Write of Passage - Day 10 (cont.)

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

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

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

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

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).