Lost + Found

Zuri almost died on Saturday. We were at Smith Rocks in Oregon, walking up towards the east when she went for a dip in the canal and was swept into an underground tunnel right before my eyes.

I screamed her name and tore off my pack, dropped everything on my person and ran to where I thought perhaps the canal let out into the river. I passed other hikers, asking them in a loud voice, "Have you seen my dog? She's big and brown! She has a blue collar! Tell me if you see her!" My brother was right behind me, yelling to run down river as he ran up river. Panic is such a strange emotion- so high pitched and lurching and cold. Fast thoughts flashed through my brain: canals I'd been to, dark water, lost dogs, the soft fur behind her ears, grates that catch debris. 

What if she'd been caught against a grate? What if she was drowning? What if her collar or her harness snagged on something? She's not a good swimmer! Tears and sweat and dirt caked me. Tyna ran down the hill to me and I fell into a little heap and cried onto her tennis shoes, certain that my best friend (this dog that owns me! this dog that eats my Birkenstocks! this dog that takes up my whole bed! this dog that won't stay off the counter and loves hot sauce!) had died and I would never even find her body.  

Tyna's husband yelled from the top of hill, near where Zuri had fallen in, saying we need to go UP! Come up! The canal was on the other side of the cliffs- a three mile hike on a utility road. My best friend Emily had already begun the trek. It was no small hike, but finding Zuri dead or alive was up to us. No one else was going to go. So we moved quick through the hot sun up and up and up, and then down and down and down. The land spread out, speckled with trees and rocks and more rocks. 

My brain yelled, "She's gone. She's gone. You'll never find her." My heart whispered, "She's alive. She's alive. Zuri doesn't die. Dogs don't fear death." I sprinkled trail with tears and prayers. Small pebbles and sharp pieces of plants were pushing into my sandals. Emily was so far ahead I couldn't even see her down the long road.

At the opening of the canal, no dog in sight. There were four of us who spread out. I ran off path towards the river that traces the park. Emily went west. We yelled, I cried. I felt saturated with exhaustion. Two hawks flew over my head, balanced in the light breeze. I plopped into the dirt and told myself that if we didn't find her today, we'd find her tomorrow. Someone would. Zuri is not dead, I kept telling myself. 

"We have Zuri! B! We have her!" I could barely hear Emily yell through the trees. I ran to find Zuri, bouncing as always, with Emily holding her leash. Not even a scratch on her. No broken bones. Very much alive. It was as if she hadn't even noticed that she just took a swim down a mile long canal that travels under thousands of tons of earth. 

That night in the tent, I pulled her fleece over her big head. She laid down next to me and stretched out her endless legs. My body ached. The arches of my feet felt the consistency of sawdust. I tried to push the events of the day to the back of my mind, but before I could forget to tell her, I laid my head next to her soft ears and said, "I love you and all of you. I love you and all of you. All the bad parts, all the good parts. I love you and all of you," to the dog who owns me.  

We Got Married

Photography: Jennifer Young Studio
Dress: Reformation
Flowers: Independent
Shoes: Pikolinos

late june.

This month, Nick is in Alaska fishing. So it's been just Zuri, Copper, and me at the house. Copper is our friend Brad's hound dog. Brad is in Alaska too.

The days feel short and the nights feel broken up by the movement of the pups. Each day is similar- wake up around 5:30 with the dogs; let them dance their dance, sometimes they fall asleep again but hardly ever; I go to work, I come play with them at lunch, then work, then come home and play with them in the yard, walk the slackline alone, and take Zuri for a run. I made dinner and then I go to bed.

Yesterday, I almost walked out of work and never went back. It was a hard day. My best friend Victoria, who is in medical school, has been making good use of the summer climbing mountains. She had just come down from Rainier yesterday, feel her heart pumping all her blood and exhaustion overcoming her, and I was just here...in my box of an office. My heart was breaking. My husband is living in the big vast wilderness of Alaska doing hard work, my brother Mark is wandering the world with just a few things on his back, Victoria is scaling mountains, and the four walled life is not the life for me.

It's tough. Reality sets in pretty quick. School loans are a heavy load to carry. Much heavier than the pack I'd like to be carrying on my pack through the trails of the Continental Divide. Nick and I have talked about living in a van. Maybe when Zuri is a little older. I want to see the National Parks. I want to put all our new wedding gifts in storage. Each day I spend in this office, I think of all the sunlight and fresh air I'm missing out on. And how everyone else I love is out there, somewhere, in the wild.

For life.

Lately, and not so lately

Awkward space. That's where you'll find me. Not quite a believer, not quite a doubter, and not very interested in toeing any line in trying to define either of those. Respectful space is maybe a better name for it.

I'm Switzerland. Which my friend Walter would describe as neutral, but also armed. Each day, I wake with appreciate for life and sometimes total disgust for the frustrating things in life- going to a job I sometimes find boring, lack of sleep, sore muscles, a loud dog, a loud cat, loud neighbors, no money and lots of debt, and no toast left in the kitchen.

But I try to focus on the good things. Maybe sometimes that's all your can do. I'm excited to get married to my one true wild man lover in Yosemite; excited to see how far I can run without stopping; excited to catch up with my friends and know where they are right now, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. I am excited to be a listener and a student right now.

I've received so much help and education in the past year, and the awkwardrespectful place it has put me in is just where I'm at. I'm not a fighter for much right now, but I stand up for my people and my causes. My brain is clear and my heart is in the right place, but I also know the world is just moving very quickly around me.

But for some reason, suddenly, that's fine. I'm good just being myself right now with no particular definition or shape or affiliation, and not having to justify any of that to anyone. I feel like I've been trying to get to this place for a while now- a place of peace and respect and love and sometimes, awkwardness :).

Welcome Back!

Right now, I am in a very different place than I was last year at this same time. Let's call it a place of doubts and softness and lots of work and stresses, but also a deep sea of real love. 

Writing is a tough gig to play, kids! And I was ready to finally put it to sleep, but then I got an email that said my alma mater is publishing FIVE of my poems in this year's journal of literature and art. Which made my whole heart cry because I swear I write nothing but absolute shit, and someone out there thought that was pretty special. 

So maybe I won't let this blog die quite yet. Maybe I'll just try to get something on here every now and then. I'm trying to focus on having new experiences and making new connections to the people in my tiny town. So welcome back and we'll see how this goes.  

From this place

We were driving through tiny towns

And up through the hills, when I spotted our name

On a street sign in Dayton.

"Your great granddad," said my father. 

We are from this place, the wheat fields

and the Columbia.

An overrun cemetery stands, despite the grass and weeds, 

and there my great grandmother is the earth the farmers plow.

I had never realized, when I was 8-years old, 

that when we abandoned the coastline 

we were coming back to the place 

where we always belonged. 

Where all the stars were named

for us, long before we were born.

A word to college kids.

There's a lot I want to tell college kids, even though it seems I was just one myself. Things like "don't pay too much for college" and "don't try to find a job right away" or "chase your curiosities, not your passions." Profound stuff, really! But I feel like it should be common sense, even though that's not how I did any of it.

Right out of college (expensive, private college), I got a job that sucked, didn't save any money, and did not take advantage of the opportunity right in front of me: six months of freedom before my loans were due. Then I had to find another job.

If you're a college kid, I'd suggest getting a couple credit cards and traveling. It will seem like a drop in the bucket when you start paying everything back. Just take your credit and go, go learn to BASE jump, or travel to Europe and see all the cathedrals, or go to all the National Parks in the United States (there are only 59).

Just go. Don't let the social obligations of society tell you who you need to be or what you should do with your life and your time. Time is not a renewable resource. You will never get today back. Just go live your life, the one you've always imagined.

I don't know if this video has anything to do with what I wrote, but I suggest just watching it and maybe it will help give you a taste of what it would be like to do what you love everyday, regardless of what happens.

Drums, salt, and sand.

Listen. For a drum and a war cry

and the piercing of a sky and the water

that is in all of us

that drains to all the seas and always comes back

Mark says we are all drums.

And I say we are all sand and salt, 

Easily worn away by the passing of time. 

What a relief to walk free into the red desert

and let the grains peel away, welcomed back into Her arms. 

What a relief to be able to play your own drum, 

loudly and with no regrets.