These photos were taken in August, when wildfires burned from California through Oregon to Alberta and BC. (It’s becoming an annual summertime occurrence.) This November morning we woke up to the news that there are devastating wildfires once again burning south of us…which is {pretty scary} crazy. (Fingers crossed it’s not becoming an all year long annual occurrence.)
Oh baby baby it’s a wild world | It’s hard to get by just upon a smile. (Cat Stevens)
And I went to the doctor, I went to the mountains | I looked to the children, I drank from the fountains | There's more than one answer to these questions | Pointing me in a crooked line | And the less I seek my source for some definitive | The closer I am to fine | The closer I am to fine. (Indigo Girls)
our arrival to waterton lake national park, and our tour guide extraordinaire.
happy campers and local hazards.
day 2, the clouds rolled in.
We've had a whole heap of real life happen these past couple of months; the kind of real that reminds you that what really matters is remembering what really matters. And that sometimes, major change is only a heartbeat away.
No doubt someday soon enough I'll find my way back to picking up a camera in order to play with focus and perspective, to find the light, and to see the people and world around me through a different lens...ahhh, the metaphors. ;)
But in the meantime, here's a bit of pretty to bookmark this interlude.
It's always {always, always} hard. But sometimes, it's just harder. This time we said goodbye to the best old boy, and in doing so it became apparent it wasn't only him we were letting go of. We were also saying goodbye to the last piece of what remained of an era. Finn came to us as a puppy of 10-12 weeks old, when the kids were 7, 9, and 11. (They are now 23, 25, and 27.) They...we...all grew up together. He'd been with us in Calgary, through our Bowen Island years, on to the emptying nest in North Vancouver, and finally seen us through the transition to a somewhat foreign-feeling home south of the border. Having Finn here in Bend helped stave off the reality of an entirely empty nest.
We have been living the nearly empty nest for a few years now, with the kids coming and going and only sometimes staying longer than it takes to do a few loads of laundry and have a meal. While ol' Findley was in remarkable health for a dog of 13, 14, and then 15 years old, his aging was apparent and in the last few months, rapid. When he turned the corner into 16, we knew his days were numbered. But, when the time came, it was still a gut-wrenching decision to make. It always {always, always, always} is. Knowing something is right and will be hard to do, doesn't mean it won't feel wrong and practically impossible to do.
We've not been without a dog in the house for 25+ years, but we're going to be without one for awhile now. There's a move or two yet to make, a level of uncertainty in our lives, and plans to travel...it makes the most sense. (Though, never say never.) As I post this, we are adjusting to the hole Finn has left. He's as dearly missed as the entire stage of life he'd come to represent. But we'll shift our routines, learn to live with the quiet, and move on...I suspect we already are...and there will be many more good things to come in this next phase. I know that to be true.
All that said, there will never be another Finnegan.
Turns out there is something more challenging than a swim in the lake on January 1, and that is a swim in the lake the day after the ice drifts off. I figure it deserves a post for posterity.
Sean arrived at the lake first, on Thursday of the long Easter weekend, and it was covered entirely in ice. We arrived next on Friday afternoon, after a healthy spring wind and rain overnight had swept the ice northwards on the water, but didn't much impact the foot or so of snow still on the ground in places around the cabin. Jamie and Noah arrived Friday night, and so you know what had to happen on Saturday morning.
Not much more than 24 hours after the lake had been completely covered in ice, the gents proceeded to the shore for the morning ritual. Noah opted to swim to the buoy and back, nearly wrecking himself for the day...or at least it left him feeling suitably unwell enough to abstain from Sunday's swim. As we watched the others, I asked him if a January 1 swim is called a polar bear swim what an Easter Sunday swim might be called, and his to-the-point reply? "A bad idea." However, he recovered sufficiently enough by Monday morning to rejoin the group, knowing enough not to attempt the buoy and back.
Here follows the 'for proof not pretty' pictures.
(those ripples? not ripples so much as slushy ice.)
(he wins the award for first in, for multiple dips each session, and for having ridiculously good humour about the whole endeavour.)
(being the son of jamie, of course he's going for the buoy.)
(no heart attacks happened. and yes, i worried one might. think this might also have been the point at which noah felt the early signs of hypothermia settling in.)
(the 'i did it and i can't feel my face' face.)
(because, it was easter after all.)
We recently resumed road tripping season (which, let's face it, in our family runs all seasons) with a weekend's excursion to the Oregon Coast. H had meetings on a Friday in the Portland area, after which we headed west to Newport, a town neither of us had been to before. Despite some lingering under-the-weather'ness, and the often demanding needs of our geriatric lab (think the nocturnal habits of a not-quite newborn infant), we enjoyed the few days of coastal air, roaring surf, local characters, and some pretty fine seafood dining. The said geriatric found his inner pup again, and we found the soothing perspective that only the unbroken horizon of the Pacific Ocean can bring.
'Let's go back to the coast, baby westward to the ocean.' (Said The Whale)
Before we bump the clocks ahead an hour and the campaign for spring is in full swing, I thought I'd check in here with the winter that's been.
Aside from a sweet two week Christmas interlude and an enjoyable weekend's explore on the Oregon coast, there's been nothing much ado around here for the last several months. We were both laid low with a particularly nasty flu bug in January and, my immune system being what it is, I'm still crawling my way back to whatever counts as normal. It'll take the time that it takes I suppose. In the meantime, there have been endlessly quiet days...as able, I knit a few stitches, read a few lines or bake a batch of something, and on a really good day I take Finn for a walk along the river. But otherwise, Netflix, mugs of hot tea, and a comfy couch laden with plush blankets and pillows have been my nearly constant companions.
'People say nothing is impossible, but I do nothing every day.' (Winnie the Pooh)
H and I headed north to Alberta last month. (Apparently, we have a thing for road tripping.) Ostensibly, this trip was a much needed holiday for him, but we also thought it would be a good time to catch up with some family and friends. We were looking forward to laying eyes on 2 of our 3 kiddos, to see them settled into their new digs and routines, as well as to visit with extended family in the area. All of that happened, and more. We spent time in the city, time on the prairie, and some unexpected-but-sublime time in the mountains. And at the end of ten or so days, we rolled away feeling incredibly grateful for all of it.
One particular day stands out, and it's one I am challenged to put words to. En route to visiting our favourite cowboy, we took the long way via a place {literally} called Faraway. It had been ten plus years since any of us had visited, though it was a place we frequented often in the many years leading up to that mark. It's a place that holds too many memories to count and (not unexpectedly), a ghost or two greeted us. We walked, and talked, and shared a few tears along with all the memories that made us laugh. One of us even rode. (It was short but ohhh so sweet.) And we wished for those who had been a part of that doesn't-feel-so-long-ago time to be with us here and now. And indeed, in all the ways that really matter, they were...she was. I could hear their voices...her voice...carried on the wind and at every single turn. It was gut-wrenching and heart-filling all at once.
As we piled into the vehicle at the end of the visit, we unanimously agreed that taking the long way through and to Faraway was worth it...always had been, always would be.
'Four strong winds that blow lonely, | Seven seas that run high, | All those things that don't change, | Come what may.' (Ian Tyson)
old red...
and the faraway boys.
(dr. doolittle?)
i have an idea...
what say ye?
(yussssss!)
as you were.
(photo bomber)
(album cover sessions)
...if the good times are all gone | then i'm bound for movin' on | i'll look for you if i'm ever back this way.
"Let's go on an adventure.
I'll make some sandwiches
and a flask of tea,
we'll get our walking boots on
and get lost somewhere."
And so we did, or have done, every Saturday for the last few weeks. I highly recommend the practice.
First weekend wander: Crater Lake.
On the second Saturday, the Painted Hills.
For our third trek, the Cascades Lake highway to Lapine State Park.
Devil's Lake.
Elk Lake.
The largest and oldest ponderosa pine in the USA....they call it 'the big tree'.
(pretty gnarly)
Couldn't say goodbye to the summer of '17 without a nod to this...when it seemed the entire western half of the continent was on fire.
I spent most of this past summer away from home...though home does not yet feel like home...and I was mostly in a place that feels like home, but is not.
Ram Dass said 'we're all just walking each other home'. It might not be exactly what he meant, but no matter where I am, or what particular rendition of home I find myself living in or pondering, I think of those words and know for sure that when this blonde, brunette, and red head are in the mix, they walk me back home...and figuratively, literally, wherever we may be, I am home.
(a not so subtle signal that they're done already.)
(yuck...a love story.)
You know that thing that happens when you venture out on an 8 hour road trip only to realize once you've arrived that you've forgotten your {I'm blind without them} prescription glasses at home?...and your three kids are all together for perhaps the only time the entire summer, and it's time for that annual portrait of them....and you can't really think clearly without seeing (hence you've paid no attention to sun exposure, shadows, etc), let alone read the dials and do-dads on your camera...but you decide to shoot the darn session anyways?....yeah, that. Well, it's blurry and frustrating and grainy beyond all heck. But it is what it is. And so you say, what the hey...here they are, such as they are. (And I kinda love them anyway.)
Long may traditions continue.
Just because.
One brother says 'I'm going to Tofino'. The other brother says 'I think I'll go too'. One kiddo says 'Hmmm, sounds like an idea to me'. Another kiddo says 'Absolutely, I'm in'. Well now. Where else would I be?
The arrival.
First thing in the morning rituals, courtesy of Uncle Jamie.
C'mon old Finn...
...still a pup at heart.
Dusk surf session.
Dawn surf session.
The part where Sean explains to Ryan about a huuuge sea lion bluff-charging and barking at him, just right over there...
Oh brother, my brother.
Two new {in a relative sense} men and an old sea.
"Goodbye number 56, you're the best cabin!" said Oscar.
So, I'm not fooling anyone. I'm writing this rather wintery post months after the fact on a hot, summery day. Looking at these photos might be the cool tonic I'm needing as the mercury rises, but the truth of it is I haven't had the means to be here in this space...and you know how it goes....the longer you put off doing something, the harder it becomes to do it. Inevitably, I am reminded that the only way to start is to. just. simply. start.
This past winter and spring were hard...on many levels...in all the places I've come to call home. There were record breaking temperatures and snow fall levels; a new job, new country, new political climate to adjust to; new health diagnoses and realities for more than a few we hold near and dear to us. It was all a bit shocking, and sent me a bit reeling. But the only way to do hard is to do it...one breath, one moment, one day at a time. You do what you know how to do, until you learn how to do the bits you don't know how to do.
I can't talk about hard without acknowledging the silver linings that come with...because they're almost always there....and because my mum installed it in my DNA to look for them. This last go around, they came in the form of friends and family who offered a bed to lie on and a roof to call my own when away from home; who didn't ask, or who did ask, the pointed questions; who allowed and encouraged me to just do what I needed to do without apology; who listened graciously and generously; who were plain and simply there for me, without judgement.
Other silver linings came in the form of places to go to lick our wounds...like a toddler's time-out, or the re-fresh button on the keyboard, a change of scenery can sometimes help to re-set things. (As Anne Lamott says, almost everything will work again if you just unplug it for awhile.) A change of venue gives you a chance to unplug from whatever whirlwind or routine you find yourself in...to take those necessarily required deep breaths, to think with a more focused intention and clarity, to recharge mind, body and spirit, and to perhaps emerge with a new perspective with which to tackle all the hard once again. For one such unplugging, my (hardly a) boy (anymore) and I headed to 'the lake', where we found layers of ice and snow, an enveloping, comforting stillness, and a near ghostly quiet. The lake air and scenery wrapped themselves around us like a heavy duvet, and became a literal silver lining in what was an otherwise very harsh winter. In the lyrical words of Dan Mangan, it was nice, nice, very nice.
So, our move to Bend has happened. Not smoothly, not easily, not without a good amount of effort, tears, and tricky bits. But, it has happened and here we be. I transitioned from my unpacking bubble fairly swiftly into the spirit of the season, and not without a sigh of relief and a self-congratulatory pat on the back (I'll admit it). All of a sudden, a corner was turned and a brightness, a lightness, came back into my days. How lovely was that...? (she asked rhetorically).
However, as of this morning, another wrench has been thrown into the mix. (I'll spare you the details, no need to minimize or aggrandize them, and I'm teetering between the two just now, not yet sure what our reality will be.) As suggested by the above, it's not the first wrench we've been thrown (and caught) in the last many months. My initial thought was to abandon my *ta da!* list for the day (which included this blog post), overcome as I was once again by the dismal, and the heavy, and some pretty decent out-loud cursing. But then, after a spell, I gathered my wits about me and thought better of it (I'm sure the cursing helped). This is just life, after all...sometimes it's plain easier to navigate than at other times...but navigate this latest twist we will, and turn a corner once again we shall.
And, in the meantime, as we muddle through this latest 'whaaaat?'...there is a bright sun shining through the windows, a heap of fresh snow to shovel, a kettle to boil and multiple cups of tea to consume...not to mention cookies to bake, cards still to write, and plans to either execute or to refine.
We'll either be here (at *home*) or there (somewhere north of the 49th) for the holidays, but either way, we will be fine. And just like moving day, Christmas day will come (ready or not), and we will be together (one way or another), and it will all be wonder-full. Wherever (and with whomever), you may find yourself, I wish you the same...xo.
...that thing they say about there still being light where there is darkness?
...there were 3 more walking down the path to join them...chortling, and chuckling, and ho ho ho'ing...and all of a sudden all was quite merry and bright.
...and then the snow came.
...love.
...meeting the neighbours, who are none too shy.
...because, record-breaking snowy days, eggnog spiked lattes and rum balls...a winter Rx if ever there was one.
...'tis the season.
...zzzzzz.
...tell me about your despair, yours, and i will tell you mine...| meanwhile, the wild geese | high in the clean blue air | are heading home again. (mary oliver)
It's official. The Jacksons, or at least two fifths of us, are on the move...again. This time, work is taking Mr. J and I to Bend, Oregon. It will be the first time in 25+ years that we move as a couple without and away from our kiddos, clearly marking our next chapter as empty nesters. (That just sounds and feels plain weird to me, but there you...or rather I...have it.)
I recently visited Howe in our soon to be new hometown, where he is already working. For the weekend portion, we headed to the central Oregon coast. It was a wonderful appetizer for all the exploring we plan to do...the thought of which will help keep me sane through the coming weeks of sorting, packing, cleaning, saying goodbyes, and then finally making my way to Bend.
I go down to the shore in the morning | and depending on the hour the waves | are rolling in or moving out, | and I say, oh, I am miserable, | what shall- | what should I do? And the sea says | in its lovely voice: | Excuse me, I have work to do. (Mary Oliver)
(i think he was smiling pretty much the entire weekend)
This past weekend family and friends gathered to watch two sincerely special people join their lives in wedded matrimony. Since we were all together and all prettied up, well, you already know the story...a {rather lengthy} family photo session ensued, and then there was a beautiful ceremony, followed by some impressive leg shaking and rug cutting.
sometimes we forget who we got | who they are | oh, who they are not | there is so much more in love | than black and white | keep it loose child | gotta keep it tight | keep it loose child | keep it tight. (amos lee)
for the record...
a certain someone caught the bride's bouquet and gave it to another certain someone, and then that someone had to get on a plane, so they gave it to me...and now it sits in a vase in my living room, reminding me of an exquisite weekend of love and loving.
...or at least, how i spent my early summer holidays.
june, she'll change her tune | in restless walks she'll prowl the night | july, she will fly | and give no warning to her flight. (simon & garfunkel)
