Shalom on the Trail

I wasn’t super enthused.  I was worried about my Renaud’s syndrome - digits that go numb with the slightest cold..  Although the forecast was for a sunny 60 degrees, it was in the upper 30’s when we took off. Hiking in February - even an unseasonably warm February - was somewhat dubious as far as I was concerned.  However, I gladly went with my Imzadi.

Tim finds trails to hike by the Holy Spirit.  He has a good knowledge of the trails around Hood River. Sometimes he starts with an idea of where he wants to go and lets the Spirit worry about the details.  When it comes to recreating, we don’t like to plan very much.

Dangling over snow melt

My first Spirit surprise was the left turn onto Frankton Road which meant Mt Hood. I had been assuming the Gorge. “By the way, we’re going this way. I don’t know where yet.  Several possibilities - height or waterfall.  Do you have a preference?” Ask the asthmatic whether going up a mountain or going sort of uphill to a waterfall is preferable, and you’ll more than likely get waterfall.  “Whatever. Either is fine with me.” We were Spirit hiking, weren't we?

Up through Odell and Parkdale we cruised, past leafless orchards being readied for the growing season.  Mountains of fruit crates were piled at Duckwall’s and Diamond.  And views of the mountain.  Oh. My. Goodness.  Route 35 offers some breathtaking views of Mt. Hood, especially with the morning sun glinting off the snowcap. 

We parked at the Pollallie trailhead.  I faced the forest until Tim pointed out that the trail was actually across the road and started vertically.  "This is the worst of it."  The end game?  Tamanawas Falls.   Okay, I can do vertical - for a while.  And if the Spirit picked this trail with Tim, I had to trust that I could do it.  I was delighted to realize that my months at the gym paid off. Stronger legs carried me upward as my lungs worked to catch up.

Tim photographing ice cycles and rushing water

Despite my reservations, the hike was soul refreshing, reminding me our summer hikes on the coast and in the Gorge.  The path was at times spongy with thawing earth and a carpet of pine needles beneath our shoes, at times hard with rocks or ice.  We climbed over fallen trees, hugged the rock face where the path dropped off precipitously, and climbed upward, over and around rocks large and small.  All the while, the sound of the surging Hood River serenaded us.  

Tamanawas Falls

Rushing water has always been therapeutic for me.  When we lived in Cape Girardeau, Missouri, the churning waters of the Mississippi listened to my musings and counseled me in times of need.  The water served as a vessel,  carrying my junk far down stream while leaving me washed, refreshed, clean.  

About two thirds of the way towards the waterfall, Tim and his camera busied themselves capturing images ice cycles and thundering water.  Slightly upstream I found a rock on which to sit and dangled my legs over the snow melt below.  Closing my eyes, I could feel the roar of the flow vibrating within me.  Shalom.  Oh how I've needed shalom.  When our lives are over-busy, stress-filled, and frantic, we especially need shalom although it seems even harder to find. Ahh.

The falls themselves were, of course, spectacular when we reached them.  Wide and powerful,  the falls sent up sheets of freezing water for the rocks and trees to catch.  Enveloped in thick ice, the rising temperatures caused small clumps of ice to break free and cascade down the wall periodically.

After a bit (the spray was too cold to linger) we made our way back to the trail head.  The Hood River accompanied us the whole while, as a beloved following and protecting us with Divine care.  Shalom.

Friday Night Reflection

I commute 90 miles from home to work every day.  At the end of the day, I commute 90 miles from work to home.  It is not as arduous as it sounds.  As demonstrated in previous posts, there is much to see and appreciate about Creation and Eastern Oregon in particular.  However, at this time of the year, both ends of my commute are in darkness.

My extreme commute means developing some creative solutions at times.  Friday night on-call demands that I am within 20 minutes of the hospital at all times.  Hardly something I am able to accomplish from Condon.  The room I rented in Hood River has given way to a weekly motel stay at the Vagabond Lodge for a variety of reasons.  This past Friday night stay, I "lucked out."  Because of a miscommunication, I was bumped from my cheapie room near the highway, to a room with a "partial view" in the back.

The abbreviated commute (a mere 6 minutes), allowed me to arrive in sunlight.  When I walked into my room, the view that greeted me from the opposite window was  . . . well . . . wow.  The Columbia Gorge with its pines, river, and rock caused a chain reaction throughout my body.  Tension left each muscle in quick succession.  Shalom.  More than peace - peace in my very soul.  I don't like being away from Tim.  I don't like being away from my own bed.  But in the moments I spend in my motel, I am able to experience shalom.  Be still.  Know God.

My Morning Commute - The Dark

My commuting observations have changed in recent weeks.  When I leave at 6 a.m., and when I’m returning 11 hours, later it is dark.  I can’t see my raptors soaring.  I can’t see the bend of the earth on the treeless horizon.  I can’t see farmers in their fields or the green wheat sprouting up in staggeringly straight rows.  I can only see as far as my headlights will allow.

Moonlight behind the clouds.  Wind turbine not really visible.

This blanket of darkness sometimes feels oppressive and confining.  It is especially nerve-wracking when rain, freezing fog, or other adverse weather conditions are present. I don’t think I’m a fan of the dark.  A whole week had passed before I was home during daylight and realized that the leaves were literally 4 inches deep in the yard.

If I am truthful, however, the dark holds it’s own delights.  The full moon, partially visible, back lighting thin clouds is surprisingly bright.  The blade of the wind turbines flutter in the moon light to an almost disco effect.  Creatures are still present causing my pulse to quicken whenever they materialize in my headlight beam.

When I pass the halfway point in my travels - either to or from Hood River - the rising and setting suns distract me in my rearview mirror.  One evening, a stunning view of Mt. Hood silhouetted against the autumn sunset, forced me to pull off the road and turn around at the Mountain Viewpoint on 206 just to gaze upon it.  There are definitely delights in my dark travels.  Delightful God moments.

Morning Commute - Wind Turbines

Turbines looming over canyon walls.

Early in my Condon-Hood River traverses, I fell in love with wind turbines.  These massive whirling beasts that each require something like 14 tractor trailer truckloads to assemble, populate the landscape throughout the high desert of Eastern Oregon and the eastern edge of the Gorge.  

Light snow and fog hug The Six early in March 2013

When viewed at just the correct angle, one can see them lined up in their rows: groupings of 4 or 6 or more.  Viewed at a different angle, the multiple sets of turbines look as if they should be colliding, blades slicing at different tempos.  And then there is the view just out of Wasco, heading towards Condon, where wind turbines sprout before you - row after row - endlessly stretching towards the distant horizon.

As Tim and I moved across the country nearly two years ago, we passed many fields of wind turbines in Kansas, Utah, Wyoming and Eastern Oregon.  But in my daily commute, on my two-lane road, I am close to these giants.  They are a mixture of savvy engineering and surprising simplicity.  So many pinwheels planted amidst the wheat. While I am dwarfed by them in my sedan, I view them as sentinels guarding my path.

Spring sunrise light The Six

Near the beginning of my daily commute towards Hood River, there is a grouping of six turbines that never cease to fascinate me.  Whether they are wrapped in fog or gleaming in early morning sunlight, their movement comforts me.  Their rhythm reminds me of the rhythm of the Universe brought to life when the Wind blew across the waters.

Perhaps this is why, on that rare occasion, when the blades are not revolving, I feel jarred, unsettled, anxious.  Just as God rested on the seventh day, the wind in one of the windiest places on earth, gets to rest. Perhaps that is the lesson for me.  Every so often, I too get to rest from my travels, from my work, from my distractions to be still and know God.

All photos by Maggie Sebastian (on her old IPhone)

The Morning Commute - Fowl Deeds

When we lived in New York, we had the gift of the Tomhannock Reservoir.  In order to get to our house, we had to drive about 5 miles along the Reservoir before turning off into the hamlet of Tomhannock.  I was continually amazed at the variety of wildlife - grey fox, herons, bald eagles, lots of white-tailed deer, quail, grouse, and every kind of waterfowl you could imagine - on our daily drives.  The road was canopied much of the way by red pine and a variety of deciduous trees.  The air was damp and rich.  Beginning and ending my day driving along Tomhannock Reservoir Road brought me peace.

My daily commute from Condon to Hood River also brings me peace.  There are no trees creating a canopy over my path.  The air is anything but damp. But the wide vistas, the whirling wind turbines, the emerging green of spring wheat, and the winding canyon also bring me peace.

The route, this past Sunday morning, brought me a wide variety of flying companions.  I don't usually work on Sundays but a hole in the schedule needed filling.  En route to Hood River, before and after traveling through the canyon, quail darted back and forth across the road in a nerve-wracking game of "chicken."  As my car barreled along Rt. 206, hawks and crows (ravens?) disturbed by my vehicle, swooped up and away from me.  After turning onto Rt 97 first a ring-necked pheasant and then a turkey sailed from the cliff on the right to the left shoulder of the road.  At the Pilot, as I gassed up, seagulls swooped and laughed at me.  Along I 84, I passed roosting Bald Eagles atop river signal towers.

How good and pleasant to not travel alone.

How good and pleasant it is when God's people (creatures) live in unity. Psalm 133 1:1 (NIV)

The Morning Commute - Phlox

I spotted them a couple of weeks ago as I snaked through the canyon on my way from Condon to work in Hood River.  Phlox.  Pretty purplish-blue phlox, growing wild-as-you-please on the walls of the canyon beside the road.  I had to stop.  I had to take a picture.  The phlox overwhelmed me with a sense of happiness, hope, and contentment.

Wild phlox along on canyon wall on Rt 206.

You see, we had bluish-purple (I am bad with colors) phlox growing below the terraced bit I created in the front of the house in Wheeling, WV.  I never completed the master plan of removing all of the creeping juniper and terracing the whole hill, but I kept dreaming.

The day I "built" my wall  - such as it was - Dad was there.  He was in town for my installation service, and I was very happy for his presence.  My loving father-in-law insisted on "helping" me as I dug, leveled, and built this wall with retaining wall blocks (like I knew what I was doing.)  Unfortunately below our work area was a mass of creeping, ground covering juniper.  When Dad tells the story, he insists I pushed him.  The truth is that all on his own, with one false step, he slid down the hill atop the juniper, bounced off of my Saturn, and hit the pavement.  Standing helplessly, I watched as he fell in that frightening slow-motion-can't-stop-it sort of way.  After the adrenaline rush and with a little TLC, some ice, and banishment from the wall project (except as spectator), Dad was fine.  The incident, however, has taken on legendary status in the family. ("She pushed me." "You fell."  "Yes, after you pushed me." "Dad!" "What?")

A couple of years later, as my terracing project languished, in an uncharacteristic move by Tim, he came home one day with a few pots of phlox.  Tim never gets involved in the gardening.  But, he said, he was at the Kroger, and they were pretty, and, well, he liked the color.  So, I tore out weeds and some of the demonic juniper and planted the phlox.  Over the years it grew, expanding and commanding the space once occupied by unwanted plants.  They were very pretty.

Much like my phlox in WV.

The contentment and happiness I felt when I saw the wild phlox on the way to work a couple of weeks ago, I know is connected to those memories.  What could have been a tragic accident, is now a family tease.  What was once difficult space to manage was transformed by the phlox into beauty.  The commonality between the store bought and wild phlox is a reminder of God's continuing good creation.  I had to stop.  I had to take a picture.  I had to smile for the rest of my drive into work, because phlox is totally awesome.

The Morning Commute

Whenever I tell people in Hood River that I live in Condon, they seem shocked, then quickly recover with a logical explanation from their point of view.

"Oh, so you stay here during the week?"

No.  I drive into work each morning and home each night.  I have a room in Hood River that I rent - just down the street from the hospital - for when I'm on call each Friday night.

"You drive everyday?"

Yes.

"How long of a drive is that?"

A slim one hour forty-five minutes - give or take - for 92 miles.

At this point there is usually some sputtering, some "oh my gosh," and "everyday?" like perhaps I don't remember where I am in time and space.

I explain.

I have lived in large metropolitan areas where an hour forty-five minute commute is not unheard of and this is a lot less stressful.  Plus there's this guy I've been living with for over 33 years that I like to see as much as possible.

While they are still processing, I usually find some reason to excuse myself and walk away.  Yes I know how much gas this takes, and I know that when the weather is bad I'll have to stay in Hood River.  I dragged Tim from St. Louis to New York to West Virginia.  My turn to drive and I LIKE IT.

So I have decided that I will be posting short blogs every so often to talk about the wonders I see from Eastern Oregon into the Columbia Gorge.  Beats the heck out of I170 in St. Louis rush hour any day.  For now,  the view out of my window as I drive.  Ok Ok - I got out of the car to take this shot, but I'm sure you are glad that I stopped to take pictures instead of driving and photographing at the same time in the canyon.

Where Am I From?

“Where are you from?”  It seems to be the question of the hour these days.  I still think of myself as newly transplanted to the Northwest with four months of residency in Oregon.  We are making friends - I mean actually having social engagements and getting to know people.  In these new relationships, the question pops up , “Where are you from?”  The new twist on all of this is that I am beginning a new position in a new place with new faces asking “Where are you from?” 

 “Where are you from?”  Not a hard question one would think, but I find that I am of an age where the answer is more nuanced. Extended perhaps. “We moved from West Virginia,” is my short answer.  Or depending on my mood I might say “I was raised outside of Chicago” which oddly brings out my Chicago vowel sounds.

“Where are you from?”  I don’t know if people are polite or just unsatisfied with those two answers, but they usually volley another question to clarify my geographic history. In that case, I go for the briefest linear answer I can.  “I was raised in Chicago. After undergrad in central Illinois we lived in Cape Girardeau, Missouri for a few years then St. Louis for 11, upstate New York for 10 and West Virginia for 7.  (Go ahead. Do the math. I know I’m middle aged.)  Now I get to add Oregon.  

Mosier Creek Flats

After our “extensive” residency in Portland, Oregon, we find ourselves preparing to move to Mosier, Oregon.  As a new Clinical Chaplain at Providence Hood River Memorial Hospital, I need to be within 20 minutes of the hospital when I’m on call.  Sixty miles isn’t exactly 20 minutes even with my driving.  This move is challenging some of our assumptions, our narrative, and is even pushing us past our “change” limit. Our luring God has my head spinning.

As I have meditated on and prayed about our Change Roller Coaster, I have thought of an upside. When the people I meet in Hood River and Mosier ask, “Where are you from?” I have the option of very simple, short answer.  I can opt to skip my tedious geographic history and just say, “Portland.”   I can answer Portland because this is the place I fell in love with immediately - where I felt at home instantly.   I realize Jessica being here is a very important part of it, but I love Portland. Besides my birthplace, this is the only place where I immediately felt at home.  I love it here, and I believe the gift that God is giving us is that we will love it in Hood River and Mosier.  

Jessica is psyched because we can be the destination place for her and Frances as they enjoy the Gorge.  Tim is pleased with our modern apartment - an apartment like he has always wanted to live in.  I am beyond the moon because I have a fabulous job doing ministry in a breathtakingly beautiful place.  

And Portland is just down the road.  You know, that’s where I’m from.  Portland, Oregon.