May 21, 2013

Tuesday

Happy Birthday to me! I have decided to fill my day with fun and inexpensive things, mostly. After toast for breakfast at The Mill, Poppy and I drive down to my guitar lesson. I have a vegetarian Vietnamese sandwich for lunch before hiking at Stevens Creek Park - a birthday tradition. My very first birthday in California was spent here, hiking to the end of the Tony Look trail and lying in the tall grass by the reservoir, listening to Rumours by Fleetwood Mac on my headphones. This year, I have Poppy and we don't get all the way to the end of the trail, but it is always nice to come here, even for just this one magical grove of oak trees. It is one of my favorite spots on Earth.

Summer Road Trip - Zion National Park & Las Vegas

My plan had been to do the Angel's Landing hike in Zion National Park. Now, I had read up on this hike and the best time to do it is not in the heat of August. It also gets really, really crowded. It also has some really dangerous and narrow parts, made much worse by crowding. Also, my friend April, who I was to meet up with in Las Vegas, warned me that a friend of hers fell to her death on this hike. So, to prepare and plan for this hike, I had decided, before I even started on this trip, to get up super early and get to the park early, take the required shuttle to the trailhead and beat the crowds. I do not prefer hiking crowded, dangerous hikes in the hottest month of summer in dry climates. I had set the alarm on my cell phone. But, you see, I have a problem with alarms. I have slept through many, many alarms in my life. I have missed many classes and many exams from sleeping through alarms in college. I worked 35 hours a week in college and I would get home from work around 9:30 or 10:00 at night and start studying until the early morning hours. Then I would depend on my alarm to wake me for my 8:00 or 9:00 class or exam because I always scheduled my classes as early as I could so I could finish as early as possible to get to work as early as possible. It is a vicious cycle. But I often sleep very deeply, sleeping through parties, thunderstorms and alarm clocks. My roommates would think my alarm clock went off and I was not at home and eventually, after an hour, the alarm clock would just shut itself off. So, I got a second alarm clock, set five minutes later than the first. When this did not do it, I got a third alarm clock, but still, this did not work either. Finally, my mother discovered the perfect alarm clock with the most annoying sounding buzzer you have ever heard. I have never slept more than twenty minutes through this alarm. It has never failed to wake me, even if twenty minutes later. So, I just set it twenty minutes earlier than the absolute latest time I had to get up.  Sadly, this alarm clock died about six months ago and I have never had the confidence that I will wake up in time since, usually producing a very poor night's sleep over worry that I will sleep through the alarm. Anyway, my cell phone alarm clock fails me this morning and I sleep and sleep. When I do wake up I am excruciatingly disappointed. It is nine o'clock, way too late to get ready, drive over an hour to Zion, hopefully get a parking spot, take the shuttle and make it to the trailhead. So, I immediately discard the whole notion. Now what to do? 
I am seriously considering just driving home. It is morning and I am kind of lonely. I realize that last night was the first night of my entire trip that I spent alone, unless you consider the red-eye on the flight from Salt Lake City, but I don't think that counts. Now, I like to be alone, I really require enormous amounts of alone time, which you think would make me "low maintenance" but, really, I require so much alone time that I think it starts to swing back in the direction of "high maintenance". It can be hard to plan things with me because I already have all my seemingly "free" time spoken for, filled up with my "alone time" things. But despite voluntarily spending a lot of time alone, I do not like to be lonely. You would think that someone who needs so much alone time would not get lonely, but we do and it sucks. I think this is one of the reasons why Paul and I are such a good match, we both like a lot of alone time, which we can have, together. So here, I am a bit puzzled by why I am feeling lonely. But I am. I am pulled because I want to continue to explore but I want to be home, in my familiar surroundings. I guess I am missing having meaningful, human connection, which I can't really have with strangers, if I were even "connecting" with strangers, which I have not done on this trip. It is kind of hard to do when you sit in your car driving most of the time.

I decide that I will not decide. I will start out on the road, in the direction of Zion National Park an hour away and if I don't feel like it then I will just keep driving in the direction of home. I am not on the road more than a few miles when I am struck by the views of huge golden fields. Wow, I am a bit mesmerized by them and then the later fields of tall, yellow, daisy-like wildflowers. Hmm... I see a sign for Zion already, not the heart of the park, but the northwestern section of the park, the much less visited section of the park, the much less crowded section of the park. I fight with indecision for what seems like several minutes, almost in a panic, and at the last second I take the exit for this part of the park and the fate of my day has been decided.
I stop in the visitor's center and show my yearly park pass and get a map. Then I start up the scenic road.

I decide to stop, at random, at a trailhead parking lot and go on a hike that sounds interesting. Zion National Park always amazes me with its huge red mountains and today I am hiking right towards them, among them, following along a shallow creek. The creek is very clear and makes musical sounds in the quiet of this place. There are many lovely plants and wildflowers blooming along the way. I also spot a lizard in the red sand. The trail meanders in and out of pine woods and often requires me to tip toe across some rocks to cross the creek, adding some nice variety.

Plant Life

Lizard

The creek

Glow Sticks

Cabin in the Woods

River in the Woods

The trail is leading me directly into a narrow and deep valley, formed by the red mountains. There, is a rock "overhand" where water drips down, forming small glass-like pools. I am so taken by the pools that I don't explore the rest of this area right away. An older man is there with his older wife. He tells me, "There is an amazing view if you just step back here and look up."
"Okay, thanks. I will." I assure him. I am snapping away some photos of the pools for several minutes, maybe ten minutes or more. When the older man says, "Young lady, make sure you step back here and take a look up at the view." Geezus, I will already, can you cut me a freaking break? Does he want me to do it right then and there just to make him feel better? This man, whom I owe nothing, is not going to tell me what and when I should freaking do something. I want to tell him to go mind his own business, that pointing out something once is plenty enough times. But all I say is, "Okay" in a monotone voice and then, barely missing a beat, I go back to exactly what I was doing. He and his wife leave. I mean, the guy seemed really nice, but don't push your concern on me like that, there is nothing that turns me off faster.

Reflection in Pool

Okay, so when I was done and ready, I did walk back about fifteen feet to the place he mentioned and looked up. Yes, it was quite nice, but not so-freaking-nice-I-am-going-to-wet-my-pants. So, I hike back to my car and continue on this scenic drive through Zion. I saw some beautiful deep canyons and mountains and overlooks. Very amazing stuff and my day of travel was more inspired. Then, at the end of the road I made my way back down to the interstate and headed towards the heart of the park, except that I got sidetracked. I was so enamored by this lesser know part of the park that I wanted to see more "lesser known" parts of the park, so I decided to venture up this one long road through a remote area that passed in and out of the park like a sewing needle.

So, in a small town on a nearly unmarked road I made a left turn. It took me through some dusty, rural neighborhoods out into the dry countryside. I passed fields of dryness and some houses and pastures. People live out here, its amazing. Even the town didn't have much to offer. But they seemed to really love this place because it looked like they had put a lot into the comforts of their home. I drove toward multi-colored mountains and passed through acres and acres of dead trees, perhaps dead orchards that had withered to gray trunks and branches. The road climbed higher and higher and then, all of a sudden, where this red, paved road leveled out was an enormous golden field. I pulled my small purple car as far off the road as I could get it, but really, it was flat here so if a car did come they could easily and safely pass me. Besides, I hadn't even see one other car for many, many miles. Of course, as soon as I pull of, I get passed by six cars. I take a few photos and admire this cluster of the long stemmed daisies that is growing near the fence of the golden field.

Then I am off again, enjoying the amazing views. Eventually I read a crude sign that points me down a dirt road to the overlook that I have decided is my final destination. The dirt road takes me through a green mountain pasture with a few private homes. It is much cooler here, peaceful, remote but not lonely, clam and lovely. I envy the people that live here, even though it is so, so far away from everything. I pass a quiet campground and make a note to myself that I must come back here and camp. The overlook does have amazing views and I drink it in like I would water after a very long run on a very hot day.

I notice there is a group of about six couples, all kind of older, that are leaving. I overhear a bit of their conversation, but other than them there is no one else around. They are leaving and talking about what a great day they had. This reminds me of the time. Ok, actually, I have not forgotten about the time. In fact, I rarely forget about the time. But maybe it is more like it nags me about the time. I need to leave Zion National Park at a reasonable time to drive the two or three hours to Las Vegas so that I can get into town at a reasonable hour to visit with my friend April. So I finish my admiration of the overlook and decide that if I leave right now, I should get into Las Vegas by 5:30, plenty of time to visit with April, the mother of a young child, at a reasonable family hour.

So, I race down the road and back out to the highway. I race across the desert of Utah into the desert, almost wasteland of Nevada through nothing until I hit the lights of Las Vegas. I call April along the way and she does not answer, so I leave her a voice message informing her of my approximate arrival into town. Las Vegas is such a contrast to the last several days of my trip. Neon, traffic, highways and cement. I get off at my exit, near downtown Las Vegas and miss my motel. So I go to the next street and make a right to go around the block. There I encounter the homeless, drugged out population of Las Vegas. The street is full of shopping cart after shopping cart of the homeless. Ragged, tired looking people sit on the sidewalk looking like they had seen better days. I notice that my motel has tall bars around the whole complex. I pull into the motel and check in where an older gentleman kindly helps me from behind the counter. I go to my rather shabby room of the Comfort Inn surrounded by bars. At least there is a pool, also surrounded by bars in the middle of the large parking lot. I call April again and there is again no answer so I leave another message. Then I call her at home and there is no answer. I go to the pool for a short time to cool off and I keep my cell phone within earshot to wait for her call back. But it never comes. I go back inside and decide to get something to eat. I try to go to Capriotti's which is a small Hoagie chain from back home in Pennsylvania and they happen to have opened a small chain in Las Vegas, but I get there two minutes before they close. Disappointed, I was hoping to have a Bobbie for dinner (their special hoagie with turkey, cranberry sauce and stuffing on a hoagie roll) I go back to my motel and look up something else online. I end up at Thai BBQ which had high ratings on Yelp but turned out to be a joke. It wasn't too terrible but it wasn't too good either. On my way back to the motel I drive through downtown Las Vegas, past the old casinos of another glory time in Las Vegas' history. I see a person decked out like Darth Vadar walking down Main St. Really, it looks exactly like Darth Vadar is walking the streets, ah, only in Las Vegas.
When I get back to my room, I am feeling disappointed, forgotten and lonely again. I feel foolish too, for racing back to Las Vegas, which I generally deplore, to see my friend who seems to have forgotten that we made a date only yesterday to get together today. You see, when I make a date with someone I keep it. When I make time in my schedule for someone, I keep it. My time is so precious to me that it actually feels like a huge investment for me to give it up to spend with someone else. If I make time for you than you are important to me, I don't make time for just anyone. But not everyone feels this way and over the years, they generally have ceased to be close friends with me (or I with them, for that matter). So instead, I digest my crappy Thai food in a dingy motel surrounded by bars in one of my least favorite cities, lovely Las Vegas.

Summer Road Trip - Driving to Cedar City

Breakfast view from the Lodge restaurant

On my last morning in Bullfrog, Becki and I go back to the Lodge restaurant for breakfast. After I am full of pancakes and coffee and gazing out at Lake Powell, I amuse myself with the thought that Becki is from Bear, Delaware and now lives in Bullfrog, Utah.  Also amusing, is that she has a dog named Pancake, named after a breakfast food and this reminds me of the time my sister wanted to name her dog Lollipop when she was eight and of the cat my grandmother had temporarily, who she named after a food as well, Mochi. I could go for some mochi right now, my favorite food, I am sure they don't have any within at least 300 miles of Bullfrog. But I like the name Pancake for Becki's dog. Pancake, the dog from Bullfrog owned by Becki from Bear. Where do these names come from anyway? I am from Landenberg, but what does this name mean? I am sure it means something, some word or words. I find it interesting that almost all words can be defined by other words, and those words can be defined by other words. So, does that mean that there is a word that in not definable by another word? Is this the first word of language? What, I wonder, was the first word? What was the first word that humans decided that they could agree upon the meaning where they needed no other words to define it. A meaning that is simply that, because it is that word. Maybe it was "I" or maybe it was "God". Is there any person on this world that does not understand the meaning of "I" or the meaning of "God"? Even if you do not believe in God, I think you have a very clear sense of what other people mean when they say "God", and also, you must know the meaning of "God" to know that you do not believe in God. Sure, we have words now, that we can use to describe "God" but maybe, if you could trace those words back to the words that describe them and so on, you would have, at the very beginning, just "God".

Lake Powell at Bullfrog

I find it interesting that "I" and "God" were the two words I thought of as the first words that were the basis for all other words. Maybe, when you strip away all the words used to describe "I" and "God", you will find that these two words actually mean the same thing.  This is not to say that I think I am God, or that God is me, but that God is in all of us individual "I"'s, and we are all in God. The fact that we have words and at some point there was a first word that we agreed we knew the meaning without another word to describe it, would seem to suggest that we can know something without words. Which also would say that we can think without words and perhaps feel without words. And even if it seems almost unfathomable now to know something or think or feel without words, we all started our time in this world exactly in this way, as babies. And maybe, as babies, we knew these meanings without knowing the words and now these words are really just pointers to the meaning, but they are not the meaning themselves. I wish I could "know" more often, without words. Ah, but perhaps I do! This is why I like photography and music. A picture and a sound can be meanings without words and maybe we crave them because they let our mind relax and take us back to that time as babies, when life was so simple and pure and full of meanings that we could know without labeling them. Oh words, how you complicate and simplify everything, at the same time.
Maybe the first word was actually "experience" and I should really get back to using words to describe my "experience" of driving to Cedar City. On this day, in Utah, I left Becki who went in late to work and I set out driving north out of Bullfrog.
START: 1762 miles.
So, I race back across the orange Utah desert lined with bright pastel green sagebrush and through the open range. The enormous rock formations take the shape of mountains. The mountains begin to be colored with green only to turn again into a white-gray-yellow color. I am on my way to Capitol Reef National Park. The road goes up and down and around sweeping curves and mountains. Today I feel a very familiar nervousness, that is some flavor of fear. What I am nervous or fearful about, I don't know, but I often feel it when I am off to somewhere new. It makes my chest burn and my stomach anxious to the point where I almost feel like I am going to throw up. But I know this feeling so well, that I know I can just charge through it without understanding it.

Capitol Reef is kind of a "drive-through" park. You could be on your way to somewhere else and find yourself just driving through, which is how it happened the last time I was here. This time, I will stop and do at least a short hike. After dry, dry landscape, I enter Capitol Reef, where the valley seems lush in comparison. The narrow valley is green with a river flowing through it and high multi-colored walls rising on the sides. I stop at a gravel parking lot and start my hike.

The road through Capitol Reef

Half-ling Tree

The hike takes me up red rock and turns into white rock. It is dry and hot and the sun feels especially drying today. I drink often from my camelback. There are dry bushes and dwarfed trees that are kind of depressing. I think I have been in the desert too long. There are desert clumps of wildflowers, but, even as a lover of wildflowers, these too seem sad. The vegetation here seems half dead but not struggling, like they have given up trying to flourish, they have decided they will just take what they can get. I wonder why they grow to such an unsustainable size and put up with their "half" life, so to speak. Why not be smaller and nicer looking? Some of the trees look completely dead, like they are just dried up sticks that have remained. I don't know what about this bothers me today. Why should vegetation bother me? I think, in all the beautiful places I've been, the harsh climate plants you see are usually miraculous. Sometimes it is a tree or a flower that somehow seems to thrive in a particularly extreme climate and this makes it miraculous and you get a sense of wonderment, how nature continues to surprise you. Not here so much. It kind of reminds me of when I was a kid and teenager and we would go to the beach for just the day and then drive home two and a half hours full of sand and salt water. For some reason the feeling of sand sticking to you in a hot, sweaty car interior where you can't really move around would really irritate me. This reminds me of this place. Irritating.

The Main Road through "white" rock valley

I don't want to turn back, I want to finish my hike and I don't even know why. There is supposed to be a beautiful lookout, so I guess this is motivating me. I am sweating a lot and wishing I had a hat. Even the sun is annoying me today. But I do reach the lookout. I go out to the edge where I enjoy views of the valley and the distant hills, mountains and roads. Its actually quite nice and I indulge in some homemade dried fruit and buffalo jerky. You can see the main road making its way through the green valley made of red and white rock. The green-ness seems unnatural here, but I guess the river that runs through here helps to hydrate the place to life.

View from the overlook

The green valley amongst dry land

I sit there for a while, dangling my feet over the edge until I get a strong urge to leave and get off this mountain and go away from here. Why am I so irritated? My hike down passes quickly and before I know it I am back at my car feeling unrefreshed and thirsty. Hiking usually makes me feel refreshed and excited, even when I am tired.

I get back in my car and get back out onto the main road. A few miles later there is a turn off for a scenic drive through national park land which I decide to take. Much of the road is paved, but soon turns into gravel. There is expansive desert sweeping down and up to one side and high butte walls on the other. The landscape here seems to bother me less. I even enjoy the wildflowers, yellow and red. Maybe I like it because I am amongst the green-ness, instead of looking down upon it. I think I really like green, it means life. I pass many gravel parking lots for hikes whose names seem familiar to me from my travel magazines. Someday I will have to come back to try these all-day hikes, perhaps they will be more inspiring than the one I chose.

At the end of the dirt road I don't stick around too long and turn around. The view going in the opposite direction are also amazing and different. This is what I like about traveling both directions on a scenic road, you get to seem something from a different perspective. Becki had told me about the orchards in Capitol Reef where you can pick your own fruit and pay per pound by stuffing your money in one of the little boxes posted around the orchard fences. I attempt to do the same but it seems that every orchard fence is locked and this discourages me easily. I could go for some fresh fruit right about now, but it is getting later in the afternoon and I know that the best part of the drive is ahead of me, so I continue on.

I make one last stop on my way out of Capitol Reef, to look at a tree. At this stop is a motorcycle group. The tree is half alive, half dead but its shape is beautiful and curving, reaching up vertically, much different than the beautiful, curving landscape reaching out horizontally.

Through red rock, crumbling, dry earth I continue. Then, the landscape starts to burst with bright green. The trees get taller and more abundant. I travel through small towns and see pastures where cows mingle amongst large, smooth rocks. The mountains lose all red color as then begin to be covered with more and more trees. Before I know it I am traveling through forests. The road continues up into the mountains blanketed with forests. The trees change into pines of some sort. I can still feel the dryness but there is something refreshing about it too, like stepping into a nice shady spot after being out in the bright sun. An occasional break in the trees reveals the desert landscape I have recently left, showing off the bright red and white colors.
The air becomes rapidly cooler and here the trees change again into white barked birch trees (I think). These forests are very dense with the long, white trunks reach high up toward the sky. While the green pines brought refreshment, these birch trees make me feel calm, like everything is alright in the world. It is amazing that on the top of these mountains you find birch trees, and reminds me that maybe everything has its own place. I think I've said this before. At the summit, the birch trees break up into clumps and allow for rolling mountain pastures. There are some purple and red wildflowers blooming along the side of the road. I can see the road I will travel ahead of me, swinging down the mountains and through forests and into more mountains and disappearing out of sight. The air is cool here, you might even call it cold. It is a nice change.

Farmland

After descending for a long time, I discover what is on the other side of these green, tree covered mountains, it is farmland and white mountains. These white mountains turn into canyons and the road continues up alongside them. At one point there is canyon dropping on the left side of the road and on the right side of the road. The narrow road winds precariously between the two canyons and then continues through canyon lands and uphill to a breathtaking overlook.

Overlook

Canyon views

The road up to the overlook

As I continue on, it is becoming very clear how late in the day it is. The shadows are long and the light, slanted. I pass through green fields, some dotted with yellow wildflowers, with tall, green walls or mountains in the distance. I pass through small towns where young kids are practicing football. The area is remote and open. I pass near the edge of Bryce Canyon National Park and see some outlying red spires, which I know exist in the heart of the park. The setting sun cast some amazingly, deep red colors on the already red rock. After that, I drive through wide open mountains pastures and forests of Dixie National Forest. Then it is dark and after a long time of barely seeing another car on the road I come to Cedar City. I pass my motel and continue on in search of some food. When I finally check in the lady there is "courteous" and not at all helpful. I am glad to be in a room with four walls around me. I am getting weary, I am ready to be home. Part of me wants to skip the rest of my trip and just go home.

Summer Road Trip - New York: The Land of a Thousand Islands

Tin Pan Galley

Sackets Harbor Marina

On this somewhat chilly morning, in Sackets Harbor, we go to breakfast in town, a place called Tin Pan Galley. Tin Pan is in the center of downtown Sackets, with a large, shaded, garden patio and a hard-wood, almost colonial feeling interior. They serve excellent food for breakfast, lunch and dinner. For breakfast, they are supposedly famous for the stuffed French toast and their creative eggs benedict dishes. I get the lemon ricotta pancakes, amazing.

War of 1812 Battlefield

After breakfast we venture down to the end of Sackets Harbor to admire the marina and the War of 1812 Battlefield. The sky is brilliant blue with lots of fluffy white clouds. It is a little humid, but comfortable, it smells like summer.

North Country New York Farmland

We drive north toward the Saint Lawrence River and the Canadian border, passing farms and fields and wildflowers everywhere. It is so beautiful out. I miss this kind of countryside. The rural areas of the West feel so different, they have an expansiveness, a dryness that is different. Here, it is more intimate, you know more because you know of less.

Wellesley Island State Park

We reach the Thousand Islands Bridge. I am in the Land of a Thousand Islands. You may hear "Thousand Island" and think of salad dressing and, rightly so, since this is where it came from, the chopped vegetables in the dressing looking like thousands of little islands in a large river. The Saint Lawrence River runs between Canada and the United States, flowing from Lake Ontario out to the Atlantic Ocean. The part of the river between Ontario and New York is called the Thousand Islands. This extremely wide river, is speckled with islands of various sizes. Some islands are tens of miles long and some are only big enough for a couple of large rocks and a tree. In the late 1800's and early 1900's many wealthy people from the Mid-Atlantic, especially, New York City, bought islands or property on the islands and built large houses, "castles" and often more humble, moderate, summer homes. So not only is the river dotted with green, tree and shrub covered islands, but it is dotted with last turn-of-the-century houses. It is a remarkable area, full of island romanticism, a youthful summer play atmosphere, and a mix of working locals and relaxed vacationers.
Our destination today is Wellesley Island State Park, which is one of the largest islands in the Saint Lawrence River and it is still part of New York. We drive past lots of campsites to the nature center parking and begin our hike.

East Coast Woods

The trail leads us into the woods and I am at first, a little confused because I thought the trail description promised us breathtaking views of the Thousand Islands area. My expectations were not aligned with reality. Then I realized, I was not going to get the Western Mountain vistas that I have grown accustomed to. This is the east coast, where expectations are different. People do not go hiking expecting their breathe to be sucked out of their chest because they are so dazzled and speechless over the endless beauty. Ah, no, it is different here. I ponder this for a while, soothing my disappointment.

Islands

Merle

The trail leads us out of the woods and back along the water. There, we do enjoy views of several islands out in the wide, wide river. It doesn't even look like a river, more like a lake since the water does not seem to be flowing. Maybe the thousand islands slow down its flow, I like this idea, your flow is slowed by a sprinkling of islands, all different, all unique in shape and size. There is one island in particular that is very small, with a house, a tree, some shrubs, a raft, some kayaks, maybe some people lounging about. Not really a yard to speak of. At a couple of places we let Merle throw sticks out into the water, which Merle, my sister's dog, is happy to swim out to and retrieve. At one spot my lens cap rolls down the rock and into the water and Merle enthusiastically retrieves it. Thanks Merle, for preventing the loss of another lens cap.

Golden Grass Pasture

Overlook of many islands

The trail leads up and out into a smooth, rock laden pasture of long, golden grass fringed by trees. There is a viewpoint of the islands spreading out amongst the riverlands. We stop for several moments to enjoy the views then continue on, descending back down into the woods.

Therese & "Susan"

It is this second time in the woods that I begin to relax. Relax because I can not help it. The hills roll gently, because they can not help it. The air is fresh with life and dirt and rock. The trees stand quietly, allowing their smaller branches and leaves to rustle in the breeze. Movement and stillness. The trees stand apart from each other, not crowded, allowing the sunlight to move through them, quilting the forest floor with light and dark. How can we know darkness without light and light without darkness? Both can exist here. Here there is space. The trees and ferns and rocks and trail and stillness and movement and light and dark all have their place here, there is space enough for all of it. Maybe this is peace. The ages that have washed over this place, and it has listened and learned, has made it wise. It does not try to amaze you or bore you, it has settled into its own, knowing and allowing itself to be known. No one sensation outshines the others, they are all equal and whole and you can remember all of them at one time and it allows you to experience it more fully. It is in the fullness that you can go deeper, you can know this place and when this understanding opens up, you can know yourself, absorbing it all and allowing yourself to be absorbed into it. You are no longer just seeing or hearing or feeling or smelling or tasting it, you are not even in it, you are it. And it is you. And all the things that might trouble you, can melt away, because when you let it all in and lay down your defenses, there is nothing else you can be, you are the amazing expansiveness that is what is. This is joy.

The pond

Wildflowers

We exit the woods, Therese, Merle, Susan (brother-in-law) and I, and we come upon a pond, a pond on an island in a river. The pond is surrounded by the forest and the perimeter has a line of wildflowers. Merle gets himself in trouble with his Mommy because he tries to go swim in the pond water. Eventually we are led back into the woods and finally, back to the nature center parking lot and our car.
Back in the car, we drive around the park as Therese scouts out campgrounds for possible sites for future family camping trips. It looks like an excellent place for a large, extended family to gather. Camping, kayaking, boating, fishing, hiking, group meals, campfires and even that funny bag-flying-on-campfire-smoke thing that my cousins like to do.

View from Thousand Islands Bridge

We head back towards mainland New York, again over the Thousand Islands Bridge, but this time, we stop and Therese and I walk to the top of the bridge to get a look of the Saint Lawrence River and the islands found in this part of the river. The view from this bridge is not as breathtaking as the part of the bridge that goes over into Canada, but we don't want to deal with turning around at customs because we don't all have our passports. But it is still beautiful and sometimes hard to tell islands from mainland because they are so big.

Clayton

At this point in the day we are famished but it is too late for lunch and too early for dinner so we decide to stop in the Thousand Islands town of Clayton, where the Thousand Islands dressing supposedly as born, to get a snack. Clayton is larger, more bustling, more excitable and less charming than Sackets Harbor, but it is still very nice. We go into the 1000 Islands Cheese Shop to buy "River Rat" Cheese, as it is called. We come away with several cheeses, aged cheddars, soft goat cheese, string cheese and the North Country New York specialty, fresh cheese curd. The fresh cheese curd we dig into immediately and it is sweet and salty and squishy and delicious. We walk next door to Lyric Bistro and get small servings of amazing gelato, my flavor is peanut butter. I walk down to the end of the street, where the downtown meets the Saint Lawrence River. There are some nice views of islands but it seems like the muggy clouds are rolling in, making the air seem a bit murky.

From Outside the Brewery

Evening

We head home a different way, through small towns and Amish farms. Then, we head to dinner at Sackets Harbor Brewery, which has a nice pub area and a dining room overlooking the marina and Lake Ontario. The sun is starting to get low in the sky, so after we order, I go out to take a few photographs. I walk along a rose vine covered wrought iron fence to the marina where people are talking and boats are coming in for the evening. Everything moves slowly and fluid, the boats gliding across the water, the ducks swimming in the lake, even the setting sun. When I return to the brewery our duck nachos have arrived and we enjoy our dinner.
When I lay on Therese's futon that night, trying to fall asleep, I feel homesick. Except not homesick for a place or a person. I miss Paul, but we talk every day and I know I will see him at the end of my trip, which is not so long from now. I know it is impossible to feel homesick when I am with a member of my immediate family, so it must not be homesickness for family. Maybe it is something else. A yearning for... something. I don't know, maybe it is for a part of myself I lost long ago and have forgotten. Maybe this trip has somehow reminded me of her and I am feeling the pain of loss for that space within myself that is missing. But it feels like homesickness. Maybe it is homesickness for a time in my life when I felt whole and the only way I have learned to cope in this world is to fragment myself, shedding and hiding parts of me. Maybe being with my sister takes me back and reminds me of that time when I knew her, that part of me, that younger me, that knew life differently, more fully. I think, of course, that this is it. She is looking for me and I would look for her, but I can't remember her name.

Sackets Harbor to Wellesley Island State Park, New York:

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