Between river wandering in Vermont and New Hampshire

Last Monday, I taught yoga, did some laundry, and came home to Kevin's mountain climbing gear strewn throughout our living room. Kevin was returning from a weekend of mountain climbing with three of his friends in New Hampshire. I was just back from scouting yoga retreats with Christie in Maine. Kevin did a full day of landscaping and taught a yoga class. Somewhere in the night, he woke up stupidly early and repacked. Well, Kevin repacked. Plenty of loose books and clothes wound up throughout the car without the home of a bag.

Early Tuesday we began our return to the northlands. A more westerly route than my trip to coastal Maine, we drove through western Massachusetts before finding ourselves in the greenest Vermont mountains completely out of cell or wifi range.

We compared notes. Kevin told me stories of grown men climbing in mountains and how quickly that descends into bathroom humor. I shared my collection of adventures with Christie in Maine. 

When I contracted Lyme disease, Kevin became my advocate. Twelve days of fever felt like they burned out my decision-making capacity. I was just tired and overwhelmed. In our 16 years together, we've cared for one another when sick. This was different. We changed patterns. We started to figure out some lines about when we seek care-- when we wait it out. We're learning what feels like care to one another and adjusting our behaviors to meet those needs.

It made us feel close. A new level of intimacy. Which, long-term relationships afford. 

It felt strange to set off on separate adventures. Additionally, because radical shifts were occurring in the lives of people really close to us. Some, dealing with their own health crises. Others, unexpectedly finding relief and reunion. Kevin and I had kept close tabs on one another, calling as much as signals permitted, but we still had the details to supply as we drove into Vermont.

We pulled off in Sharon, Vermont, a small town of maybe two country stores and a handful of other shops by the New Hampshire border. Snaking along the White River, we pulled up the mountain to a dirt road that took us to an off-the-grid cabin. The planks smelled of cedar. We put a block of ice in the tray of the cooler to keep our food and climbed the ladder to the little sleeping loft with a big open window to the trees beyond. The outhouse was a little ways along the path and the camp shower fed by cisterns of water stored by the door. At night, we lit candles and put flashlights on our chests to illuminate our novels. Quiet. Green. 

Kevin realized we were near South Royalton, a town he visited years ago during a speaking engagement at Vermont Law School. Best part is that this town is the aerial shot in the opening credits of the Gilmore Girls! It's the model for Stars Hollow!

We passed two evenings in South Royalton, listening to bands in the bandstand and eating in the local restaurants. We could get a signal here to check back in on our loved ones at home as they navigated these life-changing events. 

Our cabin in Sharon was near trails that wound up the mountain to scenic views or down to the big flat boulders shaping the river. Nearby, a brook formed several pools good for dipping. The forest floor was coated in ferns. The light was dappled as the thick forest trees interrupted the hot sun.

We were also near Joseph Smith's birthplace. Given that Kevin loves anyone zealous enough to form a religion and also gets excited about history, which Mormonism has certainly shaped, we had to go. The birthplace and the commemoration were beautiful and peaceful. A bus had unloaded its fill of white, largely blonde, college-aged Mormons. They each found their own spot along the hill or tucked away on benches to read the Bible, Book of Mormon, and fill out worksheets. We wandered through the friendly white kids to the Mormon markers. 

Hanover, New Hampshire was only 20 minutes down the road so we headed their twice. My brother graduated from Dartmouth and Kevin's grandfather did his MBA there in one of the country's first low-residency programs. We sat by the beautiful campus and ate at some of the restaurants in town. Signals remained erratic so some friendly wait staff gave us a tip on a nearby swimming hole.

Down the road, Mink Brook, quiet and tree-lined. An afternoon of novels, yoga, dipping in the cool water, and some Wim Hof breathing.

I kept looking up and feeling the peace of no signal, my rhythm tuned to daylight, and that growing inner quiet. My grandmother grew up in a world that was closer to my few days in an off-the-grid cabin. The world is smaller. Less access. More attention to what's in front of you. It's a two-generation experiment to live the way I'm accustomed. 

I found myself navigating some of the pressures of my life better than I often do. I tried to assess what changed, what was I doing that worked? I realized that in the fits and spurts of cell and wifi access the attention I gave the challenges was circumscribed. I paid attention, offered what I could, and then moved on. The rest of the world-- its ferns and rivers-- took up more room. As we made our way home, I weighed that balance. I'm trying to stay with it. Be with what matters. Stay in the world.

Fear of death or social media

My right shoulder has ropes running through to my neck. My right wrist at times gets painful and creaky. I feel tension in the muscle under my right thumb. It's not exclusively, but I think largely, due to my evil iPhone.

Evil and yet I love it. I love finding a coffee shop with an outdoor patio during a break between teaching. I love finding weird, quirky places when I pull up into town. I love that I can keep my inbox neat and manageable by frequently deleting the junk messages or sending a quick reply to something important.

I frequently check my email and Facebook. I get work-related messages on Facebook with some frequency and that's where I do most work promotions. Honestly, I don't mind it all but I do feel it in my body.

I'd been feeling like I wanted an internet cleanse really just to watch what happened. I wanted to see if my body did unwind a bit and what my mind felt like without the frequent connection and stimulus.

My work is pretty email reliant and I have certain obligations so it took a little coordinating but I did it-- cleared two full and surrounding partial days where I had fully communicated that I would be unavailable. Last Monday I taught three classes, squared away the last of my communications, made sure everyone had what they needed from me, jumped in the car, and headed north.

I printed out directions, which I hadn't done in awhile. I wanted my phone OFF. I also printed out swimming holes that might be fun to visit or other weird things I'd heard about.

I thought there would be a lot on my mind that I would want to remember-- tasks to attend to-- but nope. There really wasn't any resistance in falling into this parallel track.

Kevin and I returned to our favorite little cottage on a sweet creek in the Catskills. We walked into town and ate food at cafes. We walked back and kept the door open to the creek to feel the air and hear the rushing water. Incense stayed lit to keep bugs from our door. I opened up The Signature of all Things and didn't close it until I read the last word a day later. Kevin went through a few of his favorite works as well.

We swam in the creek. We laid on boulders and sun bathed.

We also did a halfday meditation retreat with Amma Sri Karunamayi but that's a separate subject for another day!

As I waded through the water I tried to feel what was different. The main thing I felt was that I had more of myself. My energy was all going into me, my relationship, the moment. None of my energy was siphoned away into another town, a different task, or a different moment. I felt more cohesive, coordinated, and potent. That felt really good, unexpected, and worthwhile.

I wasn't sure what I'd find-- that I was hopelessly addicted to social media and needed a constant hit? Nope. I like it. I like being connected but I was fine without it too. I wasn't sure if I'd feel isolated. No. I just felt like my energy got to be concentrated and directed more mindfully.

I waded through the creek and laughed as I thought, "if a tree falls in the forest and no one hears it..." If I'm in the forest and no one hears me, did I happen? I think that's often the underlying motivation for constant updates and contacts. "I am here, existing, living, and trying to leave a record." Why? So maybe we can defeat the one undefeatable, seemingly chaotic, utterly consistent experience of our existence?

So, if no one knows what I'm experiencing, if no one knows me, other than me, is that enough? Is the present moment, this experience enough? Because ultimately, whether it's broadcasted or utterly private, this experience is all there is. This present moment, this feeling and engagement with it, this is it. As far as I can tell. No big meaning. No big culmination. No big quest. Just this. So if I'm the only one in my present, as all of us are both the only one and with everyone in this big is-ness, is it enough? Can it be enough? If it's fleeting? Ultimately unshareable? Ultimately unbearably private and completely universal?

Is that all there is?

Yup. Let's keep dancing.

I had Leonard Cohen wafting out of the open french doors of my cottage. I had an open book on a sun drenched boulder. Moss climbed on the boulder reminding us both that all is built and all breaks down.

It's all completely enough.

O cabin, my cabin

April & May are bat shit crazy in our world and then, happily, June comes. June is still crazy, but within in June is the Solstice, the auspicious date of Kevin's birth. We try to get away on that date. One year we visited his Aunt outside of DC and saw ball games. Another year his parents took us to Baltimore for ball games. Twice we visited another Aunt out in the Olympic Peninsula and basked in all things Pacific Northwest. This year when asked Kevin said, "Let's get a cabin in the Catskills." 

I went to hunting. I found some really cheap stuff, which is usually where I press the magic confirm button, but there was something a little higher than my normal price range, not too high, but on a creek. I kept turning away telling myself I could pay less. And then I thought, "on a creek." There was something about it and something about that proximity to water.

I started dreaming about this one room cabin on a creek. And then I realized that I needed to just book it. So I did.

We arrived when it was raining. Our little cabin was sweeter than I had anticipated given the photos. It was also only a 15 minute walk to downtown Woodstock. I kept asking Kevin, "Could we live like this?"

Right now, the answer is no. We would have to figure out how to work remotely. Or how to become independently wealthy by running landscaping and yoga businesses so we could retire. Unlikely.

We've both lived in Suburban and Urban environments but never Rural. We keep feeling drawn.

On our first full day of Kevin's Birthday Adventure we ran off to Kaaterskill Falls. These falls are beautiful and epic and were quite empty on a random Monday. We opened up our books and hippie snacks (tamari almonds! kombucha! spicy pumpkin seeds!) and stayed awhile.

Back "home" at our cabin was equally delightful. Meditations by the creek. Swimming in said creek. Hikes. More reading. Kevin kept the coffee brewing. We lit incense to keep the mosquitoes at bay and just because.

I had one other adventure in mind: The Blue Hole. This is one of those things of yore-- a swimming hole that is pretty legit off the grid. You have to triangulate blog posts. It's a bit like a scavenger hunt. All good things ask effort.

We set out, got lost, bickered, recalibrated, and ultimately found it. 

One must be pure of heart to enter the clear waters of the Blue Hole.

I would tell you where it is but I think that would deny it's treasures. Search it out. You'll find it.

The water was shockingly cold from its mountain spring source but so refreshing. We lounged on the big, flat, sun-warmed rocks. Kevin jumped in a lot. I tentatively put feet in. We hiked around and watched small waterfalls skid off the vertical rocks.

Back at our sweet little cabin we tried to concoct how to make a life like this-- on a creek, quiet, and small. A village in walking distance. We're still not sure, but we know that we feel really good within it.

Kevin took this photo of me taking it all in. I look so much like my grandmother here. Something about the stance, my body. She was born in Johnson City, Tennessee, birthed my Mom in Chattanooga, and raised her and my Uncle on a suburban farm in Atlanta, GA. Maybe there's something in frequent barefoot walks that I see in myself and her.

Until we figure it out, we keep living softly.

Flickering

I sat down to write one of those "my apologies and here are my excuses" pieces to explain my absence. But that's not very interesting reading.

My writing presence has been a flickering light. I get flashes of ideas. There are some stories and thoughts that need time and space to be teased out. Last week I spent a few glorious days in a tiny cabin by a rushing creek. I considered bringing this laptop as a keyboard moves at the pace of my thoughts. I thought I might write. I decided if I was going to write, I would have to be patient with my own fingers, their curl around a pen, and it's contact with a page.

And I didn't write.

I see that my last post is dated March 30. At that time, I was slowly untangling my experience of training as a Jivamukti yoga teacher in India. I'm still engaged in that process and likely will be for some time to come. Since that time my teachers have trained students in upstate New York and again in Costa Rica. Each time I see that another training is beginning or concluding I sort of gasp and inwardly sigh. I'm so happy for those students and slightly jealous. I imagine where they are in their process. I hope that they're relishing every delicious moment.

Since March 30 I've worked to help Kevin keep Rooted Landscaping humming along. And it is. Each year we feel increasingly organized and calm about running a business, which is sort of miraculous. Steady improvement. Constant attention to work-life balance. Kevin is enjoying the projects he's taking on. His customers are impressed and so happy to have him make their home environments beautiful and inviting.

I've married a lot of people. Like, a LOT of people. I did a few weddings in April. I think the end tally was that I married 9 couples in May. I wed a few more couples in June. I teared up several times. I felt honored to share in those precious moments.

I've taught a lot of yoga. And I try to stay present to being a student first. When you teach a lot, it can be challenging to make time for your own practice. I have a lot of private students right now and I really get why they schedule private sessions-- you're accountable! Each day, I make my schedule for when I'll practice yoga, run, and or swim. Obviously, I need to stay present to my own health. I also need to be accountable to my own practice to stay invested and inspired in ways that serve my students.

And I play with our cats a lot. I'm pretty enamored of George. He's long and slinky and black and sort of a badass. I think he's bullying his sister, Estelle, but she's more up front by hissing in retaliation and standing up to him. I love them both, chastise George very slightly, respect Estelle a ton, and still find myself drawn in by George's wiles. He reminds me of Laz when Laz was at his full strength. George is terrorizing baby rabbits and mice. He gives me gifts.

We're sort of shifting Estelle's name to Daria, because that's her doppelganger. Estelle is so over everything, except Maurice. She loves him. Maurice is just ridiculously cute. I don't even understand his cuteness. It's almost excessive.

Their happiness makes me really happy. I love seeing them together, snuggling, or bathing one another. I love to watch them run around and chase each other. I love the way their fur gets silky while they bask in the fresh air, the clarity of their eyes, their strength and alertness. I love their health and vigor. I am reminded why we should care for other creatures.

I've attended to a lot but not my writing. I am working to change that. I'm working to shed steady light on voice.

Winter Mountain Retreat President's Day Weekend!

Winter Mountain Retreat to the Catskills with Dee Joline and Carrie Sarlo-Randazzo

President’s Day Weekend

Friday Feb 13 - Monday Feb 16

Journey a quick three hours north for a warm and bright weekend at the Menla Institute in Phoenicia, NY. Enjoy six sessions of both vigorous and restorative yoga taught by two of your favorite Yogawood instructors, sleep in the gentle elegance of the Menla Mountain Lodge, be nourished by fireside organic vegetarian meals, book a treatment at the on-site Mahasukha Spa, or venture into the excitement of winter in the Catskills mountains. Know that Best-of-Philly massage therapist, Carrie Sarlo-Randazzo, will massage students while Dee leads practice. A short drive to snow tubing, enjoying the shopping or great dining in Woodstock and other neighboring towns, visit a winery, or ski in one of three mountains within a half hour radius. We’re told the most popular downhill ski mountain is Hunter. Yoga classes will be timed to give you a full day of skiing at Hunter on Saturday and Sunday. As many have off for President’s Day Monday, you may even get in some more trails before heading home!

In addition to this being President’s Day weekend, our retreat is also over Valentine’s Day! Bring yourself and let us cherish you or feel free to bring your sweetie and steal away for a snowy walk hand in hand. All are welcome.

Our retreat participants will be housed in homes on Menla’s campus. Examples of rooms are shown below:

Take both vigorous and gentle practices with Carrie and Dee in one of Menla’s beautiful studios:

Book a treatment directly with Mahasukha. All information can be found here: http://menla.org/spainfo.php?sub=Spa+and+Healing+Center

*Please note that we urge you to book treatments in advance. The spa will be staffed based on appointment. Bookings can begin Jan 12, 2015. Contact kdryden@menla.org

Though Belleayre Mountain is closest, and Windham Mountain is also in the vicinity, most prefer skiing the trails at Hunter Mountain.

http://www.huntermtn.com/

*As this is a holiday weekend, we recommend that those planning to ski, snowboard, or snow tube book ahead.

Not a skier? Not a problem. Curl up with a book, take a walk on one of the many trails, and simply be. For a good picture of all the area has to offer, visit http://visitthecatskills.com/

Investment

Private room, shared bath $795 (There are only 4 spots!)

Shared room, shared bath $595

Enroll! https://clients.mindbodyonline.com/classic/admhome?studioid=13187

Please email maiga@yogawood.com if you have a preferred roommate. If not, we will pair you with another participant and make sure both of you are in communication and comfortable with the arrangements.

Inclusions:

Dinner on Friday Feb 13. Three meals on Saturday Feb 14 and Sunday Feb 15. Breakfast and lunch on Monday Feb 16.

Yoga practice on all four days.

Accommodations.

Exclusions:

Travel.

Optional Spa Treatments.

Skiing or other optional activities.

Cancellation Policy

We understand that things come up. As this is a sweet, spontaneous offering, we can only transfer your tuition to another participant if you make the arrangements. To keep our obligations to our providers, we are unable to offer refunds.

There is no cell reception at Menla. However, there is free wifi in the yoga studio to check in with loved ones.

Sample Itinerary

Friday Feb 13

Check-in and arrival 3 pm

Rigorous vinyasa 5-6:30 pm

Dinner 7 pm

Saturday Feb 14 & Sunday Feb 15

Rigorous vinyasa 7:30-9 am

Breakfast 9-10

The day free to ski, snowboard, snow tube, explore towns, hike, arrange a spa treatment, or snuggle with a book!

For those sticking around Menla, lunch 12-1 pm

Bonus afternoon practice with Carrie for those enjoying Menla!

Restorative yoga practice 6-7 pm (with adjustments and massage from Best-of-Philly massage therapist, Carrie!)

Dinner 7-8 pm

Monday Feb 16

Rigorous vinyasa 8-9:30 am

Breakfast 9:30-10:30

Lunch 12- 1

Check-out 1 pm

Suggested Packing

Good winter gear! A warm coat for appropriate for outdoor activities, including Menla’s lovely trails, good snow boots, gloves, and hats!

If you plan to ski, bring what you have and hope to have.

Yoga attire appropriate for 4 sweaty practices and two gentler practices.

The studio has mats & props. If you’re especially attached to your own mat, bring it!

Downtime clothes good for reading, going to meals, or taking a stroll.

Sleepwear and warm slippers.

A good novel for evenings of any time you spend hanging out.

Flashlights for evening walks.

Toiletries, including shampoo.

If you like having wash clothes, bring them!

Read Menla’s suggestions here:

http://menla.org/about.php?sub=Plan+Your+Stay

Yogawood Retreat to Vermont: Change is the Only Constant

About a year ago, Beth and I booked Good Commons for a Yogawood fall splendor Retreat. When thinking about the thematic content, Beth blurted out: "Change is the only constant!" So true, and so readily apparent in the glory of fall.

The retreat quickly sold out and developed a waiting list. Our group coordinated carpools up to New England.

Behind the creaky old farmhouse, owner Tesha Buss landscaped a meandering path through the ferns. Beth and Susan took it in with a cup of coffee.

The retreat opened with a yoga to shake off the travel and a great meal. The first full day was sunny and luxurious. After morning meditation, yoga, and then lunch, most of the group decided to hike Deer Leap.

As Tesha put it, the summit offers the most bang for your buck!

Saturday was rainy and steel grey. I actually loved it.

Obviously. We practiced silence on the second morning to offer up more space for reflection and presence. When we did reintroduce our voices, it was with awareness that presence is really our best tool to be receptive to constant change and motion. 

Before driving home, some participants took a morning walk.

And we had to hug and giggle with each other a ton.

Given the response, it seems fall in New England serves! That's the goal of these retreats-- to create a pause in a place that feels meaningful. I'm already hunting for 2015!

Cape Charles VA

I almost don't want to tell you all about this.

I want to keep it secret.

For years, Kevin & I have been making the trip from South Jersey to Norfolk. As we approach the Bay Bridge Tunnel, I always say, "it looks so beautiful!" We see marsh land & signs for parks. We always chat about stopping, but as we're about an hour from our destination after a likely 5 in the car, we keep going.

The place we always sighed and gazed at is Cape Charles VA. While Kevin's family has spent years vacationing at the Outer Banks, due to a series of shifts this past year they switched to Cape Charles.

Get this: it's half the price of OBX.

I obviously snagged family photos off Instagram as I stayed blessedly disconnected during the trip. The beaches are empty, the water is the Bay so it's sufficiently calm if you want to paddle board, kayak or even swim laps. The only downside I found (perhaps being offline, though it's debatable whether that's a bad thing) is little variety in restaurants. The seafood, if you eat it, is reportedly amazing. I'm vegetarian. Cape Charles is a little suspicious of us.

It's fine. I'll cook for myself!

Hartford Hidden Gems

Leaving Portland, Maine a few weeks ago, Kevin & I tried to anticipate when we'd be ready for dinner. Based on growling stomachs around Rye, NY on the trip up, we estimated somewhere around Hartford, CT. I went to college in Western MA so I'm well aware that 95 in Connecticut is somewhat of a mess. In fact, CT into NY is sort of a buckle-up-and-plow-through stretch. We asked our friends & Portland hosts if they had any ideas about scoring a decent meal in Hartford. A few texts later we learned there was a well reviewed falafel joint! 

After detouring to Emerson's house & Walden Pond, we were indeed hungry entering CT. Thankfully, Tangiers is not far off the highway. They were in the process of moving when we visited, but their current incarnation was a Middle Eastern market with a diner-style counter. It was impeccably clean! Neatly dressed brothers made every order in front of you. Grab a cool drink from the refrigerator, shoot, go grocery shopping while you wait!

Kevin & I ordered an assortment of treats from the menu. Our counter neighbor turned out to have an El Salvadoran husband. We swapped travel stories & exchanged information. 

Sated, returning to the car, Kevin spied a sign advertising Mark Twain's house. 

Lord.

It was still kind of his Birthday weekend.

So, bellies full, we drove a bit down the same road to the well-labeled and expansive Twain estate. It was after hours and closed, but the grounds were easily accessible.

I'm sure a tour guide would help to understand the history of the place. With Kevin, I think the probability is high that experience is in our future. You can sort of see that the building looks a bit like a Mississippi steamer. Or does it? Are we projecting "Huckleberry Finn" onto Twain's digs?

Regardless, lovely hill for a roll.

Turns out Harriet Beecher Stowe was Twain's neighbor! Dang. The force is strong in Hartford.

I promise to no longer be snarky about Connecticut. Connecticut has Twain, Stowe, and falafel. You can stay.

Walden Pond

After Kevin's recent Birthday adventures in Acadia, we slowly drove south to home. We had noticed signs to Walden Pond headed north days before and Kevin could hardly contain himself. It was his Birthday month, so we detoured.

Thankfully, there's GPS and iPhones and stuff (sorry Thoreau) so we quickly passed Emerson's house (closed, bummer) and heard Alcott's house was nearby too! Concord rolling deep. We found our way to Walden Pond and it was PACKED. And felt a bit like an amusement park in the woods. Minivans unloaded picnic gear, kids raced by in swimmies, tired parents carried bags stuffed with sunscreen. Wha...?

Kevin gave due reverence to the short statue of Thoreau in front of a mock cabin.

Across the highway, lined with more minivans waiting to enter, were marked-ish trails. We began following the one towards Thoreau's actual cabin site. Soon, vistas opened up:

Pond? New Englanders and their understatements. I heard some statistic about Walden and something like Massachussetts' biggest (widest? deepest? something-est?) fresh water lake. Right! Lake. Pond?

Hence the swimmers. Near a lifeguards stand, public bathrooms, and beach, tons of kiddos. Further around the pond periphery (they've got me saying it too) fisher folk and even further, young folks getting their grope on. And the intermittent couple reading in the shade. Folks did seem learned. Being Massachussetts and all.

A group of what struck us as Boston college kids attached themselves to our heels. They too were seeking Thoreau's actual cabin site and had also gotten lost. Lost is a bit of an exaggeration-- child shrieks could orient you, but the trails were certainly not well labelled. Kevin started hypothesizing about Thoreau's aimless walks and how the design was meta. Whatever. I generally have a good sense of direction, the college kids were making strange allusions to "Alive," so I got us there.

Here, pilgrims. Men sat philosophically on rocks. The site itself is underwhelming except for the sunlight highlighting the exact spot. This was a place for the true believers. You almost couldn't hear the kids splashing each other.

Of course we had to exit through the gift shop. The punk rock shop keep confirmed that in the summer, most visitors are swimmers. "The real pilgrims come in winter." Kevin nodded. His people.

In conversation, we found out that a fellow shopper was from Harrisonburg, VA and friends with Kevin's cousin! What?! White boys with a penchant for transcendentalism meeting at Walden Pond like this? No!

I only suffered slightly with Thoreau trivia on the ensuing drive. We had elected to stop in Hartford for dinner. And then we found Mark Twain's house...

To be continued...

The Beehive

Recently, I answered for myself the age old question of what happens when you take off a stabilizing boot on a 5-week old foot fracture and rock climb?

It hurts and you're scared but it's really fun.

Once you go Keens you never go back.

Thankfully, the way down was way easier and significantly less vertical. And it included stripping down to our skivvies to swim in the bowl. Good things.

Acadia!

This is what happens when adorable Luddite-humans ascend a beautiful peak in Acadia: they take selfies.

I was happily napping and reading at Jordan's Pond. My healing fractured foot was happy I had not ascended too.

SharpHeels Profile

I was profiled in SharpHeels for travel & yoga retreats! Yeah, the image they used is me practicing sirsasana in the Galapagos Islands. Super fun. Dragon looking lizards stared at me and made me contemplate my own species' extinction. Deep.

At 33, I went camping for the first time

Kevin is a solstice baby. His birthday is June 21, which usually falls on the longest day of the year, and the tail end of a frantic spring landscaping season. We're big fans of experiences over tangible gifts, so I began prodding a few months ago to determine how to fete. Two friends & participants in the Salute the Sun Retreat recently moved to Portland, Maine. They'd given an open invitation to visit (dangerous with us!) & neither Kevin nor I had been to Maine.

They graciously accepted our request to crash at their spot over Kevin's Birthday weekend. They even upped the ante by suggesting a camping trip to Acadia!

My stars.

I have never camped. 

Kevin has been asking me to join him camping. He likes experiences that test his endurance. He goes zen when landscaping in heat over 100 degrees. He prefers working outside in torrential downpours. He dreams of backpacking. 

Thankfully, his friend, Mike, usually helps him get this out of his system. Mike doesn't "car camp" as he calls it. No, he hikes in, often 8 miles. Each winter, he breaks out the snow shoes. There is always a camp stove, tent, & sleeping bag in his Prius trunk.

I promised both of them that I would try camping. Given that I'm a novice, they've been trying to determine the most inviting camping trip to sell me on the experience. And I get it in theory. I prefer budget travel, I find it usually more satisfying! I have no issue with staying in a loud hostal in some remote corner of the globe. I'm not prissy per se-- I don't shave, I struggle with dressing myself, think manicures are torture. But, I do have some serious objections to camping. Namely: I like good food. It is a serious challenge to hike many miles with ingredients for good eating. I also do not like to cook. I like to support other people who make good food by purchasing it from them. Like, in restaurants. Lastly, I don't like to live in filth, so I do clean, but reluctantly. Cleaning is not fun to me. My understanding of camping is that it involves many chores. You create your own shelter. Gather fire wood. Collapse your own shelter. Ensure you haven't left behind items that will attract bears or disturb the environment. Why work so hard?

But. It's Kevin's BDay. An invitation to Acadia, a site that has been long vetted & approved as a solid first camping experience. We'll travel with a friend who lived on Mount Desert Island (Acadia's home) for years, assuring insider knowledge. 

We drove up to Portland, Maine to stay a night at our friends' apartment. Mimi and Chalese baked Kevin a Birthday cake and anointed him in black pepper and frankincense oil. It felt auspicious. In the morning, we traveled three hours north to Bar Harbor, enjoying pit stops in Camden, and the prolific salvia and lupines.

I'm generally travel logistics lady, but this was dicey as I was the only camping novice. With some guidance, I'd reserved a campsite at Seawall, procured a camp stove, & a few other essential loans from friends. Most of my choices were suspect & questioned. I don't know why the camping novice was assigned such tasks. However, we made it to beautiful Bar Harbor and then onward to Acadia.

This weekend, I was at week 6 of healing from a fractured foot. I was wearing the boot as my foot was still a bit swollen and achy. However, at the base of The Beehive climb, I shed the boot and put on the keens. Initially, things were fine. As much as I wanted to observe my surroundings, I attended to the roots and stones in my path. Soon, the trail turned to iron ladders on cliff faces & a bit of rock climbing. The biggest issue was not knowing my foot's capacity. I erred on the side of caution (as much as I can claim being cautious when rock climbing on a healing fractured foot) by relying on arm strength or other parts of my body. There was a lot of butt sliding.

We reached the top of beautiful Beehive and began descending the other side, arriving at The Bowl.

Thank you, Mike, for the image!

We stripped down to underwear (thankfully I was wearing some!) and took a swim. We weren't entirely sure that was approved behavior but we figured we could always claim ignorance. Little fish performed spa exfoliation on all our bits. There was a good bit of sunning on rocks like lizards to let the skivvies dry out. The foot felt fine.

Later in the day we set up camp. Well. They set up camp. I found potable water. Discovered that communal bathrooms felt like a hostal. Watched while they expertly made fire. And then remembered that I HAD camped. Once. I was 13 or 14. My family took a trip to the Southwest, which included two days rafting on the Colorado River through the Grand Canyon. The intervening night was spent sleeping under the open stars on a beach by the river. We woke up and realized we'd slept on a bed of scorpions.

Maybe that's why I forgot. And haven't camped since.

There were pre-dinner walks and post-dinner sexy poetry & song shares. (I didn't know about campsite confessionals. That shit is real.) Of course, I was first to crawl in the tent. 

Before dawn, we drove up to the Cascade to watch sunrise over the islands surrounding Mount Desert. We wandered through early light on the College of the Atlantic's campus, Chalese's alma mater. We determined more sleep was in order and wearily crawled back into our tents. A second rising, yummy breakfasts, and I was deposited on Jordan Pond for reading while my buds summited a few nearby peaks. We didn't want to push the foot.

There's talk of next level ish: summiting Ketahdin. Ketahdin is a two day trek, involving camping somewhere remote. I think I better buy some hiking boots.