they were a force to be reckoned with, but their peacefulness was just as poetic and present.
Cote and I drove through Lamar Valley, stopping every so often for more pictures, more slowed moments. Before our time was through, our sightings would include several elk, a few osprey (Cote caught sight of one with a prized fish in his talons), a far-off coyote, and a couple small gatherings of pronghorns. We returned to the TR Riding Stable, full of wildlife and ready to trail-ride to explore even more. Who knew what kind of animal was out there......waiting to cross our path.......once we left pavement and motor engines behind. It was time to saddle up and find out.
After we met up with our trail guides, we were given a few quick intros and lessons. Then Cote went straight to her horse, Frito, and flung herself onto his back. I, on the other hand, having never been that bold around horses, walked over to my designated steed, Russell, and patted his neck, trying to make nice. Cote just shook her head at me, and then reminisced about the horse and rider she had seen yesterday, how they had galloped as one across the hillside just outside her car window.
"I can't wait to do that."
"Just be careful, Cote."
"Oh, Mom. Relax. This is going to be fun!"
When all ten riders in our group had saddled up, we set off single-file from the stable towards the wide open space before us. We had an hour's worth of western frontier at our hooves, and we couldn't wait to start exploring it John Wayne-style.
It didn't take long for us to understand, however, no galloping would be taking place. Nor any cantering, or trotting either. Our horses had been trained to proceed at only one speed.....super slow. Liability reasons, of course. But still, after so much anticipation, it was hard to hide our disappointment.
Tracy, Billie, and Mike (our guides), were great though, and filled our time with stories of Yellowstone. They told how the horses (over 100 throughout the national park), were turned loose every winter onto the open prairies of Montana. They were left to their own devices, to survive the harshest of seasons, alone. Then, every spring, ranchers would ride out to round them up. The horses were brought back to the stables of Yellowstone, corralled once again to serve the tourists of summer, who would soon be arriving.
I wondered if this kind of life was confusing to the horses. I wondered how it made them feel. Abandoned? Free? Loved or caged? Lost and lonely at times, or wildly independent? Did they like the security of summer, moving at this required pace, and knowing where their next meal was coming from? Or did they relish the challenge of the winter, and running free, and fast, and at will?
(Then another thought hit me......maybe the hot summer sun was getting to me, and I was just thinking too hard.)
The best (and also most tragic) story told while trail-riding came from Tracy. She recounted the events of the great fire of 1988 to us, the one that burned almost 800,000 acres of Yellowstone, a little more than 30% of the 2.2 million inside the park. Several fires raged out of control that summer, due to drought and high winds, but this one she said had been ignited by a carelessly tossed cigarette in the state of Idaho. The flame from that spark grew into a maddening, out-of-control blaze. It scorched across the sacred grounds of Yellowstone, destroying everything in its path.....a path that was headed straight for the site we had left just an hour before, the one named after our 26th president. As we rode back to the TR Lodge and Riding Stables, we could see where the trees had been charred on the other side of the mountain. The scars upon the land were still visible, the pain was still real twenty years later. The flames came so close. I thought about the firefighters and how hopeless they must have felt back then. How useless and defenseless against this devastating force. Tracy told us how the firefighting efforts continued, despite what seemed to be a losing battle. Then the unthinkable happened.
On September 11, 1988, it started snowing. Not that a snowstorm in September was totally out of the question, but this one showed up at just the right time and in just the right place. A quarter inch fell that day, followed by several days of rain......all of which extinguished the fires that had been raging out of control for months. In my mind, this was nothing less than a true miracle. The One who had originally created this place, this majestic land of unparalleled beauty, had seen to its protection. Every wooden structure on the grounds of the Theodore Roosevelt Lodge and Stable, had been left intact, untouched. Yellowstone Park, overall, had been spared and rebirth would eventually take root.
We finished out our ride, just as Tracy finished telling her story. Cote and I realized our time in Yellowstone was quickly coming to an end, as we dismounted our trusted horses and said our goodbyes. We had 24 hours of memories safely stored away, when we left Yellowstone by the north entrance. We would take Route 89 into Montana, a highway that would eventually connect us with I-90 East........the interstate which would lead us home. Even though we still had over 1500 miles to cover, in some small way I could feel the end of our journey approaching.....it was as if I could actually see the lights of home flickering on the farthest sliver of horizon.
At the North Gate, Cote and I snapped one final picture, and then said goodbye to this incredible place.....with all its wildlife, and untamed spirit, its freedom and sense of adventure. We made it as far as Billings, Montana that night, where we found a simple room at a roadside motel, and went to sleep with our memories wrapped around us like soft, sure blankets.

Write of Passage - Day 10 (cont. some more)

2010-07-30T15:01:00.006-04:00

August 11, 2009: Night in Yellowstone

Night Fall in Yellowstone

Sunsets~
"Colors of purple and pink, As it slowly must sink. God gave them for humans to treasure.
And I do." ~Jolene Fischer, 1975

"The colors of a sunset, are never truly gone.
They rest inside the watching soul, throughout the whole night long.
And when the light returns again, to dry the morning dew,
I promise to be mindful still, and begin the day anew."
~Jolene Witt, today

Cote and I drove away from Mt. Washburn, and began to look for a place to spend the night. It was now after 9pm, and the sun was long gone, only a few remaining tentacles of light struggled to reach above the mountains in the distance. The peaks were fading, the meadows were slipping from sight. Soon, everything would be swallowed by the encroaching blackness, and no street lamp would be lit to counter the attack. Cote and I drove feverishly to find the best place to park, before the fullness of night arrived.
Several miles passed, along with several pull-overs. We slowed down long enough to scan the features of each one, debating pros and cons.....location, size, view, etc. We finally found one that had everything we were looking for. It was a small half circle look-out point, beautifully situated above a sunken valley, facing east, with mountains bordering the horizon. We could point our car straight towards the picturesque view, and in the morning, when the sun came up, its warm rays would overtake the peaks, spread through the meadow and into our waiting windshield. We would awaken to the magic of Yellowstone. I could imagine it already.
We pulled in and immediately began to re-pack the car. Cote and I had to clear space in the back seat, so that we could lay the front seats as flat as possible. We pulled all our everyday gear and stowed it in the hatch, while grabbing pillows, blankets, books, and flashlights. We brushed our teeth using bottled water and washed our faces with disposable cleansing cloths. We changed into flannel pants and fresh t-shirts, then climbed back into the Edge, to see just how comfortable our makeshift "beds" would be.
Excitement over-rode any other thought for a while. Cote and I talked about our day, the challenges we had faced, the fun we had shared. We talked about our hopes for tomorrow and the adventures another new day in Yellowstone would bring. Night had now fully fallen all around us, but the possibility of a passing car, kept us from being in a hurry to use the "facilities" and closing our eyes to sleep. We were winding down, but not yet ready to call it a day.
That's when it hit me. What if it was prohibited to park overnight in Yellowstone??
"Cote, what if this isn't legal?"
"What?"
"Parking overnight. What if we're not supposed to do this?"
"What? Why? We're not hurting anything."
"Yeah, I know. But still. If parking overnight was legal, we would see other people doing it. I mean, people would be doing it all the time, all over the place. And think about the mess that would be......there'd be trash left behind and everything. I bet this isn't allowed."
I rummaged through the storage compartment of my driver-side door, and pulled out the Yellowstone Visitor's Guide. Sure enough, right there in black and white was an informational article about the "Do & Don'ts" while visiting the national park.
Rule #8 -- Overnight Vehicular Parking Is Not Permitted
And here we sat like sitting ducks, proudly perched for all to see.
Now what?
I pulled my seat up and put the car in gear. We couldn't stay here, that was for sure. But what could we do? Where else could we go? The campgrounds and lodges were all full. We had no choice but to find a less detectable hiding spot until morning.
We drove down the pitch-black road, slowly taking curves and keeping a careful eye open for any moving nocturnal creature. It was hard to navigate the unknown territory, now that all visibility had been stripped down to only the width and length of our headlight beams. Twists and turns seemed to pop up out of nowhere. After one particular curve, we happened upon a red-tail fox casually crossing our path. Further down the road, a solid wall of rock suddenly appeared on our left, jutting up into the blackened sky overhead, and drastically narrowing our lane. I kept driving, having no idea where we were or where we were headed. I only knew we hadn't "arrived" yet.
Finally, we passed a service drive for a quiet, secluded picnic area. I gratefully took the turn-off, leaving the main road behind us, and then pulled into the deserted eating area off the remote service drive. Tucking the Edge as far back into the pine-tree line as I could, I put the car in park and cut the lights. Everything went black, we couldn't see a thing, and as far as I could tell....(in our jet-black vehicle).....we couldn't be seen either. This was it. Our spot for the night. Cote and I breathed a sigh of relief, and then immediately tensed again when a hoot owl voiced his objection over our unannounced arrival.
This was going to be an interesting night, no doubt. Would I be able to sleep, I wondered? Laying the front seat all the way back turned out to be not that comfortable. Listening for bears, even less so. We grabbed our blankets and tossed them over our heads. Cote and I opened our books and turned on our mini-lights. We thought that if we read for a bit, maybe we'd relax, and sleep would quietly come find us. But this didn't happen. Within ten minutes, we both admitted to rereading the same page over and over, because our minds were preoccupied with other concerns. We were nervous about having our book-lights on (would we get caught?), and more nervous about what might be moving along the brush-line at the edge of the picnic area, (would it get curious?). We closed our books, and decided it would be better to just close our eyes, pretend we were somewhere else, and pray for morning. But there was one more detail that had to be dealt with before we called it a night.
It sat only on the other side of the parking lot, less than 50 yards away. But the wood-planked outhouse might as well have been on the top of Mt. Washburn, for all that mattered. We weren't going over there. No way. Who knew what creature was lurking in the shadows, waiting for one stupid move on our part. Anything could be OUT there......or, come to think of it.....IN there.
"So, what do we do?"
"Well, I think I'm going to quietly open my door, pee right here next to the car, and then jump back in."
"Sounds good to me."
So, that's what we did.
Finally, it was time to call it a day.....and what a long one it had been. With 16 hours of adventure behind us, sleep should have come easily, and with absolutely no interruption. But that was not the case for me. Throughout the night, I lost count how many times I woke up, trying to readjust my origami-shaped spine and my pretzel-twisted legs. Several times the moon shone so brightly through the windshield that I was fooled into believing morning had arrived. Cote slept soundly beside me, though. Her body being so young, so much more flexible, much more forgiving. She could curl, and squish, and flail herself into all different shapes and sizes, and not feel a thing. Not one ache, not a single pain.

Morning Arrives Gently....

By 5:45 a.m., I gave up the fight. I unfolded my body one last time, stretched my legs, and pulled my seat back up into position. A cold chill had crept inside the car over the past two hours and had just reached the point where our blankets weren't enough. Cote stirred as I reached for the ignition, and in her still sleep-like trance, asked me to turn on the heat. I did one better, and punched the button for her seat-warmer. With the engine humming, she curled to the right, bunched herself into a blanket-covered ball, and drifted back into her dreams.
Darkness still surrounded us, but I pulled the car out onto the main road, and did my best to remember how we got here. It was early enough to beat the sunrise and I wanted Cote to wake up where we had originally intended to spend the night......overlooking the meadow, with the mountains in the distance. It wouldn't be long before the first rays of morning would paint the darkened canvass of night, but if I hurried there was time to get us where I thought we needed to be.

....And We Awaken

Fifteen minutes later, we pulled in. I took a deep breath, and found my camera. We were here, really here. And we had survived our night in Yellowstone. The sky to the east began to warm, and I gently shook Cote awake. I handed her a very special letter, and together we watched as the sun slowly overtook the mountain peak, welcoming us to a brand new day. It was peaceful. It was spiritual. It was everything I had hoped for, and so much more.

Write of Passage - Day 10 (cont., cont.)

2010-07-14T11:01:00.007-04:00

August 11, 2009 - Yellowstone, Mount Washburn (The Climb!)
4:30-9:00 p.m.

"Although you may not be able to reach the peak, I will continue to try. And when I get to the top of the mountain, for both of us, I will fly." ~poster quote, at the top of Mt. Washburn

After leaving Artist Point, we pointed the car towards Mt. Washburn. This was to be our next destination, and our final adventure in Yellowstone......climbing the 10,243' peak. But as life would have it, a curve-ball was thrown before we could get there. This time it came in the form of a galloping horse and rider. The two caught Cote's eye just as they slipped over the ridge from the back corner of her passenger-side window. Cote sucked in her breath, swiveled her head, and immediately began to beg.
"Please, oh please....can we ride horses while we're here?"
"What? Cote.....we don't have time. We still have to climb Mt. Washburn, and then somehow get out of Yellowstone to find a place to sleep tonight. It's too much.....We just can't do everything."
"But riding horses would be the best! How about we just stay here tonight, and then ride tomorrow?"
"We can't. There's no lodging. I saw the sign this morning when we pulled through the gate."
"But it looks like so much fun. C'mon, Mom. When we will get here again? If we don't do it now, we never will. Let's ride horses!"
We found the nearest corral on our map, and pulled in. I thought for sure this would be a hopeless cause. But if someone else could tell Cote it was impossible, then maybe I didn't have to be the bad guy.
"Hi. Can we book a couple of horses for an afternoon ride?"
"Sorry. The last group of the day just left at 3pm. We won't go out again until tomorrow morning."
"Oh.......huh. Well.....ok then." (I'm ready to leave, but puppy dog eyes from my daughter have me choking out the next question.)
"Ummmm.....well.......what time do you have available in the morning?"
"Ten o'clock has two spots open if you want them."
(Puppy dog eyes, with a head shaking up and down.)
"Ok, put us down. Last name's Witt."

We left the corral with two pre-paid passes, and a whole new agenda. We couldn't leave the park now. Somehow, somewhere, we'd have to find a place to sleep for the night. And the only option I could see was the Ford Edge sitting in front of us.
"Whoo, hoo! Thanks, Mom!"
"Yeah? Well, don't be thanking me yet. We still have to climb Mt. Washburn, and now it looks like we'll be sleeping in the car tonight."
"C'mon. It's all part of the adventure, right?"

Yeah. All part of the adventure.

But we still had to be smart about some things. It was getting late, my watch revealing it was well past 4pm. I wasn't sure if there was a cut-off time to climbing the 3 miles up Mt. Washburn. We had been told, this was the hike to take, if only one hike could be taken while visiting Yellowstone. But the sundial was ticking. Could we do it? Six miles round trip was no everyday walk in the park. Especially if half of it was spent going up. I wondered just how fast night would fall here in the mighty hills, valleys and prairies of Yellowstone. And, just how many wild animals were we talking about? Hiking back down--after dark--in untamed and unfenced wilderness--didn't sound too smart to me.
As luck would have it, a Yellowstone Visitor's Center appeared around the next curve on our way to Mt. Washburn. I pulled the car over. The ranger on duty was an older gentleman, white-haired, with eyes full of untold wisdom. We asked for his expert opinion.
"What's the latest time you would suggest for someone to begin a hike up Mt. Washburn?"
"Ohhhhh, no later than 4:30, I'd say. You don't want to be caught up there after dark."
"4:30, eh? Hmmmm.....It's almost that time now. Do you think we can still make it?"
"Um.....yeah. I think so. Parking lot's not too far down the road. You should be alright."

I can't quite put my finger on it, but somehow I walked out of the center with less confidence than when I walked in.

But, we were here. And we were staying. So, we might as well start hiking. Whether or not we could reach the top would have to be seen, but at least we could make the most out of our remaining afternoon hours here in Yellowstone.
Cote and I pulled into the Mt. Washburn turn-off, and parked the Edge. We grabbed our camera, and donned our tennis shoes. I threw a light backpack across my shoulders, a water bottle tucked inside. We started up the steep incline, thinking that around the first bend, surely things would level out a bit. We happened upon a marmut, nibbling the wildflowers along the path. We stopped to snap his picture, and comment on how cute he was, before continuing on. When we finally rounded the first corner, totally winded, we found ourselves a bit intimidated by what we saw. The path didn't level out at all. In fact, it continued pretty much in the direction of up. Cote and I looked at each other and teased about who's idea this was, but plunged forward. After switchbacking several times along the massive mountainside, we began to brainstorm how we might outfox the daunting challenge ahead of us. We decided to cut our own trails, scaling straight up, from one lower path, to the next, barely visible upper one, picking our way through the rocky treeline. Trying to cut out the switchbacks, proved futile, however, as it took us just as long to recover our breath after conquering each incline, as it did to methodically follow the twisting and turning marked trail. (See pictures below.)

Cote and I kept going, though. Slow and steady. It was not lost upon us that the few other hikers we did see were coming down, not going up, at this hour of day. Did they know something we didn't? Were we crazy to be heading in the direction we were?

About halfway up, Cote and I came upon a beautiful wooded area to the left of the trail. Here, the forest grew thick, and looked refreshing, inviting, shaded. We rested on a stump, scanning the wooded edges for any more wildlife casually enjoying the late afternoon sun. Within minutes an immature elk moseyed by, munching on the green leaves and rustling a few branches in its wake. Cote and I sat mesmerized. As the beautiful creature drifted into the distant brush, we got up and took a few steps to follow it, venturing a little off the trail and into unmarked terrain. A sudden snort and stomping sound from the darkened interior, snapped us back to reality. We turned and scurried back to the marked path, our imaginary tails tucked between our legs. To this day, I have no idea what we heard. But something was there, letting us know of its presence. We had forgotten for a moment exactly how wild this wilderness was, and could be. Cote and I high-stepped it up the trail, looking back every other second to make sure nothing was following us. After a few minutes we stopped to catch our breath, and close our bulging eyeballs.

"Should we keep going?"

"I think so. I think we're alright."

"That was freaky."

"Yes. Yes, it was. We better stick to the trail. And we better keep walking or we're not going to make it to the top. It's already 6:00."

"How much longer before it gets dark?"

"I don't know. But why don't we do this. Let's promise that if we're not on the peak by 7:00 p.m., we'll turn around, wherever we are, and head back down. It's already been an hour and a half, and I'm not sure how far up we've even gone."

"Ok, sounds good."

So, with Yellowstone as our witness, we pinkie-promised each other right then and there to turn around at 7 pm. We'd do the best we could, and be thankful for the time and adventure we'd been given.

At twenty minutes to seven, we rounded yet another switchback, but this time the top of Mt. Washburn came into view. We couldn't believe our eyes. The peak of our pilgrimage was still a ways off, but just to have it within eyesight renewed our energy. Cote and I picked up our pace, as much as we could. The terrain was still very vertical, our legs felt stretched to the limit, yet we pressed upward.....placing one foot determinedly in front of the other. A mountain goat barely gave us a second glance as we passed by his lofty perch. We huffed and puffed, and when necessary, pulled each other forward, mentally and physically.
To our amazement, almost as if our promise had been etched in stone, we reached the top at exactly 7:00. We twirled 360 degrees with the wind whipping against our out-stretched arms, the cool air filling our lungs. No one was in sight. We had the mountain all to ourselves. The panoramic view was incredible. It felt like we were flying, even though our bodies were heavy and exhausted from the climb.

We entered the lookout station and found a book of names displayed in front of a huge plate glass window. Written in pen to prove that they had been here, the notebook contained names from around the country and from around the world. With a dose of thankfulness and a smidgen of pride, Cote and I added our own. We became part of something larger than ourselves that day, joining a group of people we would surely never meet, but with whom we would hold a connection with for all time to come.
We couldn't stay too long on the mountaintop, the clock was still ticking. It had taken us 2.5 hours getting up here. Although we were pretty sure going back down would be faster (you gotta love gravity in these kind of situations!), we still had a full 3 miles to cover before nightfall. Cote and I took one last spin around the peak, and then began our descent. We half jogged, half skipped a majority of the trail back down. The terrain was now nothing new, but the setting sun softened every view, casting a feathery hue across the entire landscape. Nevertheless, it was the conversation that gently and unexpectedly arose with my 18-year-old daughter that I'll forever take with me from this mountain-high hike.

It started innocently enough. Cote asked a seemingly simple question about choices in life. The dialogue that followed, however, was incredible, and deep, and honest. We talked about how each of us has to decide what is right, what is true, for who we are. I could see her as the young woman she is, standing on the edge of life, and wondering whether her wings were fully developed and ready to fly. We talked about choices that are presented at the tender age of 18, and other choices that come 15, 20, 25 years later. We discussed the prospects of marriage, and what it means to find the "right" person. We talked about not regretting events from our past, because if we're patient enough, we'll see how they eventually shape us into the person we are to become. We spoke of love, and loss, and finding one's footing after being knocked off center. About life being a journey to discover who you really are, and not being afraid to be that person when others are around. We defined the difference between compromising and conceding, and the benefits of being careful but not to the point of risking the opportunity to become.

By the time we reached our car, it was closing in on 9 p.m. We were utterly exhausted physically, but mentally our spirits were good. Our legs hurt, our feet ached, but our minds were resting in a soft, peaceful place. We crawled into the Edge, and let the leather seats cradle our collapsing bodies. Night was falling, dusk had slipped quietly away. It was time to find a place to spend the night......

Write of Passage - Day 10 (still cont.)

2010-06-11T19:37:00.008-04:00

August 11, 2009: Yellowstone--

Artist Point (2:00-4:30 p.m.)

The finest workers in stone are not copper or steel tools, but the gentle touches of air and water working at their leisure with a liberal allowance of time.

~Henry David Thoreau

Ok, I'm at a loss for words. Or adjectives, I should say. How do I continue to describe the beauty of Yellowstone.....the raw landscapes we encountered, the

untouched prairies we crossed, the rolling hills we drove between, or the roaring waterfalls we stood beside? There are simply no words that truly capture the intensity of this great American icon. This national treasure. The immensity of Yellowstone was overwhelming at times. You seriously could roam for days, weeks, inside this 2.2 million plus acre-wonderland. Although Cote and I touched only a tiny portion of it, what we took in, what we took away, was beyond breath-taking, beyond belief, and yes.....beyond description. So, just like back when we were in the Rockies, I'm going to let the pictures tell a good chunk of today's story.

We took the turn-off for Artist Point about 2:00 in the afternoon. The parking lot was somewhat full, the sun was blazing hot, but there was a comfortable breeze wafting through the pine trees. We still didn't know what to expect, when we strolled past the plain brown sign with the stark white lettering. Artist Point, Lower Falls. Cote and I had not picked up any Yellowstone brochure promoting what we were about to see. We only had Cousin Josh's word from over a week ago that this was a "not-to-miss" point of interest. So, to Artist Point we hiked. We followed the stone

pathway that led to a stone stairway. We took the steps up to the highest rock-laden platform, and then turned our gaze to the left. The view that met us, dropped our jaws and left us speechless.

The canyon was carved in magnificent color, and at the other end was the most amazing waterfall I think either of us had ever seen.

The beauty of it all was stunning, totally captivating. An artist was on site, (no wonder they call this "Artist Point"), painting the scene before him in watercolors, like many I'm sure have done before him. What a gorgeous picture to stare at all day. What an incredible view to try and recreate on canvas.

The hours had to pass as minutes for someone with such talent and eye for detail.

Cote and I snuck a few peeks over his shoulder and then began snapping some pictures of our own. No digital device could ever capture what our eyes beheld, though. The colors were too distinct, the cascading water too powerful, to ever be reproduced on film.

But, taking pictures was an important part of our rite of passage. These snapshots would aid our memory in the months and years to come; they would help us keep our journey alive, no matter how many days should pass.

We lingered at Artist Point for quite some time, and then with heavy sighs, we headed back to our car. It was hard to walk away from such a beautiful site. We had no idea, however, another unexpected, jaw-dropping beauty was waiting for us in the parking lot.....this time of the man-made kind. A mint condition, retro-rockin' VW van was pristinely parked about 4 cars down from our Edge. My heart flip-flopped inside my chest when my eyes fell upon it! The van's exterior was painted 70's-style yellow with snow-white trim. Curtains hung in all the back windows, as an air of free-spiritedness hung in the air. It was cool, yet calm. Classic, yet unique. But the real kicker?.........A pair of bad-momma bullhorns were

fastened to the front panel, just above the VW emblem. The van was beautiful. And it was the epitome of all my vehicular dreams come true.

Cote and I walked around it with great admiration. Not a mark, not a dent. Yet it oozed character, it dripped with charm.

"You should get one of these, Mom."

"Yeah. Right."

"What? Why not? You've always wanted one."

"Yeah, but wanting one doesn't mean I can just go out and get one."

Cote and I gave the old girl a couple last appreciative looks, and then headed back to our car. We opened the doors to cool the interior and took drinks of water to quench our thirst. Before we turned over the ignition, however, the owners of the VW returned.

They were easy to spot, for they fit the part. Young, 22 maybe 23 years old. One male, one female. Longish hair, baggy clothes, unshaven. Clean , but with an air of non-concern about whether they would or wouldn't be by tomorrow.

"Go talk to them."

"Yeah? And say what?"

"I don't know. How about, 'Wanna sell it?'"

"Uh, huh. Maybe they'd be interested in trading their ride for ours, right?"

"C'mon, Mom. What have you got to lose?......."

We walked over.

"Hey, great van."

"Thanks. She is great. Needed some work when I first got her, but now runs real good."

"Oh, yeah? How long have you had her?"

"Six years. Bought her in Canton, Ohio."

(CANTON, OHIO!!!!......SIX YEARS!! That's where my sister lives, and has for over 10!!! This van could have been mine! Should have been mine! Oh, the pain! The sorrow!)

"Canton, huh? Wow. That's where my sister lives."

"Yeah? Long ways away from here, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is. So what kind of work did she need?"

"Well, I had to replace the motor twice, that was the biggest thing. But she's run good ever since, so it was totally worth it. I mean, look......she got us all the way out here to Yellowstone, didn't she?"

"Yes, yes she did. And she's a beauty. So......hmmmmmm........I don't suppose you've ever thought about selling her, have you?"

(shy laugh), "Aw, naw. I don't think I could do that."

"Yeah.....I didn't think so."......(a few more minutes pass as we all stare and admire the golden treasure sitting before us)........"But, I tell you what.....just in case you ever change your mind, here's my name and number."

I thought the kid was going to fall over. His face broke into the biggest smile, as I handed him a small piece of paper. He shook his head back and forth in disbelief, and laughed out loud.

"No way! Really? Cool!!"

"Yeah, it is cool. Well.....Ok, then.......we better get going......but just keep the number.....you know....just in case you ever change your mind. It was nice meeting you both.

"Ha! Yeah, you too. Thanks!"

I thought for sure we'd hear at least one "Groovy!" before our conversation ended, but alas, it didn't happen. The young man just stood there, dumbfounded, grinning from ear to ear....the piece of paper I had given him, clutched firmly in his hand. Cote and I returned to our car, and as we pulled away from the parking lot, I watched that 4-wheel beauty get smaller and smaller in my rearview mirror, my dream of being its owner slipping further and further away. To be honest, I don't know what I would have done had he quoted me a price. It would have left me standing at that proverbial fork in the road, that's for sure. But the moment passed quietly, no decision had to be made. As we drove away, I was surprised when the lyrics of a particular song tip-toed into the back caverns of my mind. Who would have thunk that Aerosmith would come to comfort my spirit, would be the one to remind me I could still......."Dream on, dream on, dream on......dream until the dream comes true."

From the Point, Cote and I headed to the upper falls of the Yellowstone River. These were not quite as impressive as the 308' drop of the lower, but still worth stopping for. Besides, we got much closer this time. We took the designated walkway and ended up on a rock platform that jutted out directly over the river's 110' drop. We could feel the powerful rush, the urgency of the water as it pushed over the edge of jagged rock. The spray misted our faces, and the roar deafened our ears. A mini-rainbow skimmed the surface on the opposite side and showed up in almost every picture we took. This river moved

forward, with purpose and power, grace and beauty.

I couldn't help but think how over the years this body of water had changed the appearance of the very rock upon which I now stood. How it pounded the granite surface, making it slick and smooth, while it uncovered a multitude of layers hidden beneath.

The rushing water had etched, and carved, and eroded everything in its path. In quiet reflection I thought about how our own challenges in life carve us as well......how the many forces that push against us, those that seem to pound us at times........often turn out molding us, into something we never thought we could be, or ever thought we would be. For when we are challenged, scraped, and etched by the difficulties of life.......it is then that our true core is uncovered. And in our unveiling, we discover what we are made of, and all the beauty and strength that lies beneath.

Write of Passage - Day 10 (cont.)

2010-05-21T21:52:00.012-04:00

August 11, 2010: Yellowstone

(Old Faithful, 11:00 am - 2:00 pm)

"Prayer is not asking for what you think you want, but asking to be changed in ways you can't imagine."

~ Kathleen Norris

"When you pray, be open to the answer. Never assume that it will come in the color your ordered. The hardest thing is recognizing the answer when it's not only NOT the color you asked for, but not even the right size."

~ Mary Weeber, wisdom taken from her Write of Passage letter written to Cote.

It was a "Claritin-clear" kind of moment. You know, the ad on TV, where they pull the dull film back from the corner of the screen and everything before you becomes vibrant, sharp, full of color. That's how it was for Cote and me once we made up from our cell-phone fight. We put the car in gear and headed towards Old Faithful, having sanitized the toxic air inside our vehicle--(inside our hearts)--wiping the layer of dirt and grime from our window on the world. The air between us was breathable again, refreshing, and light. We pulled the car back on the road, blinked, and a whole new Yellowstone came into view.

From that moment on, the national park captured our complete attention. We drank it in, every soul-satisfying ounce, and pushed ourselves to experience as much as possible without missing the magic of any given moment. Cote and I were fully present, to each other, and to the beautiful array of nature all around us. What an awesome 27 hours we had.

Yes.....27. Our original plan of spending only 10 hours in this park, got trumped around 4:00 today. But I don't want to jump too far ahead. There's way too much that happened here. So I think it's best to break Yellowstone up into smaller, more digestible parts.....

Old Faithful was crowded when we arrived. The massive parking lot was packed, with row after row after row of cars, trucks, motorcycles, and tour buses. Huge buildings dotted the perimeters of this natural wonder, including a gigantic hotel, several gift shops, walk up food counters, interactive centers, etc. Old Faithful was leaving nothing to chance.

The sun was warming and the crowd was milling, as Cote and I stepped out of our car and drifted into the mix. We wandered around as we waited for the geyser's next scheduled outburst (12:10 p.m.), but we never completely blended in. This area was just too touristy for us, with all its buildings and boardwalks, benches and bystanders. We did manage to get some of our gift-shopping done........those small tokens of thoughtfulness, that others would be looking for when we got back home. But other than that, we mostly just hung out on the bench in the hot summer sun, waiting for the geyser to build up steam. When Old Faithful did finally do its thing, the flying spray left us a little under-wowed. Cote and I looked at each other and said, "Huh......That's it, isn't it......?"

Old Faithful wasn't as impressive as I had remembered. Of course, the last time I was here, I was twelve. I don't mean to sound snobbish or insensitive, but if I'm going to journal honestly, then I have to say Cote and I failed to feel the hype. Maybe it was all the man-made distractions surrounding the rightful point of interest. Maybe the towering grand hotel behind us, dwarfed the phenomenon taking place in front of us. Whatever the reason, Old Faithful just seemed to fall a bit short. But that's not to say we didn't take something with us when we left. A conversation unexpectedly erupted as Cote and I exited the parking lot.........

"Ok, so Old Faithful wasn't that great. We both agree. But you know what......we could use Old Faithful to remind of us of something much bigger, much more powerful, and forever faithful in our lives."

"I already know where you're going with this, Mom."

"Oh yeah? And where's that?"

"You're talking about God."

"Oooh, Ok. Score one for Cote. But you know what? He's the original 'Old Faithful,' isn't He?.......So maybe that's the message that was here for us today."

Even though Yellowstone's Old Faithful was just so-so on our scale, nothing could dampen our mood. Cote and I were high on a cloud, as we took off further, deeper into the park. We followed the road that would lead us to Artist Point.....not really knowing exactly what Artist Point was, but anxious and excited to find out.

We did make one or two stops along the way, to take some pictures and do a little exploring. One place in particular stood out....Yellowstone Lake.

Cote and I couldn't resist the blue water and

pebble-strewn shoreline, nature in its most purest, untouched form. We found a deserted area, and pulled over. The embankment was pretty steep....

so we slid our way down the hill that brought us to the water's edge. Having the place to ourselves was a blast. The crystal blue lake, the clear sky overhead, and the only sounds being of nature upon the wind......these were just the right ingredients to feed our adventurous souls. Cote "balance-beamed" on a piece of driftwood, tiptoeing her way out into the lake while I tossed rocks into the water at her feet, trying to splash and throw her off-kilter. She was amazing to watch. Agile, giddy and child-like, despite the

fact that she is now practically full grown. Her eyes sparkled, and to my surprise glimmered with not only the endless possibility of youth, but also the slightest hint of wisdom beyond her years.

As Cote teetered back and forth, I thought about the year ahead of us.....the changes that loomed on the not-too-distant horizon. It too would be a tightrope of learning and adjusting. Cote and I would have to find our new sense of balance, as we learned how to walk through the coming changes in our mother-daughter relationship. It would be foolish to think our steps would be carefree, without possibility of a slip or a fall.

But if we worked together, and kept our safety lines secured......if we remembered that each of us was only doing the best we possibly knew how.......then surely we would find ourselves standing on the opposite side, with our feet planted firmly in the soil of tomorrow.

Others began to arrive at our secluded hideaway.

Not many. Just a few who noticed us playing and realized it was OK to pull their car over even though there was no sign saying you could. It was time for us to move on. Cote and I raced back up the hill to our waiting car, and our next waiting adventure.....

Write of Passage - Day 10

2010-04-25T22:17:00.002-04:00

August 11, 2009: St. Anthony, Idaho--Western Entrance of Yellowstone National Park

(80 miles).......8:00 AM--10:00-ish AM.

"To text or not to text.......this seems to be our biggest issue, our most challenging roadblock." ~excerpt from Jolene's journal,

Tuesday night, August 11, 2009.

Cote and I got moving a little slow this morning, but once we hit the road, our path was clear and traffic was light. We had smooth sailing for about the first 45 minutes. That's when the blowout hit, and I'm not talking about car tires. (Although, I guess there's a blessing in that statement somewhere, isn't there?).

It all started when Cote's cell phone buzzed around 9:00 AM, and her fingers began to fly across the tiny number pad with speed and precision. I was still a bit miffed from the night before, when Cote fell into a self-induced coma over her laptop screen while in our motel room. Hearing the click, click, clicking sound now again, this time within the small confines of our vehicle, had me teetering on the edge of the black hole that spanned the distance between our perspectives of today's readily available techno-communication. I somehow managed to tamp down my temper, (although I did tighten my grip on the steering wheel), and count to ten. Then I asked a couple of light and leading questions, hoping to spark a face to face conversation with my daughter......

"Something up?"

"No, not really. Just Liz."

(Silence. Minutes pass. Nothing, except for that incessant clicking sound. This time I count to 498, then try to light the flame of conversation again.....)

"Everything alright?"

"Huh? Oh......yeah......fine."

(Clicking continues. Verbal silence resumes. The idea of more counting bursts into flames as my temper flares red-hot.)

What happened next is actually a blur. How the argument began, what exact words were used, I don't recall. All I remember is Cote and I going from zero to sixty in about 2.2 seconds. I snapped, she snapped. She yelled, and I bellowed. It got ugly, as we each unleashed our pent-up cell-phone fury. We held our ground, giving as good as we got, with neither one of us gaining an inch of battlefield. I couldn't understand how Cote's attention could be so focused on something happening at 9:00 in the morning back home when we were just about to cross the threshold into one of the greatest national parks ever, and she couldn't understand why I wouldn't just tell her what's on my mind instead of expecting her to read it.

Less than 10 miles from the gate, Cote abruptly ended her side of the argument by firing a final, "Whatever!" across the front seat. It hit me square in the chest and stunned my heart. But I quickly camouflaged any emotion, and....being the "adult" that I so clearly am....I fired my own "Whatever" back at her. Immediately the air between us became stagnant, stifling. Our car transformed into a silent coffin, as those two words nailed the lid shut on our sympathy, they ended our ability to empathize. We were completely closed off.....to each other, and to any

flicker of forgiveness.

That's when the western gate of Yellowstone came into view.

No oohing and ahhing escaped from either of us, as I pulled up to the ranger booth to pay for our day's pass. I had to wonder what the park attendant was thinking when I lowered my window, and the only emotion that rolled out from inside our vehicle was a cold wave of indifference. There was no excitement in my voice, no giddiness from my companion. I simply dumped my money in his hand, and while he printed out our receipt, Cote kept her face plastered solidly against the passenger side window. Neither of us gave any indication we were even the slightest bit interested in what we were about to see.

As I drove through the entryway, my eyes flicked across a sign that stated the park's lodging was completely full for the night, including all camp sites. "So what?," I thought. This wouldn't affect us. Yesterday Cote and I had decided we would only spend the day here in Yellowstone. Our plan was to see three main attractions......Old Faithful, Artist Point, and Mt.Washburn. We would stay as long as it took to see them, and then leave the massive park through the north gate to find a place to sleep. Good thing all this had been agreed upon 24 hours earlier, otherwise I may have had to break the stubborn air of silence lying between us now. Asking Cote what she wanted to see first would have given the impression my resolve was wavering, that I was willing to span the bridge of forgiveness. No way was I going to let that happen.

Instead, I calmly spread the park map out in front of me and found the road that would take us to Old Faithful. A mile or so into Yellowstone, the atmosphere between us remained cold and unforgiving. It took some dogged determination, but it was obvious we were both adamant about not letting the beauty of the landscape warm our hearts, or melt the frozen glacier that had slid into the front seat between us. We drove further in, looking at everything, but not truly seeing anything.

Around the next bend, traffic came to a deafening stop.

The long line of cars ahead of us, could only mean one thing. There was a sighting ahead.....an animal of some kind. A bird, a bison, an elk, or maybe a moose. Something had caught everyone's attention and had traffic inching forward at a snail's pace. People somewhere, possibly miles ahead, were taking pictures or trying to pull over to the side of the road. I knew all of this was happening, but Cote didn't. I could tell by her growing irritation, her slight frustrating shifts in body position. She didn't understand what the hold up was all about. And I, sure as shooting, wasn't going to say a word.

Silence had to be maintained.....solid and stubborn.

Finally, a bald eagle came into view. High up in a leafless tree, perched in perfect form, on open display for all to see. A symbol of freedom, a contrast of black and white against a cloudless sky of blue. The bird was beautiful. With his breast puffed out, his eagle eyes scanning, he appeared present in the moment, his heart full and open to all that he was taking in. At the risk of sounding corny, it was almost as if he was determined not let anything taint the beauty he was fortunate enough to be a part of. The irony of the moment was not lost on me.

We finally broke free of the traffic jam, (after one more wildlife sighting.....this time a couple of young elk grazing along the roadside), but Cote and I were still stuck in a quagmire of silence. It was obvious we weren't enjoying ourselves.....we even refused to take any more pictures, less we might give the impression of a "happy-go-forward" attitude. At the next intersection we turned right, losing a good chunk of fellow travelers who chose to go left. We continued our trek towards Old Faithful, but I was hating every minute. I couldn't believe Cote and I had both stuck to our guns for this long. It was terrible....every agonizing, stone-cold second. Every passing mile was one more lost forever. But how were we supposed to get back on track? How we were to find the road leading us back to mother and daughter?

That's when it hit me. I was the one in the driver's seat. I held the key, if you will. With a turn of the steering wheel, a push of the brake, I could put a stop to our madness......a stop to the miserable miles passing us by. I saw a sign for an upcoming "mini-geyser." Not the grand Old Faithful, but a much smaller preview to the main event. I pulled into the parking lot, and circled all the way around until I found an open spot. People were filing out of their cars, making their way down a wooden boardwalk, to the hot spring just out of view. Cote and I remained locked inside our car. I didn't even bother turning off the ignition.

I turned to my daughter, and calmly began to speak.....from my heart and from my perspective, from the highest hopes I had had for us, to the dashing disappointments that had displaced us. Cote was just as ready as I was....ready to speak and ready to receive, ready to reveal and ready to reason. We never left the car. The same small space that had been our coffin, now felt as wide open as Yellowstone itself. We bridged the gap that separated us, and found healing and forgiveness waiting patiently on the other side. We saw each other's rights, and we accepted our own wrongs. We discovered that in being human, we were destined to make mistakes. And in the end, we discovered two words more powerful than the "whatever's" we threw at each other earlier.....the heartfelt words, "I'm sorry."

I put the car into gear and began to back up.

"What are you doing? Aren't we going to go see Old Faithful?"

"Yeah, but this isn't it. This is just a little hot spring. Old Faithful's farther down the road."

"Oh....I thought we were here, that the little puff of smoke over there was it."

"Cote.........you ain't seen nothing yet......."

Write of Passage - Day 9

2010-04-05T06:19:00.007-04:00

August 10, 2009: Willamette Pass, Oregon--St. Anthony, Idaho (686 miles)

You gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You must do the thing which you think you cannot do.~Eleanor Roosevelt

Cote and I stepped into a world of shock this morning--a cold snap, registering 38 bone-chilling degrees!! What the heck? Wasn't this still August? Had we somehow slept for over a month, and bypassed the rest of summer? When we opened our motel door, frigid air hit us like an arctic blast! It was so cold in fact, that we ran to the car, threw in our bags, and shivered as we slid across our cold leather seats. I turned the key and cranked the heat. It was 7:15 a.m. Our teeth chattered like wind-up toys, as we pulled out of the motel's driveway and headed east. All I could think about was how thankful I was this temperature had held off for one more day. Otherwise, we would have woken up as frozen icicles suspended from the branches of a 256 foot tree.

Cote and I spent today driving, logging almost 700 miles. We were both rested from yesterday's laid-back afternoon and last night's full 8 hours of sleep. My mind was rested too. I didn't tell Cote about this, but I had a moment of "quiet panic" around 7:00 p.m. last night. As I sat journaling our experience of sleeping in trees, it hit me just how far away from home we truly were. The Willamette Pass Inn sits 3000 miles due west of Deerfield, Michigan. We were two women, traveling cross country, alone in a car. The responsibility of all this knocked me down for a moment last night. My mind suddenly began to rifle through a long list of "what-if's." What if one of us got sick? Or became hurt? What if our car broke down?.......We blew a tire?......Or our engine overheated? What if something like this happened while we were driving a long stretch of back road, stuck inside some cellular dead zone? Last night, sitting in our quiet motel so far away from home, I felt the full weight of all these what-if's. There was so much that could go wrong.......so many bad things that could happen.......What if?....What if?.... What if???

But then I grabbed hold of myself, and started to remember all the good stuff instead. I let my mind sift back through all the miles Cote and I had already covered together, how incredible the journey had been so far. I took a deep breath and reminded myself how much my daughter and I had already taken on, how much we had overcome, and all that we had yet to discover.....about the world, and ourselves. We were in the middle of her rite of passage. It was OK for either one of us to get scared. For without fear, we wouldn't grow. Without fear, we wouldn't realize we have the courage to push past how far we

think we can go, to find a world blooming with unimaginable beauty and possibility.

So, today we drove. And drove. I packed my fears in the traveling case of my mind, and stowed them securely with the rest of our baggage. I wanted to bring them along, so as to be mindful and cautious when a situation warranted it. But I was down-right determined not to give them the driver's seat.

Conversation was light today. Cote and I relaxed into the ride, as we headed towards Yellowstone. This was to be our next major destination, our next natural wonder to explore. It was too far away to drive in just one day, but we pushed ourselves to get as close as we could. We made it to St. Anthony, Idaho, before pulling over for the night. We were still about 80 miles from the western entrance of the national park, but this was the last town on the map before the final stretch to the gate and we were too tired to drive further and too worried we wouldn't find a place to stay. Cote and I could easily finish up the drive tomorrow morning, and then spend the rest of the day playing inside Yellowstone.

I did have one somewhat "light-bulbish" moment today, while driving along a quiet stretch of Highway 20. I realized Cote and I had not really hugged each other over the past several days. It was weird, but I think because we were together 24/7, we had somehow overlooked this simple form of affection for each other. Our lifestyle right now wasn't like a typical day back home.....where we could go an entire 8-10 hours and not see each other due to work and school. By the end of the night, it was natural for us to hug each other and say "I missed you." But in traveling together, and being each other's only companion, this simple mother-daughter ritual had been subconsciously replaced by a heaping helping of constant togetherness.

"You know what? I haven't hugged you for days."

"You're right. You haven't."

"Isn't that weird? I think because we've been together so much, we haven't thought about it. We talk, we hike, we climb, we drive. And then at the end of the day, we say goodnight and fall asleep in our own beds without having to leave the room. I just realized how much I miss hugging you, Cote. So tonight, I'm going to give you the biggest hug ever."

"Ok. And then when you're done, I'm going to give you one."

We kept our promises and shared those hugs. I wish I could say this is where

our day ended, with such a beautiful mother-daughter moment. But I can't. As our evening wore on, Cote turned to her facebooking and texting.......this time to the point of falling into a coma-like trance. Ok, maybe that's a bit harsh, but it's true. She was so engrossed in her online conversations, that she was completely oblivious to my silent yet growing irritation. (C'mon! I shouldn't really have to TELL her how I feel, right? I mean, I'm only sitting 3 feet away. Shouldn't she be able to READ my mind??!!). I fell asleep slightly agitated and annoyed tonight in our little motel room in St. Anthony.

Little did I know, it was only the beginning of our biggest blow out yet......

Write of Passage - Day 8

2010-03-22T18:33:00.015-04:00

August 9, 2009 - Sleeping in Trees

(Eugene, Oregon)

"A tree house, a free house,

A secret you and me house,

A high up in the leafy branches,

Cozy as can be house.

A street house, a neat house,

Be sure and wipe your feet house,

Is not my kind of house at all---

Let's go live in a tree house.

~Shel Silverstein,

Where the Sidewalk Ends

Night-time slipped in slowly as we climbed our way back up the trees. Jason carried one more treeboat, while the rest of us had only ourselves to worry about.

We were dressed in warm, loose clothing, we had brushed our teeth, and had somewhat washed our faces. Our biggest concern at this point, however, was to make sure our bladders were as empty as possible. We had 12 long hours ahead of us, 120 feet up in the air, strapped into harnesses for safe keeping. Heaven forbid we should have to go pee somewhere in the middle of all this! I know, I know......You're probably wondering how does one handle such a call of nature in this unique situation. Well, let me just say......not comfortably. We had three basic options. 1.) Hold it. 2.) Use a sinister-looking plastic cup and tubing device called a "Freshette." Or 3.) Climb back down at the hour of desperation, take care of business, and then climb back up....all in total darkness. Obviously, we found none of these three choices appealing, but we pushed onward and upward, hoping for the best, and determined to handle the worst.

It didn't take long for our anxieties to fade with the setting sun. The higher we climbed, the more the trees closed in and closed off all worries, all cares. We were shielded, 360, by the towering evergreens. Distractions dissolved, peace and serenity materialized. The sun slipped further into the horizon, brushing our skin with streaks of golden amber and blurring the sharp edges of every limb, every pine needle.

Everything turned still, and the night air turned cooler.

There was nothing eerie about the experience, though. No scary sounds, no frightening images suddenly began moving through the shadows. Cote and Jenny decided to climb all the way back up to the top, while Jason stopped halfway to hook up the fourth treeboat. I stayed to help, what little I could, holding loose ropes and gadgets, while he tightened straps and leveled the canvas hammock.

When he had finished, Jason started upward to fetch Cote and Jenny, who were now waiting for him in the growing darkness high overhead. (We were each given a small clip on light, so that we could see things at least directly in front of us.) They couldn't come back down until Jason attached their descenders, just like he had done for us this afternoon. I decided to stay put and get my treeboat ready for the night, spreading out my sleeping bag, putting my pillow in place. It was slow moving, as I had to crouch on one end while I worked the bedding at the other. The treeboat hardly moved at all, though. It was stable and sturdy, even as it hung only between trunk and branch.

The hardest part of actually preparing for bed was sliding into my sleeping bag. The safety harness strapped around my waist made this quite challenging. It bunched, it gathered. Pulling the sleeping bag up as a blanket was awkward. The rope attached at my midsection needed to dangle over the side of my hammock. We were given about 3 feet of slack, so that we could move around a bit. But, if we happened to forget where we were in the middle of the night and got up to take a moonlit stroll, the slack would quickly pull tight and we would only

fall a few feet. Ok, how weird would that be?!

The saddest part about these sleeping arrangements was not having my journal and pen handy. Yes, I had brought them up with me, but they were buried in a duffle bag hanging from another branch about two foot out of reach. Oh, how badly I wanted to write......to capture all my thoughts, feelings, and impressions down on paper.......every detail of our day, every nuance of our night. But I couldn't bring myself to lean that far and reach for the supplies I needed. If I dropped something now, it would gone until morning. I couldn't risk my journal falling, having it lie vulnerable and alone, swathed in total darkness, over a hundred feet below. Who knew what crawling creature on the forest floor might find it, chew on it, or worse yet, discover writing so irresistible it would drag the entire notebook away forever. (Ha!)

Thus, my only other option was to concentrate as hard as I could, committing everything to memory, and keep it corralled there until I had the chance to spill it all out on paper. So I combed through the events of our entire day--the conversations, the climb, the beauty and magic of every specific moment. Before long, my mind and body fell into total relaxation. The physical demands of the day and the cooling air of the night, had sleep sneaking in, quiet as a thief. I was somewhat aware of my companions when they returned from above, but the only sounds I heard were tunnel-like, as if from miles away......soft, tired voices, a couple drawn-out yawns, the shuffle of bedding, and a nearby hoot owl warming up his vocal cords for the night.

How long I'd been asleep, I don't know. But when I awoke, I was shocked to see how bright it was. Could morning be here already? The trees were so illuminated, they shone in pure whiteness. The needles and moss were haloed in light. I blinked to bring my sleepy eyes into focus, and realized it wasn't the sun having this effect at all. Oh, no. The white light casting piercing rays through the branches overhead was from the moon. It was full and it was magnificent. I couldn't believe how powerful it looked. I guess-timated it to be about 3 AM. Our friendly hoot owl called out again, to let me know he was awake too. There was still plenty of night left to go, still lots of time to sleep. But a part of me didn't want to. I wanted instead to stay here with the moon, the owl, the forest at night.

I slid deeper into my sleeping bag, tucking the fabric up under my chin, allowing the cool night air to nip only at my cheeks. I never got cold, and I had been sleeping incredibly well. The treeboat was comfortable; I felt safe and snug. The canopies were quiet, no mosquitoes infiltrated the air. Jason had told us they don't venture 30 feet above the forest floor, but no other flying insect was being a nuisance either. He had "warned" us the only creature we might encounter would be a tree mouse, but so far, so good. They seemed to be sleeping peacefully somewhere else tonight. My eyes, ears, and senses took in everything around me, I was mesmerized by every detail. Sleep wasn't giving up, though. It fought hard to pull me back in, and before long I gave up the fight.

I reawakened sometime around 5 am, the hour my internal clock usually rings. I decided I didn't want to start fidgeting too much yet. Debbie wasn't due to arrive until 8:00. It would be a long, 3-hour, cross-legged wait, should I stay awake now. So I closed my eyes again, willing sleep to come find me one more time.

A little after 6:00, I knew I was done. The sun was beginning to break through the trees to the east, warming the air, stirring the forest. Birds began to flutter in flocks overhead, briefly landing in branches, and then taking flight again in search of their breakfast. I watched in amazement. I was a silent witness to their morning activities, an undetected bystander in their private backyard. I saw my camera dangling from the foot end of my treeboat, so I leaned forward to grasp it. The other three treeboats, hanging slightly above and off to the side of mine, were still quiet; nothing and no one seemed to be stirring. Since I couldn't see inside of them, I couldn't tell if anyone else was lying awake, saying morning prayers or just breathing in the fresh clean air of this magical new day. I snapped some pictures, and continued enjoying the sacredness of the moment, the quiet solitude of the new day breaking open.

Just after 7, I heard my companions begin to move. Cote lifted her sleepy head, and I was finally able to say,"Good morning, Sunshine!" I don't think she was ready for such a perky greeting, though, as she immediately flopped back into her boat and let out a muddled little groan. To my right, Jenny also started stretching, yawning. Higher, up above us all, I could hear Jason beginning to rustle around a bit as well. Their movements were slow, unhurried. There was no reason to rush. We took our time, as we took in the unparalleled beauty surrounding us. When the sound of an approaching car broke the natural noises of our forest, however, we all began to kick it into high gear. No one else would be traveling this deep in the Oregon outback, this early in the morning, so it had to be Debbie arriving with breakfast. What happened next, I still can't believe.

Jason climbed out of his boat and made his way to a dangling rope, one that wasn't attached to any of us. Calling out to Debbie below, the two of them set up and put into motion, a pulley system. Jason tugged, and whatever it was that Debbie had packed in the basket below, rose higher and higher. Within seconds, a care package arrived at our lofty perch. It contained 3 thermoses and 3 terry-soft white washcloths. Jason opened one canister, and poured its contents out onto each of the three towels. Peppermint! Warm, inviting and refreshing!

He handed a cloth to each of us, and we washed the sleep of night from our faces. The scent was heavenly, and the warm, clean feeling was incredible. What an unexpected treat in such a remote location. Could it really get any better than this?

Yes, it could. Because coffee and juice were offered next! Are you kidding me?? Sitting in our treeboats, breathing in the crisp morning air, sipping hot coffee and conversing about our night......It all felt like a dream, and yet, in many ways......I had never felt so awake.

The rest of the morning continued in much the same fashion....slow, without rush, with unexpected, pleasant surprises. We packed up our night-time gear, and descended back down to the forest floor a final time. Our re-entry into reality, if you will.....much like a space capsule returning to earth. We broke through the atmosphere's gravitational pull.......

Debbie had prepared a light organic breakfast for us, which we ate with gusto and many thanks. By 11:00 a.m. we knew it was time to begin our goodbyes. Jenny had a long day of driving south, and Cote and I needed to begin our quest east. We had gone as far as the Pacific Ocean, we had lived out our dream of climbing trees, and now it was time to turn the car around and make our way back home. There was still plenty of adventure waiting for us, but we had conquered the pinnacle of our journey. We had done what we had set out to do. It was still all so hard to believe.

It took us an hour and a half to back-track out of the Oregon woods and find Route 58 East. We hit the highway and picked up speed. Not for long, though. At Willamette Pass, we came upon a small chalet style motel, sitting quietly along the edge of the road. The place was quaint, cozy, and too cute to pass up. It was only 3:30 in the afternoon when we sped by, but Cote and I couldn't help ourselves. We looked at each other, said, "What do you think?" and then we turned the car around once more. We were the only travelers to check in to the Willamette Pass Inn that Sunday afternoon, but by being so this just added to the enchantment of our cozy location.

We grabbed our backpacks and journals from the car. We took a couple hot showers and put on our comfy clothes. We lazily spent the rest of the night writing......me, in my journal.....Cote, on facebook. When we got hungry, we walked to the patron-less tavern next door and picked up a basket of chicken to share back in our room. The day quietly came to a

close. Cote and I had two warm beds upon which to lay our heads and four solid walls to block out the sounds from outside. But that night, as I slept safely inside the comfort of our room, I dreamt only of being in the trees of yesterday....

Write of Passage - Day 7

2010-02-10T10:44:00.017-05:00

August 8, 2009: Eugene, Oregon -- Climbing Trees

(Before I even start this posting, let me apologize once again for the silent weeks that have passed. To be honest, I found myself a bit overwhelmed by the enormity of this next journal entry. Cote and I have reached the moment where we are about to climb trees. The ones we have talked about, dreamt about, for so long. I have been struggling these past couple of weeks as to how to capture this entire experience into words, so that others would see and feel everything we saw and felt. In my journal, I have eight pages of written notes describing this one event from our 2-week rite of passage. Eight pages. When I sit and read over them, the words I scribbled take me back to the treetops. But my notes are a mess, they are raw and jumbled, and hold no true pictures for an outside reader. Thus, my challenge has become to somehow bring you along, to make you feel as if you were there climbing the trees with us. I hope I succeed. For if I do, you may then just find yourself sitting on a branch far above the world, taking in a view few have ever seen. An ocean of green will spread out before you, and you will be swept away by the beauty of it all. This was a once in a lifetime experience. I have but one chance to describe it, one chance to get it right, one chance to take you there.)

“I become one, as the trees become many.” ~ Hannah Witt, 2009

Today started early. Cote and I woke up in Eugene, Oregon, inside an out-dated, single-level, L-shaped Holiday Inn, which was clean but by no means fancy. The accommodations didn’t need to be, however. We were more wrapped up on what the next 24 hours were going to bring, than how pampered we could make our sleeping arrangements last night. This was it! This was the day! Cote and I were going to meet, and greet, and climb our trees. Real trees. Huge trees. Trees bigger than even our imaginations could begin to ascend. Not only would we climb them, but we would eat in them and sleep in them. How we were going to do all this, I still did not know. But I couldn’t wait to find out.

Debbie, one of the owners of Pacific Tree Climbing Institute, (the outfit we had booked), had given us some very helpful instructions prior to our arrival. Don’t eat too much. Don’t drink too much. Staying hydrated was good, but she advised us to avoid any foods that may upset our stomachs 24 hours before climbing, and to go easy on coffee and other beverages as well. She also gave us detailed driving directions. From our motel in Eugene, we were only about 25 miles from where we would climb, but she warned us it would take 90 minutes to get there. So we left by 8 am, and ended up an hour and a half later somewhere in the backwoods of Oregon.

The roads we traveled twisted an turned, and completely erased our sense of direction. Trying to find the exact spot where we were to meet Jason, our guide, proved to be a bit challenging, despite Debbie’s good intentions and impeccable directions. Cote and I began to second-guess our location. We were surrounded by trees, the dirt roads were rutted, the area was deserted. In fact, the only person we saw was a petite, dark-haired woman who was leaning on the outside of her red Volvo, where the road forked and split in two. Cote and I passed her by, and wondered what in the world she was doing out here all alone. We drove a bit farther, but the one-lane track we had veered off on, soon became impassable. We turned the car around and headed back to the split, and the woman who waited there. Maybe she could point us in the right direction.

Her name was Jenny, and she told us she too was there to meet Jason. After some quick introductions, we relaxed into our surroundings and started to share details about who we were and why we were all here. Cote and I discovered that Jenny was a single businesswoman, on vacation from Los Angeles. She claimed to not be the “outdoorsy” type, yet every summer she hits the open road, alone in her car, to explore new places and seek out new adventures. She spends her days hiking, and her nights sleeping in her car, and although she has rock-climbed 5 or 6 times in the past, she has never scaled a tree. (But has always wanted to try.)

Cote and Jenny hit it off immediately. And I was so impressed. I watched as my 18-year-old daughter engaged a complete stranger in conversation that would not end until some 24 hours later. Jenny was a woman about 15 years older than Cote, from a totally different background and place. Yet, as Jenny shared details about her life, her philosophies, her goals, I could tell Cote was gaining wisdom and courage and a deeper sense of her own self-confidence. All of this from a woman who just happened to decide to climb a tree the same day we did.

About twenty minutes later, Jason arrived. He pulled up in a very old, very used car, and apologized profusely for being late. Car troubles, he explained. Last minute and unexpected. It was probably a good thing Jason began rushing around from the moment he stepped out of his vehicle, for if he hadn’t I’m sure the look on our three faces would have betrayed our every thought. I’m not sure exactly what I was expecting our guide to look like, but I know Jason’s appearance caught me more than just a bit off-guard. His shoulder-length blond hair was pulled back in a low pony-tail and he was sporting a 3-day beard. His clothes looked as if he had slept in them, possibly more than just one night. He had all the makings of being a throw-back hippie from the sixties, though he had to be only in his early to mid thirties. To be honest, these first impressions made me a bit nervous. I found myself questioning his capabilities and wondering what in the world I had gotten us into.

As soon as he started to speak, however, I realized just how wrong first impressions can be, and I was ashamed of myself for judging so quickly. Jason talked about being an arborist for 14 years, about perfecting his trade and how he fell in love with trees. He spoke about our safety, about taking precautions, and how PTCI only provides the best in climbing gear. This man was totally competent, totally capable. His passion for nature was pure and contagious, his knowledge about his craft was comforting and confidence-building. From the battered trunk of his car, he pulled out all our supplies……harnesses and rope, helmets and sleeping bags, water bottles and safety latches. He spoke of what to expect from our climb and what it would take to make it to the top. Then he led us on a short hike through the forest to the mighty Three Musketeers.

The trio of Douglas firs grew within inches of each other. They were not particularly big around, but they stood strong and tall. The one we would climb was 257 foot high. We craned our necks upward, following ropes that hung down the sides of the trunks but disappeared gently into the canopies above. The tops were out of sight. Our lesson on climbing was quick and not too detailed. Jason went over the basics with us, about how the ropes could hold thousands of pounds (what was that supposed to mean?) and our latches were safety-proof. We could only climb up, we need not worry about sliding (falling?) back down. The mechanical teeth biting into the rope would prevent us from doing so. We could sit in our harnesses and relax at any time, but we had to stand and push ourselves up in the foot-straps in order to inch our way skyward. We wouldn’t fully understand these instructions, nor the coordination it took, however, until we were strapped in and forced to climb. Live and learn. Trial and error. We would be safe, but until we stepped in, latched on, and started up, there was not much else to say.

We donned our helmets, our harnesses, and clipped on to our ropes. Water bottles dangled from our belt loops, as we pushed off one by one from the forest floor. Jenny first, then Cote, then me. It was awkward at first, trying to get the hang of what to do. We bobbled, we wobbled. But before long our feet and hands began to move in steady rhythm, and we hoisted ourselves up inch by inch, with slow methodical movements. At about 50 feet, I looked back down and saw Jason beginning his own ascent. Clipped to his belt harness was all our night-time gear, sleeping bags, pillows and three tree-boats. Jenny was only staying for the daytime climb, she wasn’t planning on spending the night, so she wouldn’t be needing a bed to sleep in. She had told us about her long drive back to Los Angeles (13 hours), and how she needed to be at work bright and early Monday morning. She would have to bid us goodbye right after dinner.

I decided to slow my pace and wait for Jason to catch up. Cote and Jenny were already slipping out of sight, as they raced to the top, but the sound of their fading voices told me they were still talking non-stop. A part of me was a bit saddened by the separation. I had always pictured Cote and I climbing side by side, once we finally got here. But as I dangled in my own solitary, sacred space, I realized it was better that we remained true to our own agendas, our own set of needs. Cote and I were at different stages in life. She was on the threshold of the new and exciting, she was rambunctious and ready to conquer. She was ready to see what there was to see from the very top. No stopping, just living, reaching, for the next highest branch, the next thrilling moment. She would push both time and her own physical strengths to get there. My own self-truth was to breathe more deeply, more slowly, my pace needed to match the wants of my spirit. The climb for me was to be savored, so that all of my senses had time to share in the experience. I didn’t want to miss the smallest of detail, the tiniest treasure. Trees hold a very special meaning for me, now that I am older. In many ways, they stand as symbols of God's great and powerful love.

From the hidden roots that nourish, to the branches that reach towards the heavens, and everything else in between. Trees are a sign of God’s presence in my life. But it took 30 years for this perspective to take root inside of me, 30 years for this symbol to reach the light. So both of our journeys to the top were to be respected; both our methods of climbing held merit. Cote’s choice couldn’t claim more weight, nor could mine claim more validity. We shared the climb, yet our experiences were unique and all our own. By remaining true to our inner voices, we eventually found ourselves sitting on top of the world, side by side, just like I had always imagined. Getting there, however, was just the way it should be. Cote wrote the words of her story, while I penned the pages of my own.

My version included Jason, who by now had piqued my interest. Here was a man who climbed trees for a living, who had a knowledge and a love for nature that seemed to know no bounds. On any day of the week, he could see the world from an entirely different view. How did this change him as a person? How did this alter his vision? Did he resent or welcome outsiders to his palace in the sky, and how did he cope with caring for an environment so many others disregarded on a daily basis? I felt like a reporter, digging for a story, but Jason answered my questions as we climbed with patience and a passion for what he does. His greatest love is to bring children up into the canopies, he told me, school kids from the inner city. “Black tops to tree tops,” he called it. His goal was to foster a love for nature in the next generation and to help these kids discover their own inner strengths while doing so. Watching them climb, even those who think they can’t because of physical limitations or because they might think themselves to be too over-weight, was the greatest joy for Jason. As these kids accomplished personal goals they originally thought were out of reach, as they climbed to new heights and surpassed their own expectations, he saw self-confidence grow, self-esteem soar. There was nothing else like it in the world for him. At 120 feet, Jason stopped to hook up our treeboats, so that they could be secured in the light of day and be ready for us that evening. “Keep climbing. I’ll meet you all at the top when I’m done."

I continued on, alone now, up the side of this great tree. The higher I went, the more it seemed everything else below me just melted away. The noise, the crazy roads, the rush of life. All that remained were the trees, their simple beauty, their quiet dignity, their noble presence. I kept inching upward, stopping every so often to relax into my harness and take in the view peeking out between the branches. Here’s what surprised me the most……I was never afraid. Not even for a minute. Back when Cote and I were exploring the Rockies, I remember how dizzy I felt whenever we would walk out to the edge of a particular view and look down. Or how nervous I would be driving with no guardrails along the sides of the mountains, high up in the national park. It gave me chills at times, and back then I kept thinking, "How am I ever going to climb a tree? How am I going to strap on to just a rope, climb up 250 feet, and open my eyes?"

Now, here I was doing just that. With absolutely no fear. On the contrary, all I felt was peace and serenity. The sky was the limit, the tree was my anchor, the beauty of creation surrounding me like a protective blanket. I felt safe, and whole, and free all at the same time. We often go through life describing beautiful images, incredible experiences, as taking our breath away, and I thought this was how it would be when I finally found myself sitting in the topmost branches of these super tall trees. But it wasn’t. To say the view was breath-taking, would be almost the opposite of what it felt like for me, the opposite of what I experienced. Instead, when I was intertwined with the limbs, when I was cradled inside these outstretched arms, it was as if I found myself truly breathing for the very first time ever. With the trees surrounding me, supporting my every movement, I breathed deep, really deep, clear down to my soul. The air was pure, and fresh, and clean. It was almost as if I had been living in an oxygen-deprived room all my life, and a door was suddenly thrown open. Nestled high within the trees, was where I could finally breathe for real, breathe on purpose, and breathe completely . I became one……as the trees around me, beneath me, beside me, and spread out before me…..became many.

We ate lunch at 230 feet, the highest point we would climb. When I caught up with Cote and Jenny, they were still chatting away, learning the finer details of each other’s lives. Seeing Cote perched casually and comfortably on the branch overhead, warmed my heart. I could tell she was enjoying this adventure as much as I was. We opened our brown bags, and discovered hearty whole-wheat turkey sandwiches with avocado and sprouts, all-natural potato chips, and an apple....all packed by Debbie, herself, who just happens to be, by the way, Jason's wife. It was strange yet peaceful to be eating so high up in the air, tucked against the trunk of a tree, with a view spanning before me as far as I could see. I felt like an eagle, come home to its nest. It wasn’t long before Jason joined us. He asked us how we were all doing, what we all thought, while he sat on his own branch and ate his lunch. Then it was time for our lesson in getting back down, which was going to be a whole lot easier, he said, than coming up.

One by one, Jason switched our mechanisms from ascenders to descenders. Even during this quick change-over, we were never “unlatched” completely from the safety of our ropes. Jason made sure we were attached to secondary ropes during the cross-over. The descender mechanism was basically a pull-lever. Pull it down, and you went down, gravity did all the work for you. Stop pulling, and you stopped instantly, wherever, whenever you wanted. If you pulled too hard, a safety catch would kick in and shut the gear down, so there was never any worry about going too fast. But who would want to? There was still so much to take in. From the smallest of lichens growing on bark, to the soft-covered moss dripping like molasses from branches. The canopies were at our fingertips. They were full and green, and waiting to be explored and appreciated. We took our time coming down, and eventually passed our treeboats as we did, the place where we would be spending the night. They looked comfortable enough, each one slung from between the mighty trunk to an outstretched branch. After dinner, we would head back up at dusk to sleep beneath the stars and our naturally-grown blankets of green.

Around 4pm we finally touched down, we returned to our roots, if you will. It felt weird at first to be standing on solid earth again, very heavy, our legs like dead weight. We dropped our belts, shook off our helmets, and stretched our own limbs. We had an hour and a half before Debbie was to arrive with dinner, (could this day get any better?), so Jason took us on a hike through the Oregon forest to find a hidden stream. This place was amazing. The ferns carpeting the forest floor were lush and dense, the soil we walked upon was dark and earthy, the trees towering over us were powerful and protective.We found the stream, spent some time by the trickling water, and then headed back to camp.

Debbie was there waiting for us, with a spread that was a feast to our eyes and growling stomachs. Pasta with homemade sauce, fresh salad straight from her garden, and warm bread. For dessert there was Marianne-Berry Pie, kind of a cross between raspberry and blueberry, a fruit native to their Oregon area. It was all absolutely delicious, we ate our fill and then some. But one of the best treats of the evening was to finally meet Debbie in person. We had spoken several times on the phone and shared info by email, but I was hoping we would have the chance to thank her in person for all her help in setting up this incredible adventure. Our time together over dinner was relaxing and enjoyable. Debbie is a gentle soul, with a constant smile. She was as warm and inviting and natural as the very trees that circled around us. Later on, Cote and I agreed she was just about the sweetest woman we both had ever met.

Dusk slowly began to settle in, and it was time to head back up into the canopy. Jenny surprised us all by saying, “I can't leave. I just have to stay and sleep up there. How can I come this far and not do it? I’ll worry about my drive home tomorrow. If I don’t spend the night tonight, I may never do this again.”

We helped Debbie pack up the dishes, while Jason grabbed another treeboat from his trunk. He had some unexpected last

minute work ahead of him, but he never once complained. He remained true to his nature, his goal in life…..to help others appreciate the beauty of trees, to spend time in them, and possibly uncover a bond they never knew existed. We quickly readied ourselves for the night and geared up for the climb. The sun was setting low as we took to the trees. For the next 12 hours we would tuck ourselves into a whole new world. A night-time world full of mysterious sights and sounds. We would fall asleep amidst the branches above, but I had a feeling our spirits would be awakened as never before.

(To be continued).

Write of Passage - Day 6 (CONT.)

2010-01-17T13:28:00.010-05:00

August 7, 2009: Crescent City, California -- Afternoon in the Redwoods

Cote and I checked out of the motel, mid-morning, and took Hwy 101 north, back-tracking just a bit, in order to reach the Redwoods National Forest. We had driven this exact same stretch of highway last night, when we made our way to the coast, but the fog, the drizzle, and our mild state of exhaustion, hid the overwhelming beauty of the landscape now before us. Everything this morning was large, and green, and alive in the bright rays of sunshine. Our spirits were refreshed, our energy levels had been restored. The trees surrounding us were absolutely massive, yet we still had no idea just how big they were going to get.

As we drove on, Cote laughed at me every time I craned my neck to see through the top two inches of our windshield, trying to take in the full height of every tree lining the roadside.

"Just look up through the sunroof, would you, you goof."

"Oh, yeah. I forgot we have that."

But within seconds, I would be overtaken again by the sheer size of another giant redwood, and I would find myself pressed to the steering wheel once more, my eyes straining upward, my mouth gaping open.

We really didn't know what to expect when we arrived inside the state park, and we really didn't know where to go. So we drove slow, looking in every direction, but mostly up. There were little dirt side roads, off the main one we were on, that seemed to lead to hidden places deep inside the forest glades. We decided to take one, and soon found ourselves squeezing between rows of redwoods, ferns, and foliage. Little pull-offs were available in case two cars met up, but that didn't seem to be an issue. We were all alone back here, nestled inside the quietness

and majesty of the towering trees. Finally, Cote and I just couldn't stand it anymore. We had to get out of the cocoon that had become our car. It just didn't feel right...to be locked inside such a small space when we were in the midst of such exquisite beauty. These trees needed to be experienced up close and personal. We pulled the car into a little cove, and got out. The forest air filled our lungs, making us feel as if we were every bit a part of the world we were stepping into.

With the car's motor now turned off, the only sounds we heard were our own two voices, and those seemed to echo back to us from the canopies far overhead. Cote and I began to explore. We found nooks, we found crannies, we found trees growing so close to each other, they appeared to be double-trunked. We climbed up between them, using bark-covered ledges that grew at odd angles. We circled round several wide solid bases, their coarse woody exteriors scraping the palms of our out-stretched hands.

Our exploring eventually led us to the other side of the one-lane road, where we discovered the

4-foot high stump of a mighty redwood long since gone. It took a bit of effort to hoist ourselves up, but once we did, Cote and I stood in utter disbelief. The diameter of the trunk that stretched out beneath our feet was incredible. We could walk across it, lie down upon it, and lower ourselves into the deep crevices that years of decay had carved into this redwood's core. At first it was a mini-playland. Then in a sobering instant, it became a sacred space. Cote and I imagined the tree that once stood here, and

despite the thousands of others that still surrounded us, we somehow felt the loss of this single, solitary one.

We sat down quietly and traced the trunk's inner rings, touching the carved names that now criss-crossed over them. Many people had been here before us, leaving their mark for others to find. For a minute, Cote and I thought about adding our own. Doing so would prove our presence; we could officially record our rite of passage, 2009.

"Do you want to carve your name?"

"I don't know. Do you?"
"I don't know. There's a part of me that does, but then there's a part of me that doesn't. In a way, it just doesn't feel right."

"I know. It seems disrespectful somehow."

As we talked our way through it, Cote and I shared thoughts about caring for the environment, and the role we both play. Our perspectives, our actions, our daily

brushes with nature, effect the world we live in, either directly or indirectly. Cote and I kept talking, and as we did the engraved names began to transform before our eyes. Now they looked so unnatural, so out of place. We decided that adding our own would be like adding insult to injury....sprinkling salt, if you will, in an open wound. We wouldn't do it. We couldn't. Instead, we got up and left this place exactly as we had found it.

From this quiet little sanctuary, we headed down the road towards Stout Memorial Grove, a well-known section of the Jedediah Smith Redwoods State Park. This time we parked our car in a mini-parking lot, along with a few others, and hiked a short distance down towards the infamous stand of trees. Now here was a playland! Lying wide open before us, was an all-natural wonder-world, that had been rightly protected and well preserved. We could climb up, crawl over, tuck in, and hide behind. This grove was full of redwoods, stoic and strong, mighty soldiers standing at full attention. They were amazing to look at, to stand beside, to touch. There were others as well, that had fallen over by natural causes, but still served with great purpose.....for they fed the roots

of those still standing, those still living, those still breathing.

It was here that I gave Cote her next letter. It came in a very special box, and I'm sure held a very special message. Cote sat in the crook of a tree, and opened her treasure. When she did, I stepped back and gave her some space. I didn't want to invade the moment or accidentally intercept a message that had been written just for her. She took her time, quietly savoring the moment, the note, and her thoughts about the special person who wrote it.

The rest of the afternoon, Cote and I simply played inside the Redwood National Forest. Watching her move about was like watching Mowgli from the movie, The Jungle Book. (Did this make me Baloo?). It was magical, it was serene, it was comical, it was unforgettable. Cote skipped, she jumped, she balleted. She defied gravity. She pushed

herself to the limits, time and time again. One moment in particular, will forever be ingrained in my memory. It was when Cote decided to jump from one cut end of a mighty fallen redwood to the other. (Part of the massive trunk had been sectioned off and removed, because the tree had fallen directly across the marked trail.

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Yes. And I want you to take my picture when I do."
"That means I'd have to watch, and I'm not sure that's going to happen."

"C'mon, Mom......tell me when you're ready......."

I snapped the picture, I caught her in mid-air. Bare-foot with what appeared to be a hint of wings upon her shoulders. Cote made the jump. Just barely. She caught the other side, waist-high, and pulled herself up the rest of the way. Little did I know a lesson about life was coming next.....

"Should I jump back?"

"Excuse me? I don't think so."
"Why not?"
"Um, because you barely made it the first time."
"But, I did make it. And if I don't try jumping back,

I might regret it."

"Ok, so let's think about this, shall we? Cote, you made the jump the first time. You proved to yourself you could do it. If you jump back now, you'll be landing on a narrower part of the trunk, and a part that's smoother and more slippery than the rough edge you just jumped to. All this means there's a higher risk you're gonna slip off."

"But life is about taking risk, remember? 'Fully participating, everyday' and all that stuff."
"Life is about taking good risks, thought-out risks, risks that make living more meaningful. Not about taking EVERY risk that comes along. Think about it, Cote.....tomorrow you're supposed to climb a tree. A very big tree. Huge...two-hundred and fifty foot high. You have waited a long time to do it, well over a year. What if you jump right now, on a whim, and then fall and break your leg? You won't be able to climb tomorrow's tree. You won't be able to make this bigger dream of yours come true. So is it worth the risk to jump again right now, when you know it may cost you climbing the tree tomorrow?"

Despite her mother's impeccable display of knowledge, it still took Cote several minutes to concede and come down.
But she finally did. She realized that I wasn't just being an over-protective mother, but that jumping would truly be pushing a limit that wasn't worth pushing. It was a risk whose price tag was just too high to pay.

We moved on, down the trail and discovered more trees, more treasures, more truths. Cote has a way of looking at the world that invites me to adjust and expand my own. Like, for example, when we came upon a

particularly beautiful and extremely tall redwood. Cote looked it over, from every standing angle, top to bottom, and then decided to try an entirely new point of view. She wanted to experience this tree from the position of lying down. So, she did. Without hesitation, Cote plopped herself right beneath that massive tree, and stretched herself out upon the ground below. It didn't matter that she was going to get dirt in her hair or that people would surely pass by before she was done with her experiment. The only thing Cote cared about was capturing this moment from a totally different perspective......from an angle most others would never consider. When I saw what she was doing, I couldn't help but join in.

So, there we were. Lying on the ground, side by side, looking up into the redwood's vast canopy overhead. There was something about lying prone that slowed our breathing, and brought us to a higher realm of consciousness. Our eyes drifted up through the branches,

where sunlight filtered and danced between the leaves, casting white-gold streaks upon the foliage and our faces below. We felt the solidness of the earth beneath us, woven with roots, while the view above made us feel feather-like and floating with possibility. It was incredible. How else can I describe it? Cote snapped a few more pictures, including one where we joined our hands together in the shape of a heart, commemorating our love for this tree, this place, this moment. A mother and a daughter.....taking on the world.....lying down.

By late afternoon, we had to pack it up and head out. We hated to leave the redwoods, but Eugene, Oregon was over 200 miles up the road, and we needed to be there by nightfall. Cote and I had more trees waiting for us. This time, they would be douglas firs. And the challenge for us wouldn't be to take them lying down. We'd have to face them instead, by climbing up.

Rooted Together

2010-01-10T05:04:00.013-05:00

What you are about to read is a clip that I've kept in my journal ever since my mother passed away, seven years ago. When I was packing for the "Write of Passage" journey I'd be taking with Cote, I tucked this piece of paper into my bag to keep with me. I knew the Redwoods were going to be one of the most powerful experiences I would share with my daughter. Since trees have a way of speaking directly to my soul, the words written below have brought me much comfort and peace over the years. I know my own mother lives on in everything I do; her spirit has been rooted within me. Thank you, Mom, for the lessons, the love, the memories. May my own daughters' lives be enriched by your legacy.

Epilogue from Motherless Daughters:

A Legacy of Loss

by Hope Edelman

"Nature often offers metaphors more elegant than any we can manufacture. Redwoods have evolved to turn disaster into opportunity. In these coastal forests, death produces life.

This is what I mean: In the redwood ecosystem, all seeds are contained in pods called burls, tough brown clumps that grow where the mother tree's trunk and root system meet. When the mother tree is logged, blown over, or destroyed by fire--when, in other words, she dies--the trauma stimulates the burls' growth hormones. The seeds release, and trees sprout around her, creating the circle of daughters. The daughter trees grow by absorbing the sunlight their mother cedes to them when she dies. And they get the moisture and nutrients they need from their mother's root system, which remains intact underground even after her leaves die. Although the daughters exist independently of their mother above ground, they continue to draw sustenance from her underneath.

I am fooling only myself when I say my mother exists now only in the photograph on my bulletin board or in the outline of my hand or in the armful of memories I still hold tight. She lives on beneath everything I do. Her presence influences who I am. Our lives are shaped as much by those who leave us as they are by those who stay. Loss is our legacy. Insight is our gift. Memory is our guide."

Write of Passage - Day 6

2009-12-27T17:16:00.015-05:00

August 7, 2009: Crescent City, CA--Morning on the Coast

Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn't do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover. - Mark Twain

I woke up this morning, early, before daylight. By nature, I'm not one who ever goes back to sleep once I'm awake. When I'm up, I'm up. Nevertheless, I knew for a fact that going back to sleep today was out of the question. It wasn't even a consideration. Waiting for us just beyond

the threshold of our hotel door, were treasures like we have never seen before. The mighty Pacific ocean was less than a stone's throw away; the towering Redwood National Forest was just down the road. There was so much to see today, so much to touch, taste, smell, and breathe in. I wondered how a single day was going to hold it all. Was it even possible? Yes, today was going to be huge. There was no way I was staying in bed for one more minute of it.

I slipped from beneath my covers, and padded my way softly to the balcony, sliding open the small glass door. The sound of waves gently washing over the rocky shore, was like beautifully orchestrated music, being played for those who were awake to listen. I couldn't see the water yet, but it wouldn't be long before the morning sun brought it to full light.

I knew then where I needed to be. I had to be on the shoreline, when this day broke open. The water's edge was pulling on me as surely as the moon pulls on the ocean's tide.

It would have been easy to let Cote sleep, to let her stay inside the warmth of her dreams. I could have quietly slipped out of the room, and explored the coast in solitude, in silent meditation and morning prayer. But Cote and I had come so far together. I couldn't walk out without first waking her up, asking if she wanted to join me. I went back inside and shook her gently.

"Cote...."

"Huh?"

"Cote, it's morning. It's early, really early, but I'm going to go down to the water. Do you want to come with me?"

"What? What time is it?"

"Not quite 6. But I want to be down there before the sun comes up. You don't have to go, but I didn't want to leave without asking you."

"No. I think I'll stay here. Is that alright?"

"Yeah, that's fine. It's just that we've come all this way, to reach the west coast. I just have to be out there, I have to see it. I don't want to miss any of it."

A heavy sigh escaped from beneath the blanket.

"Hold on. I'm coming with you...."

We didn't even get dressed. What for? This morning wasn't about trying to make a good impression on others....it was instead about impressing the beauty of nature on our hearts, as we continued to keep this rite of passage real and true. We slipped on our sandals, and headed downstairs, dressed in our comfy pajama pants and sweatshirts. We made one quick stop at the breakfast counter, which was still closed, but a thermos of hot coffee was waiting for those early risers in need of a quick caffeine kick. I grabbed a cup and took it along with me.

As Cote and I stepped outside, the light of day was just beginning to break. We climbed over the grassy embankment, and gingerly picked our way over pebbles and driftwood to the water's edge. Without saying a word, we knew what had to be done first.

Standing side by side, we simultaneously dipped our toes into the mighty Pacific. The chilly water had us squealing with delight, as it rippled around our feet. Multi-colored stones sparkled back up at us, each one like a tiny, tempting jewel. We were here. Finally. We were as far west as the open road was going to take us. But nothing about this trip was over. In life, nothing is ever really "over." The landscape just changes. The path may curve, the road may fork, or in our case, even end. But the possibilities in life remain as vast and wide as the ocean of blue stretching out before us. Endings, after all, are just new beginnings, waiting to happen. Cote and I could stand together upon this shoreline and look back at how far we'd come, as well as look forward to all that was yet to be.

It was while we were looking forward, that the most amazing thing happened. In the grey mist of morning, with the sun slowly kissing both the surface of the water and the boulders that dotted the shoreline, the rocks began to move! Cote and I couldn't believe our eyes! We pointed and squinted, and pointed some more. How could this be? What was happening?

Finally, the sun broke through strong enough to fade the hazy mist, and into full view came harbor seals. Tons of them......right before our very eyes! They stretched and yawned, and groaned and grunted. They had been there the whole time, waiting to add a whole new dimension to our ever-changing landscape. But who knew? Once again, the possibilities of life seemed endless before us. Cote and I stood in silent awe for several minutes, watching as these majestic creatures came to life, bold and beautiful.

Finally, with an empty coffee cup now in hand, Cote and I were ready to explore the shoreline and scavenge the beach for the most unusual rocks we could find. We drifted in between and around the huge boulders that rose up out of the water like giant sea

creatures rising from the deep. We climbed a few, we slid our fingers across their slippery surface, and we peeked inside cracks and crevices so as not to miss a thing. We met a local woman out walking her dog, and we stumbled upon a few "fishermen" wading in thigh high water, poking poles under the massive rock formations. We had no clue what they were fishing for. So after casually watching for a bit and not seeing them pull anything from the water, we thought what the heck, and decided to shout out and ask. Eels, they replied. They were fishing for eels, which hide beneath the rocks when the tide goes back out to sea. They made good eating, or so the young fisherman claimed. We exchanged a few more shouted questions and answers, and then Cote and I bid our thanks and wished them good luck.

We explored more of the coastline and then eventually wound our way back to where we started, the beach in front of our hotel. There was something here that Cote and I had seen earlier when we first climbed over the grassy embankment, that we were anxious to get back and take a closer look at. It was a stick shelter, made from large pieces of driftwood.

It looked like a small wooden hut. When we first stepped on to the beach at daybreak, two young people, a guy and a girl, seemed to have staked a claim upon it. They sat on the pebbly shore, close to the structure, but not exactly close to each other. Now they were gone, nowhere in sight, so Cote and I circled around the driftwood hut and then stepped inside.

Someone had spent the night here.

There was a small makeshift fire pit, and a fast-food wrapper wadded up in a ball. A couple of log stools were pushed back against the "wall" and there was enough space to spread out a sleeping bag. Maybe the young

(18-20 year old?) rumpled couple we had seen earlier, had done just this. Spent the night here. Maybe they were homeless. Maybe they were adventure-seekers. Maybe they were locals who snuck out for the night. Or maybe they were just passing through town and needed a free place to stay. We didn't know their story, but like everyone else in the world, we were sure they had one.

Our morning continued on in this relaxed, easy fashion. Cote and I explored and talked, we collected rocks and spoke of life's possibilities. We finally went back inside the hotel, with grumbling tummies, to grab a bite to eat. We sat down in front of the huge plate glass windows, overlooking the ocean, a view we couldn't get enough of, and one that filled us in a way food never could.

Before long, the rumpled young man returned, wandering back from down the shoreline. He was alone, with his head bent low, almost as if he was studying the very ground he walked upon. Cote was interested in him. Being close in age, she wanted to know what brought him here, where he was from, and where he might be going.

"Go talk to him," I said.

"What? No way. I couldn't. What would I say?"

"I don't know. Just walk out there. See what happens. "

"I'm scared. What if he thinks I'm weird, or what if the girl shows up and thinks I'm hitting on him?"

"But you're not, Cote. And you're in a safe place. You're in front of a hotel full of people. I'll be sitting right here if you need anything. If you're curious, go out there. Strike up a conversation if it feels right. If it doesn't, just sit there and take in the ocean. If you don't at least try, you'll always wonder what might have happened if you did. Think about it. What do you have to lose? And what do you stand to gain?"

She went. And I watched in amazement, as my daughter walked outside, stepped over the embankment, and took the trail leading down to the water. She would face this fear head on, all on her own. She wouldn't be holding anyone's hand, nor would she have the luxury of someone beside her, adding a buffer zone to any possible embarrassment she may encounter. She had only herself to fall back on. But in doing so, she stood the chance to discover a strength inside herself that was there all along.

I opened my journal, and began to make a few sketches. I pretended my mind was focused on the page in front of me, and not on my eldest child who at that very moment was out in the world all alone. I forced myself to give her time--I forced myself to trust, and I let her go just a little bit more. I looked at my watch, and then turned to look out over the ocean. The embankment blocked her from my view. I took a deep breath, and imagined myself glued to the chair beneath me. I fought the urge to follow. Because really, if I couldn't give her this much, how would I ever let her leave for college in just three short weeks?

After a respectable amount of time (by whose standards, I'm not saying), I gathered up my things, refilled my coffee cup and headed out to find her. She was sitting quietly on a large piece of driftwood, all alone, and lost in thought. The rumpled girl had returned. She was down shore with rumpled boy. They were near the shelter, but still not really near each other. I went and sat next to Cote, curious as to what had happened.

"I didn't talk to him."

"No? Why not?"

"Well, I waited for a bit and just kind of watched to see if he might be open to either of us saying something. But he kept his head down, and then the girl came back. I thought about going up to the both of them, but it just didn't feel right. So I sat down here instead."

"That's OK, Cote. You followed your gut, and that's a good thing. You gave it a shot, so there's no regrets, right? Think about it.....that's more than what a lot of people would have done."

"I know. It's just that I would still like to know their story. I bet they have a lot of interesting stuff going on."

"Yeah, I bet you're right. I bet they do."

We sat there a while longer, not wanting to end the ebb and flow of either the ocean or our thoughts. It had been a magical morning. Full of newfound discoveries, about the world and about some of those who live in it, ourselves included. When the time seemed right, Cote and I stood up, headed back to our room, and got ready for the rest of our day. We had towering trees waiting for us down the road. The ocean had given us the opportunity to look forward, straight out into the horizon, and then back again inside ourselves. The redwoods would draw our eyes upward, towards the very heavens themselves.

I couldn't even begin to imagine what kind of gifts would be waiting for us there.

Write of Passage - Day 5

2009-11-24T07:06:00.009-05:00

August 6, 2009: Battle Mountain, NE to Crescent City, CA (545 miles)

"...Take what you've learned so far and broaden it. Be a good listener. Be a good friend. But don't let people use you.....Don't forget where you came from and who you are. And remember, we all love you very much."

~Aunt Sis, Write of Passage letter, August 2009

We drove from Nevada to Oregon to California today, taking more back roads, dotted with more small and spaced-out towns. The landscape eventually began to change, but it took driving all the way through the rest of Nevada to finally see it. The sagebrush and

rocky desert continued well after we left Battle Mountain. We headed North on Highway 95, leaving civilization behind us for the better part of the day. Actually, since Cote's cell phone had no reception out here, it was road signs that became our only link to the "outside" world. We had Smokey the Bear who told us that there was a "very high" fire danger, and a yellow caution sign that warned us to watch for wild donkey crossings. (Which, lo and behold, happened to come in handy!). There was a huge black and white metal sign stating our duty to report any highway shootings we may witness while traveling the open frontier, and another sign graciously noting that it would be over 80 miles before we saw another gas station. (Yes, I heeded that one, thank you very much!).

There were signs warning against falling rock, snow zones, steep downgrades, and much more. Cote was so intrigued by all these captions, she became a "road-sign junkie," snapping pictures of every one,

digitally immortalizing them forever. There were no farms, no homes, no nothing else to really see out here. We were just a mother and daughter, on a journey, looking for signs....

Way out in the middle of nowhere, we turned off Highway 95 and took Route 140 west. This road would eventually cross us over the Oregon border, but we still had plenty of ground to cover (more than 100 miles). Occasionally, a mountain of rock would pop up,

and we'd have to trek up one side of it and back down the other, curving precariously at times as the road narrowed to a tight two lanes.

Finally Oregon arrived, and with it came a few farms, a few cattle, and a few fields. Not many. Just one here, and several miles later, another one there. But it broke up the landscape, and it gave us something to point at. Oregon also brought something else, though. A wicked thunderstorm. Somewhere out in the middle of this wide open space, a terrible storm blew in. Our car was engulfed by a sheet of rain so dense, we couldn't see past the windshield. Our wipers flew back and forth at top speed, but did no good. A grey curtain had been pulled down all around us.

There was no place to run, no place to hide, nothing we could do to stop it.

That was when the hail hit. I couldn't believe my eyes and ears. Hard packed, dime-size snowballs, pelted our roof and hood. But again, there was absolutely no place to take cover. The sound was deafening and made me sick to my stomach. All I could imagine were thousands of tiny pock marks being indented all over the black paint of our less-than-one-year-old Ford Edge. I pulled over to the side of the road, hoping that by sitting still the

pelting would be less intense. I wanted to cry, but Cote wouldn't let me. In a crazy "Freaky Friday" kind of moment, she took on the role of adult, while her mother sat curled up and sniveling in the driver's seat.

"Mom, it's ok," she soothed. "It's just a car, it can be fixed. There's nothing we can do about it, so just let it go. Everything will be alright."

Of course, she was right. So I stopped my whining, but kept my eyes shut.

She, on the other hand, picked up her camera and took more pictures.....

The storm finally passed, and when I reopened my eyes, I felt like Dorothy stepping into Oz. Everything around us had new color, new life. The air was fresh, clean. The dry, brittle, dusty feel of the past several days was gone. We put the car in gear, and drove on. As we did, the color green grew stronger and bolder before our eyes. Oregon had fields of grass and groves of pine. Trees. Beautiful, green, and soul-pleasing trees. They started out small, almost inconspicuous at first, but grew taller and fuller the farther we drove in. There was a renewed sense of hope here, a deeper shade of life. Yes, we had to weather a storm to reach it, breathe it, feel it. But sometimes isn't that the way life is?

The miles passed, and California closed in, as more green foliage closed up the sides of the roads. Gone were the wide open spaces. Now we were cocooned inside the safety of the trees, nestled in the arms of their outstretched limbs. The coast was somewhere just beyond the next towering pine. We couldn't see it yet, but we knew we weren't far. The air had a distinct smell, fresh, powerful. The ocean breeze was faint, but growing stronger. Night was drawing

near by the time we finally crossed the California border. Looking at the map, we had only about 50 miles to go before we reached Crescent City, but Highway 199 was a road full of twists, turns, and pull-offs, which allowed faster moving traffic to pass. A foggy mist had settled in, followed by a light drizzly rain, making the drive even slower for those of us unfamiliar with the territory. It was painstaking. Cote and I knew just beyond the next curve, the next tree, the ocean was patiently waiting for us. Yet every mile we logged seemed like ten. We were tired, exhausted, anxious with anticipation.

Finally Highway 199 ended, and 101 was there to welcome us. The fog still loomed along the edges of Crescent City, but we were thankful to be here, as we pulled into the first motel we could find, a Best Western. I went in, asked for a room, and was told they were booked solid. What??! No!! I returned to the car, and told Cote to start praying. She had been talking with Hannah on the phone, so she petitioned her sister to do likewise. The Best Western people told me our only hope for a room would be the Hampton Inn, down the road. The one sitting right on the water's edge, with the beautiful ocean view. I could only imagine the cost. But we had finally arrived at the coast. Cote and I had driven over 2300 miles to get here, and had done so with minimal amount of spending. I was ready to pay full price, if need be.

One thing I had learned back in Steamboat Springs, CO, however, was that hotel prices could be negotiated. I'll share that story some other time, but suffice it to say, after being successful in Steamboat, I was wondering how I could fair in Crescent. I walked up to the counter and was greeted by the manager. Or at least I assumed he was the manager. He looked the part, anyway. He had also just separated himself from the younger "manager-wannabe-looking" guy stationed further down the check-in counter, who was helping someone else book a room.

"Good evening, may I help you," my guy asked.

"Yes, do you have a room available?"

"Only a few left tonight, but we do have one on the third floor, with a balcony over-looking the ocean."

"Uh, huh. And how much does that one run?"

"Well, our regular rate would be......." He wrote the figure on a small piece of paper and then slid it over for me to see. $259.(!) My heart hiccuped. "But, I can discount it for you tonight, and let you have it for......" Again he scribbled. $159.

Of course, this figure had me breathing again. But still I wondered....if my guy is being so secretive, what exactly does this mean? Am I supposed to counter-offer? Is he expecting me to?

I smiled, and asked what amenities his hotel offered.

"A full hot continental breakfast, of course. Use of all the facilities, free wi-fi, etc."

I did my best to look both pleased, but also slightly unsure.

"Oh....hmmm.....you know.....my daughter and I just drove all the way from Michigan to see the Pacific coast. It's been a really long haul. You don't by chance, have a special Michigan-rate, do you?"

Then I smiled as sweetly as my tired face would allow.

"Well, I suppose for our guests from Michigan, I could let you have it for....."

Scribble, scribble.....$139.

Of course, I grabbed it. Yes, it was only another $20 discount, but hey, it paid the taxes.

The room was gorgeous, the view would surely be spectacular by morning. (It was still foggy and overcast). It didn't matter that we couldn't enjoy it tonight. By the time Cote and I dropped our backpacks, we were ready to call it a day. I did, however, have to return to the lobby about 20 minutes after we checked in. As I passed through, I just happened to over-hear "manager-boy-in-training" tell a new arrival he was sorry, but the hotel was completely booked for the night. So, it was true. We did get one of the very last rooms at the Inn. Our prayers had been heard and answered. I had a quiet feeling, though, that this had been part of some master plan all along. That Cote and I ended up right where we were supposed to be. Something told me, come morning, we would open our eyes to this vast ocean before us.....and see just how far we'd come......and realize just how endless life's possibilities would always be.

P/S.....for those who may be wondering.....our car was just fine. Not a mark on it!

Write of Passage - Day 4

2009-11-15T20:07:00.008-05:00

August 5, 2009: Steamboat Springs, CO to Battle Mountain, Nevada (664 miles)

"You know, the Wise Men also traveled west...

~Peter T., email of encouragement, sent August 2009

I was awakened at 2:00 a.m., by the sound of typing. The clicking noise was distinct even though I was submerged in total darkness. For a moment I couldn't remember where I was, but that wasn't the immediate question spark-knocking inside my brain. Instead, I was wondering....."What in the world is she doing texting at this hour?"

"Are you texting?"

"NO!"

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing!"

"Are you calling someone?"

"No!"

"Then why are you awake?"

"I'm looking at a map Kwaku's son sent me."

"So you're on your computer."

"NO!"

"You're lying....how can you be looking at a map, if you're not on your computer?"

"What are you talking about?"

This was when it hit me.....Cote was talking in her sleep! I was having a full-blown argument with someone who wasn't even semi-awake. What threw me on the defense so quickly was her immediate response to the very first question (accusation?) I threw at her. Cote practically sat straight up in bed, and barked a clear, precise answer. I thought for sure she was trying to "hide" some kind of electronic activity under cover of darkness and blankets. For almost 30 seconds, she kept pace with me, answering every question I catapulted her way. And yet she was totally and completely oblivious to the entire exchange taking place.

Unfortunately, about the same time I realized she had been sleeping, Cote became fully awake. And in that moment, the only thing she remembered was me calling her a "liar." Which technically wasn't true.....I said she was ly-ing. I didn't say she was a li-ar. Which is a huge difference. But not at 2 am, it seems. Cote was ready to do battle, her honor was at stake. All I wanted to do was go back to sleep and put the whole misunderstanding behind us.

"I'm sorry, go back to sleep."

"No! You called me a liar."

"No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did."

"Cote, I heard a noise and I thought you were texting. But you were sleeping, and then talking in your sleep. So, just go back to bed."

"No! You called me a liar."

So begins Day 4 ......

Both of us eventually cooled down enough to fall back asleep, but the incident was far from being over. I knew it had only been postponed until morning light.

When the sun did break through the crack in our curtains, I got up and readied myself, letting Cote sleep a few extra minutes. I thought giving her this little "peace offering" would lift her mood and help smooth over our midnight mayhem. No such luck. When Cote crawled out from beneath the covers, I could tell she was still very much put out with me. What's more, given the nature of our "fake" argument, I think we both had to admit that a few unresolved "text-messaging/facebooking" issues still lingered between us.

I'll say one thing for small motel rooms.....there's no place to hide. We were forced to face each other over the next 20 minutes. We brushed past each other as we moved to brush our teeth. We exchanged silent glances while we silently packed our bags. Finally, it became just too much for the both of us. I don't remember who offered the olive branch first, but it was finally extended, accepted, and reciprocated. Cote and I sat down and talked about why we said what we said, why we felt what we felt, and how bizarre it was to have such disagreement in the middle of the night. By the time we were ready to check out, we were laughing at ourselves and each other. We were ready to move on.

And move on we did! We left Steamboat Springs by 9 am, (Mountain Time), and logged almost 700 miles before the end of the day! We skipped the jaunt north to catch the faster-moving I-80, and stayed instead on the lonely, quiet Highway 40. This back road was a long stretch of really not much. We saw some beautiful red foothills and a few very small towns, but really nothing more. It was rare for us to even meet another car.

We passed Hayden and Maybell, Elk Springs and Dinosaur (yes, that's right). Itty-bitty blips on the map that hardly registered any kind of arrival or departure. Cote and I stopped only once, somewhere out there in the middle of nowhere, to buy a stick of beef jerky and a frozen Snickers ice cream bar from a lone standing convenience store. We kept moving towards Salt Lake City and civilization. We didn't dismiss the passing landscape, though. Cote and I were still first-time explorers in all of this. We took note of every rock, tree, bush, and blue horizon. Even a desolate route such as Highway 40 held its own kind of beauty, hopes, possibilities. We were mindful not to take a single mile for granted.

Around 1:00 we passed a sign for Park City, Utah. Having been to this little storybook town myself several years ago, I made a quick decision to take the exit and take Cote. I told her about the quaint, mountainside village full of unique shops and one-of-a-kind boutiques. It would be fun to check out together, and it would do us good to stretch our legs and get some fresh air. We pulled into town, and snagged one of the last available parking spots at the top of the hill. Opening our car doors, we were slammed by 100 degree heat, shocking our well air-conditioned bodies. Who was it again that thought we needed this air?

Despite the overwhelming temps, we decided to browse a bit. After passing a few store-fronts, however, it soon became obvious that we were not in the mood to shop. Something about all the excessive "materialization" in front of us contradicted the simple "rite of passage journey" taking place inside of us. Nevertheless, we looked through a few more windows, we stretched our road-weary legs.

We decided we couldn't resist one particular Native American Art/Jewelry store. The open doorway was warm and inviting, the pieces on display were utterly stunning. We stepped inside, taking in the beauty that surrounded us. An older, grey-haired gentleman (the owner?) stood oddly silent behind the counter, so Cote and I offered easy smiles as a way to introduce ourselves. His face didn't flinch an inch. A bit puzzled, (wasn't he happy to have company in the form of potential customers?)....we continued to browse the first floor of his establishment. It didn't take long to realize why his measure of welcome was so meager. The bracelet sparkling in the glass case I was leaning over cost $400. The picture that caught Cote's eye, was signed by the artist and price-tagged at $2,500. As we walked over to the stairwell leading up to the second floor, a large, hand-woven rug hung from the banister, with a price tag reading "$5,000" and sign next to it that said, "Do Not Touch."

Of course by then, we knew what the shopkeeper was thinking, and he was pretty much right. But without missing a beat, Cote and I raised a hidden eyebrow to each other, and let the games begin. We talked about how beautiful this item was, and how great that one would look in our living room. We moseyed upstairs, fingering trinkets left and right, and commenting on how extraordinary they were. We reached the top landing and turned to each other in disbelief and disgust by the owner's judgemental behavior. Yes, we were dressed in t-shirts and cargo shorts. No, we weren't going to buy anything here. But did we really deserve this type of treatment? Cote and I were just about to start verbally spewing our thoughts, when we heard his footsteps climbing the stairs below. What in the world??!!

He came to the top of the landing, crossed his arms over his chest, and spoke not a word. He didn't have to. His body language said it all......"please leave." So we did. Not in a rush, but at our own sweet pace. We continued our pleasantries and headed casually back downstairs, drifting out the door. Once we were on the sidewalk, Cote and I let it rip! We tore this guy's attitude apart limb by limb. We unleashed the anger bottled up inside of us over his rudeness, and stomped across the street to Cows, a highly regarded ice cream shop. Nothing like some frozen dairy to cool down a couple of hot-tempered women! (To this day, we kick ourselves for not telling that man exactly what we thought of his behavior. Why didn't we, we wondered later. What were we afraid of?)

Thankfully, the salesgirl behind the counter at Cows was as sweet as the treat she was scooping up for us. She even complemented Cote on her "fork" bracelet*, finding it totally unique and different from anything she had ever seen. We told her she could make one herself, at a cost of less than a dollar, which was a much better deal then the prices being charged across the street. We thanked her for her hospitality, collected our cones, and headed for the car. Within minutes, we put this "storybook" town behind us, and had another chapter in our own book to write......this time entitled, "Be Careful How You Treat People...Or You Might Just Find Yourself Blogged."

From Park City, we drove straight through Salt Lake City, without even stopping. The expressway was crazy, the traffic intense. But the mountains were gorgeous in the full afternoon sun. I couldn't tear my eyes away from them, even when all that was left was their reflection in my rearview mirror. As the city faded away, we noticed dirt-crusted white stuff edging both sides of the highway. Salt. The beginning of the Great Salt Desert was upon us, only to be honest, Cote and I had no clue what we were in for. Mile after mile we drove on, as the white stuff began to spread farther and farther into the distance, and become whiter and whiter. We kept going, trying to focus most of our attention on the Nevada border and the Pacific Time Zone. (Where we would gain another hour of driving time). Nevertheless, the salt grew more and more intriguing to us. What did it feel like, we wondered? Was it hard? Compact? Or sprinkled and loose? If we stepped out on it, would our feet sink in, or would its coarseness scrape our soles? Finally, with only 20 miles left of Utah to travel, I turned to Cote and said, "Let's pull off at the next spot available, and see what this stuff's like for real."

Of course, Cote was more than ready. Right then, a "rest stop" came into view. Little did we know, however, that we were actually pulling into the Bonneville Salt Flats, the place famous for the world land-speed record runs.

The salt was amazing. Hard-packed, and rock-solid. The first thing we did was taste it, finding its flavor so

intense, our tongues curled on contact. Then we took our shoes off, and walked gingerly around on the vast sea of salt, the roughness of the surface prickling the bottoms of our feet. Finally, we tried to scoop some up to bring home with us, but that wasn't so easy. The salt was packed so tight, we had to use the metal cup from our thermos to scrape the top layer loose. We snapped some fun pictures of each other, wrote our names with the few rocks to be found, and then washed up and returned to the highway.

It was late afternoon, and we still had over 200 miles to go.

By nightfall, we had made it to Battle Mountain, Nevada, about 1/2 way across this state. It was only Wednesday, and it was crazy to think we'd been gone from home only four short days, and yet we'd traveled so far. I was getting excited about seeing the coast, and a bit nervous about climbing the trees. After spending yesterday in the Rockies, I realized how anxious I became every time Cote leaned over a guardrail for a better view or stepped to the very edge of a look-out point. How in the world was I going to handle watching her climb 200 feet up a tree? This dream of ours was drawing closer by the minute. Come Saturday there would be nothing left standing between us and making it come true. Now really wasn't the time to start questioning what we were about to do. But I couldn't help myself. Minuscules of self-doubt were creeping in. Was I being an irresponsible parent in this whole undertaking? Or was I helping my daughter to live fully, and to see beauty in the world, from different angles and new perspectives. I said a prayer that the answer would lie with the latter, and turned out the light...letting faith take over from there.

*Cote's fork bracelet is really made from a fork. She had it bent to fit around her wrist, and wears it with the tines facing on top. She wears it most every day, along with many other braided and beaded ones. It's actually very cool looking....

Write of Passage - Day 3

2009-11-07T12:08:00.008-05:00

August 4, 2009: Sydney, NE to Steamboat Springs, CO (323 miles)

THE ROCKIES!

"This is a view to which nothing needs to be added...This scenery satisfies my soul."

~ Isabella Bird, 1879

A Lady's Life in the Rocky Mountains

Isabella was right...the Rockies lack absolutely nothing. Oh, how my soul was satisfied today! Every minute, every vista...unbelievable. While this was Cote's first trip to the Rockies, it's actually my second. My parents brought me here when I was 12, some thirty years ago. As a young girl, I remember being blown away by the sheer size of the mountains....but today, as an adult, it was their unmeasurable beauty that captivated me. This place is simply indescribable. In fact, I'm anxious about even attempting to write today's journal entry, as there are no words powerful enough in the english language to describe what we saw. These mountains are majestic, monstrous, and magnificent. See? That's the best I can do, and yet I still fall so far short....

Cote and I started our day by checking out the small town of Sydney before getting back on I-80. Since the motel we had chosen last night was nestled right next to the very first Cabela's ever built, Cote insisted that we go inside. (She wanted to compare this outdoor retail giant with the newer version back home.) Once again, the excitement level for me was struggling to reach "root canal" on the meter reader. But it was 8 a.m., Cote's face was full of adventure, and she was ready to seize the day. We pulled up and went inside.

The place was a let-down, in both size and swagger. There was no towering mountain teeming with taxidermy, no bubbling brook trickling with trout. Just a few racks of clothes, some odd and ends in outdoor gear, and a couple second-rate stuffed animals. Cote's enthusiasm could not be curbed, however. She quickly explored the store, snapped a few shots, and even found herself hamming it up with Mighty Joe-Handsome, who just happened to be lounging in a floor model hammock.

By 9:30 we managed to route ourselves back to the highway, and head towards Cheyenne,Wyoming. According to the map, we had a decent stretch of time before we reached the Rockies, so I decided to unpack one of the questions I had brought along with me on this trip. Just a few weeks ago, Cote had broken off the 15-month relationship she had had with her high school boyfriend. The breakup wasn't easy, but Cote knew it was necessary. The fit hadn't been right, the differences between the two had been apparent for some time. Nevertheless, she was still healing and still letting go.

Although I knew Cote was ready to move on, and she knew I totally supported her decision, I didn't want her to miss any life lesson in all of this either. It was possible, in her rush to put the past behind her, that she might dismiss the relationship without so much as a backward glance. Or worse, come to think of the past year as a huge "waste" of time. I didn't want that to happen. In every relationship, no matter how long it lasts, there is something brought out, brought up, or brought to your life. It may be a quick jolt of laughter, or a long term commitment. A new outlook, or a new look within. The relationship may change the compass settings of your life, or brush the fog from your view, making your path that much clearer. Over the past 15 months, this relationship had planted seeds of growth and maturity for Cote. I didn't want the sprouts to become raked over and buried under mounds of muck and mud.

So I composed my question carefully. I turned to her and asked....."Cote, knowing what you know now.....what will you look for in your next relationship? What are some of the qualities you liked about "M" and what are some that were missing for you?" The question opened up a flood of conversation, sprinkling water on the soil of her past year. It also revealed a few stray weeds, which we plucked from the ground together. We talked about the good, and the not so good, the obstacles, and the break-throughs. What she learned, what she liked, what she would repeat, and what she would leave behind.

As our heart-to-heart grew deeper, the mountains in the distance grew closer. Before we knew it, we had turned south on Highway 25 at Cheyenne and crossed over the Colorado border. We were headed for Trail Ridge Road, one of the more scenic routes in the Rocky Mountain National Forest. (or so I had read in one of the many brochures that had littered my bed last night.) We had a day to play in the Rockies, we wanted to make the most of it.

As we entered Estes Park, on the outskirts of RMNF, I was overcome with childhood memories. The mountains before me sparked scenes in my mind from 30 years ago. All of a sudden, I had the urge to call my dad back home. I pulled over to the side of the road, right in front of this Welcome to Estes Park sign, with the Rockies looming large behind

it. I dialed his number, and after a few quick rings, his voice came on the line. I immediately said, "Dad, guess where I am." Somehow, (to this day I still don't how), he knew and guessed correctly. Then he started reminiscing, pulling his own memories out for me to see while I sat there in the Colorado sunshine. Suddenly it was 1978 and I was 12 years old again.

"Let's see, if you're just outside of Estes Park, that means you drove through Big Thompson Pass. I remember you kids throwing snowballs at each other when we stopped at the Continental Divide, and then you got sick. Do you remember that? How we had to take you to the hospital in Denver?" He talked about Pike's Peak, Grand Lake, and how if he could, he would do it all again someday. He told Cote and me to enjoy ourselves, to see as much as possible, and drive safely. And that he loved us.

My Dad. My lifeline to days gone by...

From here on out, the day was wild! We drove up Trail Ridge Road, and stopped at every lookout we could find. We hiked, we climbed, we snapped picture after picture. Not one, however, came close to capturing the magnitude of beauty before us. Cote explored every inch, sometimes right out to what seemed like the very edge. We discovered hidden lakes, and encountered hillside elk. We drove to the highest point (12,183') and back down again, oohing and ahhing at every vista. (Side note: the whole way I was secretly praying that we wouldn't run out of gas....I know what you're thinking, but it wasn't because I wasn't paying attention this time. I actually thought we would have plenty of fuel to cover the 50+ mile stretch of Trail Ridge Road, but once the car started climbing these incredible mountains, the gauge started dipping...drastically! Come to find out, there is not one gas station to be found inside the RMNF. Who knew?? But eventually we reached the other end, and at Grand Lake we fumed our way in to the one and only filling station around.)

We played in the Rockies until well past 5 pm. (We even brought two huge fallen chunks home with us.) But like I said earlier, trying to describe it all would be impossible. So I think I'll stop right here, and let the pictures below do the rest. Let me just close out today's entry by saying we took the very winding, very lonely, Highway 40 west out of the RMNF, heading towards Steamboat Springs, to spend the night. It took us almost 3 hours to reach our destination, and it felt like we had driven hundreds of miles. Yet according to our map, we hardly moved an inch. We'll have plenty of driving to make up tomorrow, but I wouldn't change a minute of today.