the longest day

So I’ve been thirty for a few days now, and let me tell you, if these last four days have been any indication of the year (or decade) to come, I am in for a ride.

[I need to also thank all my friends and family, and especially my wife, for my birthday gift. Carly requested and compiled well wishes, encouragement, thoughts, blessings and memories from thirty friends/family. It is indescribable to know that you are loved. She is great. You all are great. Life is great…]

And to that end, I have been filled with such joy these last days. After our stormy start, and enough detours to last a lifetime, let me tell you that things have fallen into place, and The Road, in all its romantic beauty, has proven again to be a old friend, with new mysteries and adventures, revealing even more God-hewn-wild-country than before.

Carly and I have found a wonderful rhythm as road trip companions, mixed with memory-filled-music, mapping routes, morning sunshine snoozing (by her mostly…), telling and re-telling old stories, and sometimes just staring out into the big sky, marveling.

As I’m writing, I’m remembering that a lot has happened since I last wrote. We had planned to stay Sunday night at the Badlands, a refuge for the outlaws of old, and a place with an untold and other-worldly beauty. But it wasn’t in the cards. Storms move fast and hit hard out on the prairie, and having had our share of thunderstorms, we thought we’d pass. We headed on.

Having taken the time to see Rushmore and Crazy Horse, we stumbled, not upon a mountain hotel which had been the plan, but a quaint camping spot nestled in granite boulders and pine trees overlooking a small lake. It poured all night on us, except when we needed to break camp the next morn. How kind.

Next stop was in Billings, for a shower, a warm bed, a few sweet moments with friends, and to buy some bear spray. That’s right. Bear spray. Can’t go to Glacier without bear spray. Come on.

Which now brings us to a tent on the longest day of the year, at the base of a snow capped mountain range, overlooking a glacial melt lake, thousands of miles from home, at the top of the world, it would seem. I feel like I’d need fifty June 21’s to take in and appreciate all that we've seen.

…and it may come as no surprise to you, but I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else right now. It’s been a good day…

detours and undeterred

When going on a road trip, one must make concessions. You have to give up some small part of the experience to gain the whole. If you choose to take the ‘blue highways’, you’ll see much of true America, but either you won’t get far, or you’ll spend your entire day trapped behind the wheel of a car. You might miss some interesting little things, if you take the interstate, but you arrive quicker, allowing time to relax and enjoy your destination. Each divergent decision reveals to us a different scene, a different slice of Americana.

But at the end of the day, perhaps, I subscribe stronger, to a philosophy that has suited me well these past years. That, like many things, it is ALL about the journey and not about the destination. No matter where you end up (as long as you were trying to go somewhere), that is where, for the moment, that you are supposed to be.

This is not an admission of a belief in fate or predestination, but a realization that HE who is in control of our lives, sees much, and may often direct us to places we didn’t know we needed to be. (granted, now I’m speaking both philosophically and geographically.) And that much can be learned ‘along the way’ if we are not always 100% focused on ‘getting there’.

Road trips certainly hold this to be true. The world is too big, there are too many opportunities for us to be waylaid, and there is much to see between here and somewhere. Detours on the road (and in life) can become some of the best times.

Yesterday, though, tested the limits of this philosophy. After we had dried off from the morning storm and gotten some hot food/coffee in our bellies, we set out to drive 500+ miles across a few states. With the sun shining, the music playing, with my best friend at my side, it seemed like nothing could deter us. Wrong. As we progressively got closer to our destinations, detour after detour, flooded river after closed road, derailed our plans for a simple 9hr drive.

Needless to say, after driving through a partly flooded interstate, we became intimately knowledgeable of the back roads of corn-growing, flag-waiving, truck-loving Nebraska. We must have been diverted off our path 3-4 times by a sign impelling us to find a different route.

11.5 hours later, the arrival at Ponca SP, on the cliffs of Nebraska, overlooking the wide Missouri river just a Lewis and Clark had done (awesome!), was a long time coming but well worth it. We stumbled upon a quiet, secluded camping spot in a grassy field at the end of a road. Dinner, smores, fire, relaxing. And now I enjoy a crisp-air, birdsong-filled, quiet sunrise this morning, all to myself.

I’ve seen a few detours in my life and on the road, and I’ve benefitted from each one. Yesterday was no different…

rough start

[i was supposed to have posted this yesterday]

I had the best intentions to steal a few minutes yesterday, in the midst of packing, to write. But as is most often, the war for more time, is lost to the details of packing & preparation.

I had spent the morning considering what would be an appropriate topic to write about as a 'going away' post. and had nearly given up on good ideas when i saw something that sparked something. I saw a guy mowing his lawn. shocker. but it struck me, this action/mentality of mowing (and keeping) a lawn. (especially in TN, where it grows plentifully in the summer.) i suppose it boils down to an essentially civilized desire: to tame the land.

a friend recently shared a great quote with me, on how our forefathers lived amongst the wild and dreamed of civilization, whereas we now live in unabashed civilization, and we (some of at least) dream of the wild. my caveat in all of this, i think, is that many still want to tame their piece of the land, while happily relegating 'the wild' to sequestered parks and the history books.

not i.

i'm learning more (now that we're on the trip) about how important this particular road trip is to me. but at least in a small part, we're heading back out into the wild country, heading to one of the wildest and most untamed portions of our country: Glacier NP, and this fact excites me with that wonderful mix of wonder, adventure and healthy respect.

last night was definitely one of those times where the idealized venture "back into the wild" loses all it's excitement and adventure and quickly becomes a lesson in healthy respect for the natural world. last night we spent the night in Babler State Park just outside St. Louis, MO. the darkened campground at 11pm last night seemed innocuous enough, but as the light pattering of rain and tornado sires woke us up at 5am, simple instinct kicked in.

A thunderous, lightning-cracking storm opened up on us and our little tent. We stuffed as much of the gear into the car, and Carly furiously leapt into the front seat. By that point, there was no point in running around, as I had been drenched to the bone. I proceeded to breakdown the tent in the pouring rain as Carly looked on, with mixed emotions of laughter at my pitful, wet plight, and fear for my safety in a clearly dangerous storm. A short while later, with wet gear and clothes in garbage bags, we drove on and headed west to escape the storm.

And we did.

And as we drive on, I consider, “isn’t that just how it is?” Life is full of a mixture of fear and laughter in the midst of storms, and if you keep driving, there’s blue just beyond…

the return

why do we apologize to our blogs?

perhaps we'd like to believe that the masses have been checking our site every day, waiting-on-baited-breath to hear and read more. but i think that truthfully, a blog is nothing more than a representative of your life, your discipline, your commitment. I think we apologize because we realize this. that sadly we are not as focused/disciplined/committed to certain things in our lives. Exercising, blogging, gardening, personal spiritual time. they all take time, energy and discipline.

I'm sorry blog. I'm sorry i neglected you. thanks for keeping all my posts, though, and letting me go back and see where i've been. that's always nice.

....so after the obligatory apologizing, real blogging can begin.

I guess my return to blogging mostly stems from from two sources. (again, as mentioned before, I would love to write and say that I just woke up this morn and felt the unquenchable need to blog and that i was a changed man, but, alas, it's not true.)

First, Carly and I are about to embark on a ROAD TRIP. Woot! With any luck, we'll try and blog about our 2.5 weeks of travel, camping, and Red Feather. It'll be the first time we've really had an opportunity to go on the road since we've been married and moved to TN. (We were fortunate enough to make it back to Red Feather/Hopi last September, but we flew.) I suppose this is the funny and not so funny truism of life. as life hands you newer and newer levels of responsibility, you realize that you are more unfettered/free/footloose now, compared to the 'future'. I'm glad we have this opportunity.

Secondly, I've been inspired by a lot of my friends out there, who blog about their lives. It's not an everyday thing, (and I think they'll agree) but the occasional opportunity to put your recent life experiences down in words. Thanks fellow bloggers!

Stay tuned for more musings.....

bereft yet full

i'm wrung out
with no idea of what's next
tears and coffee drip out of me
-very little blood left-

reaching the end of wit
floods smallness and humanity
brimming to my eyes,
the palpable reminiscence
of my lacking ability
to control the world.

the air goes silent,
-ringing-
people mouthing so many helpful
distant things.
vision blurs
the future dims
and each labored footfall
against the wind
hurts.

poetries and scripturings--
prayers by me
for me
from some other wayfarer
who's walked this trail before
or begrudgingly foretold the story

peace is felt in the flow
of a pen
or in the little blood
there is left...

no words but the inspiration within me....

i find beauty in the jagged edges on a map,
-the unkempt lines that separate us-
seeing that the land, still our better
even yet defines us.

give me broken, untaut borders
and the rocky, beguiling coasts
so that i may never find myself confined.

no cabin fever here

long over due. often need an impetus of unique qualities to get me back here with my pen.

fresh percolated coffee rests to my right, the fire in the place ticks its approval of our being here. warming and burning the logs chopped with our own collective hands.

i forget how healing this mountain get-away is until i am rested in its rustic clutches.

just a few friends and i, nestled away from the cold, enjoying the simpler pleasures of and in the high country. a mountain brewery, rich-fine coffee, a deck of cards, a board game, and four pairs of snowshoes.

in taking a moment, i have found exactly what i was looking for.

prescriptions and precipitates...

two little pills every meal. one packet in the morning and one in the evening. think positively so as to preemptively overcome. listen only to the soothing sounds of Iron & Wine. Call me in the morning.

this is the prescription i wrote myself a day or two ago. while not admitting that some sickness may be attacking, i feel the comings on. the two pills are 'purple cornflower', known as echinacea. the two packets are emergen-C. nothing drastic here. assume no defeat until it's too late. always was a trail blazer. blazing trails potentially into sickness and idiocy.

actually, i something much stranger than all that happened today. after literally freezing temps on mon and tues, rainy cold on wed and thurs, the ever fickle natured weather sprung on us a 75 degree day. clear and bright. a long standing truth is learned. weather is held in check and known by no man. the earth and it's maker are mighty and whimsical.

another truth. the world, beyond the weather, is less and less known. and as i am now, i must prepare for the winter and the seasons ahead. thicken my skin, protect what is dear.

storms are a-comin. meet me in the shelter. i'll bring the Iron & Wine.

the snow keeps me sharp...

i will attempt to overwhelm you (or maybe just regular-whelm you) today with two, yes two posts, after not having written in as many months.

i must tell you of something new for me, that rouses a child like excitement that is nothing less than refreshing. it snowed. a pretty good one for old nash. first, i've never lived in the snow. second, supposedly, it never sticks. well, a couple inches fell on thurs night and it's still here this morning, glistening and crackling under foot, when one ventures out into it, leaving the warmth of layers, couches, and pressed hot black medicine (coffee).

my love and i took a walk in the falling down the other night as it dusted all around us. both God and man made things were made as one under that soft white, and how unlike anything else and quite amazing it is to see the trees and grass and ground with their white shadows, their snowy outlines. it places a romanticism in the thin chilled air as everything made beautiful.

i think perhaps the contrast between inside and outside becomes more drastic. i peak out the window and see a world beyond that to step into takes thought and preparation. i am protected from it all and this is my home. perhaps the cozy connotations of home become more readily felt when the frozen out-of-doors lays kept at bay.

when prepared, both in mind and in dress, the snow and cold is a wonderful thing!

over the thanxgiving time, i awoke one morning and like a strong wind i was compelled to write. i'd like to share that with you now. and secondly, i'm reminded of an older poem that i wrote that today's snowy day just demands that i include.

i endeavor to write to you more while my mind, far from the frozen world, is warm and alive with words and dreams.

----------------------------
'daybreaking'

the daybreak sun
pushes down
tirelessly
through fog and
the fragile early hour frost,
breaking apart shadows
and the sediment
of yesterday's worries.

the night may capture
all of the previous day
holding our thoughts
like the stiff green/white grass,
but the still and cold
that holds it all in silence
effortlessly bleeds into
that morning peace--
quiet reverie of newness.

all will thaw
and is made whole and new
at the first glows
stretching far from the horizon.

when these panes of glass
hold not back that daybreak sun
from my face,
my eyes behold a clarity
so sharp
and my mind rests in that
healing morning silence.


----------------------------
'sd snow'

the snow fell
or so the pictures told.
it fell for you
deep into my spring months.
the weather’s promise
of the cold
became old tradition
for you and your Midwest.

hugging branches
and porch banisters,
sleeping in stream beds,
the white erases the past
in icy breaths.

though I sit hearthed and homed
a thousand miles away
from your familiar
snow clouded skies,
the draft from under the door
brings crystalline water memories
and a chill to my neck.

as I put the water
on to boil,
I peak out the window shade
to my own cool evening sky,
snowed pictures in hand.

----------------------------

snippits...signposts...and ostensible musings...

-- "i saw a tree in my travels today, half ablaze in yellow and orange leaves, fiery rustling in the biting cool breeze, and half barren, naked, still. winter chill is upon us and the autumn winds and the hues they bring are leaving." --

i wrote that on the ninth of november, a far cry and time from today's winter day. how funny. while driving i saw this tree, normal to any other on any other day, but that day it spoke to me. clearly. the changing of season, the change following the chapters in our lives. my time here has been brimming with much change, naturally. and perhaps one of the hard aspects of life and local change is the retention of all the good that has come before.

i, as we all do, get very much wrapped in all this important and unimportant here, with my job, with my love, and with this new whirling future. then, in waves, little bits, memories mostly, flood back with all their smells, sounds, and tactile veracity, and i am taken sad for parts of days. my mind, in the silence of my focused woodworking, has much time to pass to and fro through time, and traverse the states, timezones, mountains and miles to visit all those i hold in love. one memory or carefully wrapped bunch of memories that i return to often is that of my time on the indian reservations. a few weeks ago, though i cannot recall when, i jotted this in a failed attempt to blog. at the time, i believe i tried to tack these two fragments together, in hopes of appeasing the guilt that eats at my for not writing. but, now, i have properly eulogized those false starts of creative thought but giving them at least a small frame in which to persist.

-- "i'm missing the rez. there is no eloquent way to put it, though i sit here and stare at the keys, trying to paint that longing in some softer way, just to ease it a little. i miss that something that is ephemeral as my telling you of it." --

i suppose that the most interesting thing is not the words or sentiments that either contain, but perhaps their lasting worth comes from their comparison and contrast to today's day. and all the things that i'm feeling now. little sign posts to consider in looking back.

life is settling into a veritable rhythm, and this passage of time does not tarnish the past, but rather affords me time to take each thought and polish it's exterior to the glow of loving memory...