On Being… A Trail Journal Part 4

Day 7 Timberline Lodge and Beyond

Zero Miles! My first one! Well, I just polished off a $12 salad of lettuce and dressing. I asked if they could make it extra large but I watched the cook put it in a to-go box and it was just a big handful. Sheesh! Not quite the welcome I was hoping for at Timberline.

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Carved fox on a stair post.

The lodge is an amazing WPA project, full of history and craftsmanship, hard work and ingenuity. In the downstairs museum I learned that the workers made .90 cents an hour during the depression and were happy for it. However this place is somewhat exclusive.  I feel rich just being here. At about $300 a night, Timberline is out of reach for most people. Granted, it is awesome, the luxury and the location is worth the price but the people who work here now (and the ones who built it) probably couldn’t afford to stay here. I’d like to see some part of the lodge that was economical so that more people could enjoy this historic public works project.

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Art everywhere!

I’ve been wandering around here all morning, since I was “up with the chickens” as we say on the farm. I had been awakened around 4 by noises and lights on Mt. Hood. I thought at first it was for climbers as a string of fricking alien-beam-me-up bright lights lit up the mountain. But the noise and movement of machinery soon let me know I was looking at snow cats grooming the trail on the glacier. Who knew you could ski here in July? Apparently, lots of skier know, the Wy’east lodge is crawling with them! I have since learned Mt. Hood is the only place in the lower 48 you can ski all summer long.

Went back to sleep for a few more hours then made my way down to the lodge proper for a facilities usage and to get put on a list that would somehow grant me early entry to our room. With that, I also got laundry privileges! I “hiked” over to the store, bought a Timberline T shirt, swapped out my dirty clothes in the bathroom and had my laundry done by 9 AM. For the rest of the day I was asked by tourists for instructions and help as I apparently looked like a member of the staff in that shirt!

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Would you like help finding your room?

It’s really kind of weird to be here after 6 days on trail. All these people! I don’t live or work in the city and actually see more people on the trail than I do in my regular life. I get that I’m unusual that way, I probably could be quite content as a hermit. Crowds make me nervous. Well, crowds of people anyway. I’m pretty chill in a flock of chickens, a herd of horses, a pack of friendly dogs.

About a year or so ago I heard about a personality description called “highly sensitive” and after learning more, took the 28 question test. Turns out I checked off about 26 of the boxes on that list. Artist, introvert, animal and nature lover, crowd and loud noise avoid-er, picks up and is affected by others emotions, stress and general vibes. Yep. Check, check, check! Learning about being “highly sensitive” has helped me understand why I’ve felt so different for so long and to finally be okay with it. I no longer feel the need to “fit in” and the relief and insight and self acceptance has been very, very freeing. So, no wonder the chaos at Timberline stands out in stark relief to my last week.

But I’ve got things to do, so I put on my game face and get with the program. After taking down my tent (which I longingly looked at as a tiny nylon refuge) I packed up and retrieved my hiker box from the store. In the ski lodge, I took over a table and laid out my resupply and jettisoned things from my pack that I didn’t use or need. My 8 ounces of camp shoes, gone. Really, I was only wearing them 5 minutes or so a day. My unused, extra-just-in-case water bottle, gone. The back-up packages of Ramen? Gone. The ultra light cashmere sweater? Gone. Winter gloves… what was I thinking?! Gone!

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I hogged a whole table with my resupply.

It felt good to see what I needed and what I thought I needed part ways. Even with all my backpacking experience, I’d learned so much about what to carry and what to pitch. But this was a trip unlike anything I’d ever done. I’ve never hiked so many miles or moved every night. In the past, my hiking buddy and I would set up our trips to mostly hang out at a high lake where we’d relax, swim, read and pretty much vacation in the wilderness. This PCT journey has been about goals.

Once all the sorting chores were done and I had my $12 salad in hand, I found a corner table to sit and write, charge my cell phone and people watch. But the first thing I see is a huge chipmunk run across the battered but well polished wood floor. A brown shadow, it heads towards the center couches that flank the fireplace. At first, I think it’s a rat, it’s so big, but then it reappears and skitters off looking for an unattended bagel. I flag down an employee who’s setting out coffee for guests.

Uh, excuse me, there’s a chipmunk in here. It’s under the couches,” and I point helpfully in the general direction.

Oh, those aren’t chipmunks,” he explains. “Those are Timber Tigers. They’re squirrels, actually.”

Squirrels? They look like chipmunks.”

Yeah, they are all over here. They come in as soon as it gets warm, we can’t keep them out. They don’t do much harm.” And off he goes to finish his duties.

Now, I’ve been pretty familiar with chipmunks and squirrels of all kinds for longer than this kid has been alive but I’ve never heard the term “timber tiger”. I shrug and figure he must know something I don’t, seeing as he works here but lo and behold, Google holds all the answers. Timber Tiger is another cute name for chipmunk and that is what is prowling all around the lodge. They are big, well fed and bold, and just like every other chipmunk I’ve ever seen. So much for the taxonomic knowledge of lodge workers.

Tigre Timberious

And so I eat my expensive salad and then notice the sad dog tied to a pole just outside my window. The sun is streaming down, hot on the concrete patio and this beautiful little French bulldog is tethered in a square foot of shade without any water. She is at the end of her rope (literally) as she tries to stay out of the sun but the sun is slowly winning. I am worried about her and look around the lodge, where are her owners? Surely they are coming back? She inches back but she’s gone as far as she can go. An internal debate starts, do I untie her and move her? Do I bring her water? Do I bring her inside? I fixate on the dog and write in my journal about bad owners who don’t seem to realize that the sun actually moves for crying out loud.

An old woman in a wheelchair is pushed near to where I am fretting and writing and eating. I look up as her attendant parks her in front of the view of Mt. Hood who rises so closely above the lodge one can literally walk out the door and up on his muscular flanks. The attendant turns out to be a granddaughter and she catches my eye.

My grandmother climbed Mt. Hood when she was 18 back in 1942. I’m just bringing her to see it again.”

The old woman nods towards Hood, her eyes deeply set in a face of worn lines, her hair a thin nest of gray white curls. Her skin is paper thin and she doesn’t speak, just gazes at this mountain she once climbed. Back when wool and waxed canvas were the only things between you and the elements. Before women were known as adventurers, though we know they certainly were adventuring all over the place. Back when she was young and lithe and powerful enough to climb this 11,250 foot giant of Oregon.

I wonder how much she remembers, how much she is aware. She looks so tired, propped up in her chair. There are 74 long and short years between the woman in the chair and the girl she used to be, the one who braved the wind and snow and rock and did this amazing thing. I hope she remembers it all like it was yesterday. Those deep memories are the last things to go when we get that old… I hope she sat there for what most probably would be the last time, and remembered how brave and young and fearless she was. I hope I remember things like this about myself one day. And that someone who loves me will wheel me to the edge of my adventure before I too have to pass beyond this earth and on to my next great journey.

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Old, amusing version of a Mt. Hood map.

 

I follow her gaze out the window and see the hot dog… her owners have come and are bending over her. The dog’s nose was just in the sun but she is rescued and they make a big fuss over how she had run out of shade, the poor darling! I learn her name is Daisy and she is untied and picked up and cuddled. Daisy is stoic about her fate and simply sighs in relief. As do I.

And now I see a parallel. The old woman in the chair, the dog in the sun. Each quietly enduring their place in life, with dignity and composure. No fuss, no drama, they were serene in their acceptance, they had surrendered to the moment and in the moment, had found a sense of peace.

I take a deep breath, let it go and do the same. The noise, the people, the chaos falls away and I am happy in my corner, jotting down my thoughts of the day.

And then, Joe is there! Our reunion is not marred with my internal anxiety, but feels surreal in it’s absolute rightness. Now if only our room was ready…. no sooner do I think this, when my phone rings. Our room is ready! We gather up my gear and box and head up to the cozy space. It’s lovely and charming and everything you want a lodge to be.

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Pendleton blankets on the bed!

Knotty pine walls, old dressers, refurbished bath… sadly only a shower. I won’t be using the Epsom salts for a soak as I had planned. We tour the lodge and the grounds and catch up on the week. Later, we treat ourselves to a fancy dinner and I order from the vegetarian menu. But while the dining room is rustic and lovely with its crisp napkins, its amuse-bouche, its palate cleansers and all the 101 touches that make it a 4 star meal, something sits on my stomach like an ill wish. I feel hot, too hot and I wonder what is in the lentil loaf. There are so many rich ingredients and I have had some issues with eggs in the past. Are there eggs in here? Did the teeny piece of salmon I ate mess with my vegan flora? I keep thinking I am missing vital enzymes to break down meat, as I seem to have reactions when I stray from my usual diet. I feel like I have let down this amazing meal by not being able to enjoy every last bite. And just like that, I am exhausted. We wrap up our experience and I go to bed, sleep finds me fast and holds on until the snow-cats start up again at 4 AM. Really Timberline? Really?

Back to work!

Summer is winding down and for the first time in my life I am looking forward to some rainy days.  All the lovely sunshine has kept me busy outside with chores and fun.  The horses are sleek and fit, the pasture is mowed and the garden is having it’s last gasp at producing heirloom tomatoes.  I’m caught up and full up with camping but the studio has grown some cobwebs and a fine layer of dust.  The rain will keep me indoors and back to the business of being creative.

I did manage to spend a day whipping out an idea (which will be in the post, but not until the end, so stick around) as well as sorting through some old art I wanted to share. I used to love pen and ink, prior to discovering oil paints, it was probably my medium of choice.  Before there were rapidograph and Stabilo pens (which I love) I learned to use India Ink and a crow quill pen. Crow quill refers to the nib, a very small tip that doesn’t hold much ink but makes thin, sharp lines.  All the following pieces were done with the old dip and scratch method.  Very messy and time consuming.  I’m not sure what the attraction was… haven’t used that technique in years.  Perhaps it was the ink itself…  India ink is very very black and opaque.  I always liked my blacks to be deep and dark.

pen and ink supplies

Thank you Smithsonian for this image.  Want to know more about pen and ink?  Go to http://paleobiology.si.edu/paleoart/prentice/pages/pen_and_ink.html

 

I’ve done so many pen and ink drawings, I really should sort them all together.  But instead they are scattered in several portfolio cases and inhabit odd corners here and there.  I like to think I’m organized until I see my work helter skelter.  Maybe this winter I’ll get on it, but for now, here are a few that caught my eye for posting:

Great Horned Owl

Great Horned Owl

If you are clever, and have a good computer you will see my name from my youth.  I prefer Sky, but wasn’t born with that name. Changing my name may be the subject for another post… it’s personal and somewhat of a story, but the short version is, I didn’t like it, so I changed it when I got married since I was changing my  last name anyway.  You can be who you want to be as far as I’m concerned.

Next on the hit parade:

Mother Tiger

Mother Tiger

Boodhound

Bloodhound for Joe

The Chipmunk. (Cute little sucker!)

The Chipmunk

And for some fantasy fun:

Hypocampi

Hippocampi

As I was sorting through the Pen and Inks, I came across some designs I did for a T-shirt company.  My first job out of college was for a screen printing company and I have hundreds of designs that were printed on shirts.  But some of the best were freelanced while I was in grad school.  Here are some personal favorites that were printed by the Goldsmith Company in Portland, OR.  I don’t believe they are in business anymore, but it was fun to be one of their “stringer artists”.

Here are most of the floral designs I did for them.  The ones on black are actual screen prints.

Here are most of the floral designs I did for them. The ones on black are actual screen prints.

Close up of a proposed design.

Close up of a proposed design.

I always thought these kaleidoscope designs were fun for a shirt.  Not high art, but still, not everything has to be mind blowing and thought provoking.  Sometimes art is just fun.  And now that we are talking about fun… I started this post with the title, Back to Work. I did “go back to work” and finished a new painting.  My plan was to do a 2-D version of my “Winged Chair” so I outlined it (in orange as usual) then began filling it in with color.  It was awful.  I hated it and left the studio to work in the yard.

We had a day in August where the rain blew in so I made my way into the studio to finish or destroy the hated painting.  Destruction was on my mind, but instead I began to embellish and before I knew it, the painting went from staid, awful and cartoon-y to something wild and awesome.  So, as promised… the one new piece:

Wild Chair Oil on Canvas

Wild Chair
Oil on Canvas

I think I would be a little apprehensive about sitting in this particular chair.  It doesn’t look tame…  and maybe even a little scary. I still kinda like it.  It makes me feel dangerous!