Caroline – Page 41

On The Pistol River

November 14, 2020 JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

Dawn on the Pistol River in southern Oregon

The veranda is dripping while fog clings to a mountainside across the way. Between us and the mountain, the forest is showing some of the colors of fall. Somewhere unexplored just yet is the Pistol River that will have to wait for us as we are moving lazily after two solid days of scurrying over the desert, through farmlands, and into the coastal mountain ranges that have brought us to the edge of the Continental United States. We are on vacation and determined not to act urgently unless trying to capture peace and quiet in our remote self-isolation.

At the moment, there’s a reluctance to move at all as the quiet reassures me that it’s okay to sit here and listen to the birds chattering in their morning routines. The pink of the first sky has given way to clouds reminiscent of yesterday’s that we experienced just south of here. Steller’s jays and robins flutter about, telling my imagination in their tweets that they are our prison guards here to ensure that today we do not move from our encampment in the woods. At the moment, I’m good with their command, as parts of our human routine come with their own demands that are on hold while I follow this word trail in my head.

Alas, the breadcrumbs of thought bring me to ideas of food that won’t be had down the road in some toasty seaside cafe. No, we are eating right here as soon as I move my cold self into the kitchen. Cold because last night I turned off the heater in order to have a cozier quiet, as our luxurious feather comforter from home is along to make strange beds more familiar. How’d that work out for us? My poverty of language when it comes to explaining the warmth and happiness of sharing a bed with Caroline as we nuzzle in a chilly room will never convey how, from shoulders to toes, we bask in a sense of delight. The old cliched, “This ain’t our first rodeo” comes to mind as it was right here on this coast that it had first occurred to us to bring our blankets along after learning we didn’t enjoy our sleeping bags in a yurt that much and that with the little space heater that is available in every one of these little canvas dwellings by the sea that our own bedding would be better suited for our stay. So on subsequent visits, we brought our pillows, a sheet, a blanket for insulation between the sheet and a plastic-covered two-inch thick mattress, and our big fluffy comforter. Seeing we cannot stay in yurts this trip due to the pandemic, we are doing “modified yurt” while luxuriating in a house.

Road near Pistol River in Southern Oregon

The likely inaccurate weather report has us heading into town. Yeah, this is our road leading to and from our spot along the river called The Fish Inn. With high winds predicted, we don’t want to be traveling this tree-lined trail through the woods, as it could be a minute before a fallen tree gets cleared. Maybe we should consider acquiring an ax in town in case an emergency were to arise.

Caroline Wise at "By My Hand" yarn store in Brookings, Oregon

Speaking of “emergency,” you must have known that if a yarn store was open, we’d be stopping in. Caroline’s justification, which was almost but not really valid, was that I could get a photo of her wearing her Monterey Bay mask in Oregon. “Wow, wife, that’s such a novel idea,” said the reluctant eye-rolling husband. But of course, I fell for it as not only do I want to remain happy, I want Caroline to be happy too, and if supporting a local business so I might gain a new pair of socks is part of the equation, well, then I’m actually pretty enthusiastic about my side of the win. Do you see that yarn she’s fondling? My feet will be adorned with that after it’s automagically transformed into custom-fitted socks.

Old rusting U-Haul truck in Brookings, Oregon

The idea was to fetch a couple of things and get back up the road before the purported gale-force winds hit, but it looked so nice and tranquil that we decided some sightseeing was in order. Zoomed into the map, it looked like there was a trail we’d never been down, and so, being the intrepid adventure travelers we are, we moved down the road in that direction.

Face carved into sand near Chetco Point in Brookings, Oregon

Chetco Point is guarded over by this totemic figure that is likely some vandalism more than the ancient carving I’d like to tell you it is. This idea spurs another thought about the first humans who learned to draw as they trolled their fellow tribal members. Think about it: it’s about 35,000 years ago, and you leave a face like this in a known location; the next time your group is traveling through, they’re startled by the giant face looking at them through the rocks. You get to claim that aliens must have done it or that the gods left it as an inexplicable message to spur deeper thinking, but you don’t have the intellectual tools yet to examine the phenomenon, and so the tribal members remain perplexed for centuries, a big win for the prankster artist.

Chetco Point in Brookings, Oregon

Enough of the comedic shenanigans and back on to the path of beauty. You’d never believe what’s up this paved trail between the two giant rocks that make up this point jutting into the ocean; it’s a bridge. A beautiful heavy wood bridge connects the rock outcroppings so we can step out even further away from the habitable land onshore. This moment of human goodness has been brought to us by the commons. For those who need a refresher on exactly what the commons are, please take a gander here at the explanation from Wikipedia:

The commons are the cultural and natural resources accessible to all members of society, including natural materials such as air, water, and a habitable earth. These resources are held in common, not owned privately. Commons can also be understood as natural resources that groups of people (communities, user groups) manage for individual and collective benefit.

Chetco Point in Brookings, Oregon

Sure, we want to indulge our senses every minute of every day we’re out here on remote self-isolation, aka vacation, but due to the volatile pandemic situation and news flying in about shifting lockdowns and quarantines with rising infection numbers and death toll, we pay attention with an alert ear to what’s on the wind. We do not look at the clouds with the sun trying to poke through and wish for a moment of blue sky as the glistening water is already all that we could have hoped for. Just to hear the sea crashing into the land after a long journey from the other side of the planet is a gift of extraordinary value offered to so few. Should we have to cut short our plans, knocking on wood that we won’t have to, we are resigned to the notion that even this will have made for a perfect getaway.

Chetco Point in Brookings, Oregon

Maybe you thought I’d leave out the details of a pile of nothing? Not a chance because without the visual reminders of those things underfoot and overhead, we only have the myopic view of what was obvious and in front of our noses. What is under our nose and outside of our peripheral vision also holds attraction, should we take the time to recognize the picture is best experienced when taken in its totality. Trying to convey a composite image of our day requires that I find what might have been overlooked if I was only looking for the obviously spectacular. While some will object and say this accumulation of twigs and branches washed ashore by the tide is a pile of detritus, I’d counter and ask them to see the sunrise and sunset that once shown upon the remnants of these former plants and remember that one day their own bones will one day be bleached and discarded as the beauty and wit they once supported is long gone.

Caroline Wise at Myers Beach North on the South Oregon Coast

Just how amazing can this kite you bought ten years ago that fits in a box the size of your palm be? Well, to Caroline, it may as well have been the greatest kite ever made because even at 50-something years old, she giggles at her flying skills as the tiny kite goes aloft. The winds were so strong that, at times, she appeared to possess acrobatic skills for flying such things as it raced towards the ground and performed a dozen or so tight spins. In the end, the short 30-foot-long string was a tangle of knots that put a stop to her moment of entertainment. Time to go check out what’s exposed here at low tide.

Myers Beach North on the South Oregon Coast

While I’m redundant in stating that this is our 20th visit to Oregon over the previous 18 years, this is once again an encounter with a 1st. The shark tooth rock at Meyers Beach North, south of Gold Beach but north of Pistol River, has never been inspected by us from close up. Maybe the water was too high, or we missed the break in the guardrail that indicated where the trail was, but here we are down on the beach, getting a different view of things. The silver plants in between the ice cycle plants were what caught Caroline’s eye up on the sheer cliffside. I couldn’t answer her as to what they were as I have no idea, and while I’d love to ask someone who reads my blog what it is, the fact is that no one reads my blog, especially these particularly long-winded entries that are loaded with rich nuggets of wisdom.

Starfish at Myers Beach North on the South Oregon Coast

They don’t jump around, don’t have fangs, and can’t fly; as a matter of fact, we’ve rarely seen them move, but starfish hold particular interest for these two intrepid explorers of things already discovered. I’d guess it’s their terrific colors punctuated with the starfield-like dots on their backs that are at least part of the draw. Or maybe it’s the cold-blooded death squeeze they put on the mussels and anemones they hang out with, whose screams we might be able to decipher if we spoke their language. While the immobilized starfish cling to whatever they can hold onto while out of the water, maybe we’d do the Cnidaria and Mollusca families a favor if we kicked in the faces of these Echinodermata? Heck, I don’t even know where the face of a starfish is. If I had to guess, I’d venture to bet it’s in the center of the other side we cannot see, but that then begs the question, where’s the butthole? Nice, Caroline just informed me that they then must be Johnfish as I, too, put food into the hole that shit’s been known to fall from.

Barnacles at Myers Beach North on the South Oregon Coast

It was getting windy, so maybe the promised storm was finally coming in. No time to stick around like these barnacles, and we were short upon running out of daylight, too, so we headed for the exit.

Myers Beach North on the South Oregon Coast

Not that we were done with the day, far from it. You see, we had gone back to the house earlier for lunch, and we’ll be there again soon so Caroline can spin some cotton into yarn and continue following a weaving course she’s been taking. I’ll return to writing today’s blog entry before tending to dinner. Speaking of that, we’ll be having seared scallops with a tomato and avocado salad, but don’t think for one minute that there won’t be some kind of snacking indulgence; we are, after all, on vacation; I mean remote self-isolation.

Remote Self-Isolation

November 13, 2020 JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

Near False Klamath, California looking out at the Pacific Ocean

After spending nearly all day yesterday driving, we did more of the same today. With a destination 1,200 miles (1,930km) northwest of home, we broke up the segments into two nearly equal distances by driving from Phoenix, Arizona, to Fresno, California, yesterday, and then today, we finished the trek. It rained most of the day, at times coming down heavy, making for some white knuckle moments on the narrow Highway 101 through the Redwoods of Northern California. Normally, there’s nothing particularly troublesome about driving in a bit of rain but we’ve not seen the stuff since sometime earlier in the year, as in back in January or February. By the time late afternoon had rolled around, we were resigned to the imagined fact that it was going to rain all day, but then, just as we reached False Klamath on the ocean and our first opportunity to find ourselves oceanside, we were offered this view above.

Caroline Wise on the beach at Crescent City, California

But the sky wasn’t done with us yet as it cut itself in two with this bisection that seems to suggest, “Leave this gray from down south behind you as on your right and to the north, Oregon is about to smile upon you.” Had the heavens closed up after our first stop, we would have been content to have had a minute to admire the silver sea. Besides, who could have asked for a moment of molten gold ocean to pull us from the car just 20 minutes later? By the way, in an alternative universe, there is a similar picture of me in silhouette, as it was Caroline’s idea to snap a photo of me with her phone as I stood in the same place. Seeing her image, I told her to assume my position, and I took this one of her. On more occasions than I wish to publically admit, though that’s just what I’m doing right now, my wife has some really good ideas and is quite inspired. Just don’t tell her I said this, as it will all go to her head, while it’s her modesty that lends itself to her better qualities.

McVay Rock at sunset in Oregon

Our minds are blown as little could we have imagined that we’d make the southern Oregon coast by sunset and that we’d see it in all of its spectacular glory at an overlook we’d never visited. As I’ve shared before, this is our 20th visit to Oregon in the past 18 years, and while I might brag that we’ve seen every inch of this beautiful isolated stretch of the Pacific coast, on every visit, there seems to be just one more place that we’d somehow missed. Today, that stop was at the McVay Rock State Recreation Site, which is less than 3 miles from the Oregon and California state lines. How had we missed this?

Our final stop was a few miles up the Pistol River at the Fish Inn that we found on Airbnb. This place off the beaten path is more than a dozen miles away from the nearest town with Brookings to the south with its population of 6,465 and Gold Beach to the north and its population of 2,293. We’ll be spending the next few days on this 35-mile-long sparsely populated stretch of coast in a kind of remote self-isolation as we try to have as few encounters with other people as possible, minus the requisite stops at Dutch Bros. for coffee.

Rewards

November 12, 2020 JWise Thoughts, Travels

Caroline Wise and John Wise on the California border

Our awareness of the incredibly fortunate lives we live is rarely lost on Caroline and me, but when planning our travels and especially in the time leading up to our departure, that knowledge turns into a riveting tension. This idea is kept alive by the desire to venture out of routine as we are determined not to fall into patterns that would allow us to make excuses for staying in place. Not only are we willing to go, learn, and challenge ourselves, but we have the means and, at least so far, are indefatigable in making the necessary sacrifices. The funny thing is that this all feels like it grows easier and even more rewarding with each passing year. Little touches that enhance our adventures become nuances of the extraordinary, fueling our belief that this is the proverbial icing on the cake, adding to the perfection of how we’ll greet the place we are traveling to.

Nearly two months ago, I confirmed our lodging for the trip on which we are about to embark. Back then it felt like we were gaining some breathing room from COVID-19 and that making plans was a great thing to do. Now, just hours before our departure, the pandemic is raging in all corners of the country. I’m trying to reassure myself that we are doing this as safely as possible with only three nights in hotels: one on the way there and two on the way home; all three are major brands with the hopes they are working hard to protect their franchises. Our lodgings on the coast are at five different rentals; we’ll stay at each one for multiple days and will disinfect a few things before setting up, in addition to tossing off the bedding in favor of using our own pillows and our favorite fluffy down comforter. Ninety-three percent of our meals will come directly from what we are packing, while four meals will be to-go or outdoors. Two of those will be in Yachats, Oregon, at our old favorite Luna Sea restaurant; one lunch will be at Blue Heron Cheese Company in Tillamook, Oregon, and finally, dinner in Crescent City, California, as we will be in a hotel without a kitchen.

By minimizing our contact with others and wearing masks at all times we are in shared public spaces, we feel that we are doing everything we can to remain safe while not risking others’ health should somehow we become asymptomatic carriers. The path of our travels and time of year chosen also minimizes our encounters with others, though, on Thanksgiving and the day after, it’s been our experience that beaches are relatively crowded, although late November in Oregon means that we’ll be at least 20 to 50 feet away from others on a windy open area. If fewer people are traveling this holiday season, maybe we’ll find even greater isolation, which is just fine by us.

Driving west on Interstate 10 in California

I brought up that we’ll be preparing 93% of all of our meals; that’s a very accurate number, actually, as out of 57 meals across 19 days, we really are either cooking or packing sandwiches over the course of every day. While there’s certainly a convenience to eating out during travels, it’s also a hit-and-miss in rural corners of America where options can be grim *(if you ever had to eat Chinese food in Topeka, Kansas, you’d know what I meant). Instead, we’ll be dining on my own cooking with walleye hand-caught in Canada, ribeye steaks from the panhandle of Texas, Cajun Turducken from Louisiana, Corona beans because why not, sundubu Korean tofu stew, grilled bratwurst from our favorite local German store, and spaghetti squash as everyone needs a night off. Doing the dishes and moving this amount of food up to Oregon is a downside, but on the bright side, it’ll feel in some way like we’re living on the coast instead of just visiting.

“Patience is a virtue” takes on new meaning during a pandemic due to the uncertainty, but as we near the moment of departure with our precautions to remain safe, healthy, and isolated, it looks like all systems are “go for launch.” Due to the obvious impatience of many, which ultimately means disrespect for themselves and others, the flare-up of COVID-19 is surging through many cities across America and around the globe. We must continue to act in our own best interest and go slow and steady with the full awareness that all around us are people who not only don’t care but also don’t believe that the pandemic is real. For nearly the entire year, our lives have been impacted, yet those in denial only demonstrate hostility, which is often directed at those who are trying to not only take precautions but also patiently retain the hope that lives will return to something like normal. This trip up the coast is one of our moments to dip back into what was normal, our reward for our own patience.

Voted

October 11, 2020 JWise Photo of the Day

John Wise in mask voting in Phoenix, Arizona

Not for a moment would I have ever dreamt that voting would make me as emotional as it did today, but that’s just what happened. It wasn’t who I was voting for or even that I was voting, as I’ve done that plenty of other times in my life. It’s not that I was confronted or badgered at the drive-thru ballot drop-off location. I wasn’t turned away. I hadn’t forgotten my ballot at home.

Voting in Phoenix, Arizona

When we drove up to the only polling station open for early voting here in Phoenix on a Sunday, there was a traffic jam. Arizona’s ballots just went out this week and I got mine yesterday; I’d imagine that was about the same for many people. With horns blaring and many of the cars painted with slogans letting others know they were voting today along with flags fluttering in the wind, there were no less than 50 cars waiting to drive through this parking lot to drop off their vote. People were cheering and celebrating but strangely there was not a single sign of support for Donald Trump. Our surprise overwhelmed Caroline and me.

Heard Museum in Phoenix, Arizona

Driving away kind of misty-eyed we made our way over to the Heard Museum and although we’d not be able to stay long, it didn’t matter as we are members. Instead of seeing much, we spent the majority of our time talking with one of the docents named Mel who could not have been more enthusiastic for a form of art he too is typically not a fan of, modern art. So, we only spent time a little meaningful time with about half a dozen pieces and had a cursory glance over the other works on exhibition. We’ll certainly have to come back soon.

Caroline Wise at the Phoenix Art Museum

I’d like to point out that last weekend we paid a visit to the Phoenix Art Museum which was just open again for the first time since COVID hit. The painting Caroline is checking out is from William T. Wiley titled, “Modern Ark – After Brueghel.”

U.S. Citizenship

September 21, 2020 JWise Moments

Photograph of a U.S. Department of Homeland Security logo.

Today, here on the last day of summer, September 21st, 2020, Caroline applied for U.S. Citizenship! It was late when we finally finished answering the long list of questions and sent the myriad documents required. After 25 years in America, she’s finally moving on from Permanent Resident (meaning Green Card Holder) to a naturalized American citizen who will gain the right to vote. There’s not a lot more to share as in so many ways she’s been an American for a long time already, having visited all 50 states, walked in the halls of the White House, been to the top of the Statue of Liberty, rafted the Colorado River through the Grand Canyon, snowshoed in Yellowstone, snorkeled in Hawaii and the Florida Keys, learned to weave and make yarn, danced in a saloon, fired guns, ridden steam trains, ate Rocky Mountain oysters, got drunk in New York City, got her Associates Degree, was the president of a fiber guild, slept in a hogan, cried romantic tears more than once at Disney, and a million other amazing impressions that have been seared into our hearts during this time of witnessing the American character and having some of that seep into her own.

If time and good health are smiling upon us, we’ll be able to share another 25 spectacular years discovering new things or revisiting some of the wonderful, unforgettable places we’ve already enjoyed. Our curiosity to wander plays a large role in this development as there are particular benefits to be found with Caroline becoming a citizen that we’ll share in a future post. Oh, I can point out that all this happening today was a surprise to both of us, but conditions happened to align that pushed things along. Then, it was also the day for the first time in over six months that I met up with someone at my favorite coffee shop; yes, they have outdoor seating, and the temps are low enough for the heat to be tolerable.

But that’s not all. Tomorrow, Caroline will mask up and head into the office for the first time in 6 months. After all this wonderful time of her working from home and us spending 24/7 together, she needs some feedback and interaction with her boss, as online meetings can only get you so far when the task at hand is overwhelmingly complex. So, in one 24-hour period, everything changes, including the finalization of our upcoming travel plans. What a strange note to end this summer with, but then again, this entire year of peculiarity on a planet where great change is happening everywhere should have been the indicator that, of course, things will be different.

Leaving Out – Day 3

August 24, 2020 JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

The dry bed of the Gila River in Duncan, Arizona

The day begins in the dry sandy bed the Gila River plies when water spreads out between its banks. Birds are ever-present, though it would seem some species have moved on and maybe others moved in, but we are not ornithologists, so I cannot speak with authority. Beetles are copulating while ants scurry about as they emerge from and retreat into neatly groomed mounds around the passageway to their nests. The morning is pleasant out here and otherwise quiet aside from the distant dogs, chickens, and those birds I mentioned who live along the now-dry riverway.

The dry bed of the Gila River in Duncan, Arizona

We are leary of where our feet settle as we’ve been told to be aware of quicksand and, like all fools, I secretly hoped to find some, though I only dreamt of a periphery experience so I could add having escaped its clutches to the narrative here on my blog. For color, I could have lied while embellishing an otherwise mundane but not uninteresting walk where water should have been and we shouldn’t have.

Gourd along the dry bed of the Gila River in Duncan, Arizona

Checking my head, I cannot give you a good reason as to why we didn’t harvest some of the buffalo gourds that were growing everywhere. Along the river bed in the sandy soil, this stuff thrives, and we happen to be here while it’s still young and edible, and yet we collected not a single fruit. We’ve never eaten buffalo gourd that is said to taste like squash, now I’m tempted to drive the 205 miles back out to Duncan to get some for dinner and see just how tasty or not it is.

Dike on the Gila River in Duncan, Arizona

If you are wondering, we walked upstream and saw not a single sign of fish, dead or living. We exited the dry flow through a gap in the brush that hugs the shore, making our way atop a dike built to contain the invisible river should it decide to come back with a ferocity that might threaten the small town of Duncan. Last January, during our last visit, we were still within the confines of winter, bundled up and scarved to keep the cold at bay. We watched the river with admiration and respect for what might be hidden in the depths that we could not see or fathom. Today, on a late summer day, the sandhill crane shares its call somewhere else, well out of earshot of those in this crispy desert landscape. Funny how our instincts do not shoo us away from inhospitable places like those bird-brained specimens from the aviary family of creatures while we, with our superior intellects, walk right into the situations that threaten our comfort.

Simpson Hotel in Duncan, Arizona

Then again, we can just as quickly return to our creature comforts at our lodging to dine on another exquisite meal assembled by deft hands from ingredients collected across a vast geography, while the bird can only eat what it finds in front of its beak. Our first meal of the day was again nothing less than spectacular, but the resumption of our conversation with our hosts that inspired us to want to return would have to wait as a suddenly sickly cat friend who goes by the name Maliki needed to be rushed to a clinic specializing in ailments of four-legged and likely two-winged creatures unable to describe what is wrong and relying on us to interpret the change in their behavior and help save them should the ailment prove dangerous. Later in the day, we’d learned that luckily for all involved, the cat, while apparently traumatized, was not in serious condition and was discharged into the loving arms of the concerned caretakers.

The character of our hosts here cannot be understated as, without a second thought, they were moving to the door with Maliki wrapped up while we inquired about what needed to be locked up as they were about to head up, maybe down, the road. I believe they would have left without our payment had I not pressed it into the hand of Deborah, who was more concerned about this sweet cat than the ability of her guests to show themselves out and to do so graciously.