There And Back Again

Vacation is not a strong enough word.

Yes, I vacated the premises in San Diego and the road that brought me North. I cleared my mind: took a virtual rag through one ear, out the other, carrying all thoughts of chores out of reach from all six senses.

I could smell the low tide before opening my eyes that first morning. Thick wet sands studded with clams, oysters and mysterious mud worms lay revealed in the morning glow as the resident Canadian geese squawked the dawn.

It is San Juan Island County Fair week! Truly, island life brings out the depth of spirit in those who live here year-round. This is not your average county roundup of foods, crafts and critters. At the SJICF, Barbie is strapped to zucchinis and hurdles down a skate ramp. Clothing is made from discarded cigarette boxes.

And the Rabbit cars. Those pesky multipliers were so plentiful, locals humans would literally ride shotgun, snagging the long eared lopers with a net. At the fair, this year however, the rabbits had the upper hand, a pair of Barbie dolls were symbolically tangled in the nets of giant rabbits perched in the driver’s seat of the 1949 Rabbit Buggie. A less than subtle suggestion of which species has multiplied out of control in modern times.

The volume of deep breaths began filling that cleared space in my mind. Fresh air was followed by colors, infinite possibilities, unnatural combinations. The forever memories created by spontaneity.

  A walk down the road with empty pockets gave birth to a tart of wild plums: a gift for the local French teacher. A read through the local paper sent us scurrying to catch the last night of the local production of Midsummer Night’s Dream, with an 80s flare. The moon was dressed in a turquoise body suit and Elton John glasses. 

  My loving friends humored me by kayaking with me around part of the island they call home. I had brought my favorite kayak up with me, so the next time I visit I can fly, and spend more time playing, less time driving.

 Their preferred method of getting around is on two wheels: motorcycle with sidecar, scooter, and bicycle.

This allows for stopping and smelling the roses. And this year there were many. Everywhere. Among the groves of pine and madrona: roses, dahlias, sunflowers, wild things. Along with the usual inhabitants: eagles, osprey, kingfishers, oyster catchers, seals.

On a cool day I borrowed a bicycle, caught the ferry to the next island and rode for hours among the trees and vast pastures of Orcas Island. The ferries encourage pedestrians and bicycles by granting free passage. Can it get better?

  Yes, I could spend more time laughing uncontrollably and soaking up inspiration from talented friends who can’t help but paint, draw, grow unheard of flowers, build homes and dance.

Tearfully leaving my Legend behind, I had one last paddle with her, knowing that since she was built here in the Pacific Northwest and she was being cared for in good hands, I was leaving her in a good place.

One last night in Seattle, we watched the glow of sunset soak into the snows on Mt. Rainier form the porch, myself and my wonderful college friends, Melinda and Jan.

Leaving Seattle after breakfast at the Sunlight Café with creatively brilliant photographer friends Betty Udesen and Alan Berner, both the car and I ran out of gas 11 hours later in Cornish, CA. I got the very last room in town, at the Quality Inn ($49), because of the insanely popular Olive Festival there. Who knew?!

The brochure touted the breakfast gathering the next morning. Olive waffles? I settled for fig newtons and coffee, my road staple. And found a Southern Nevada radio station playing anything other than church that Sunday morning. Irreverent in fact, I discovered “Cows with Guns.” (Check the original animation on YouTube!) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FQMbXvn2RNI&noredirect=1

Some 1,500 miles later, back in San Diego I dredged up a 33-year-old photo of Melinda and I… back in the day. It won’t take me 33 years to get back up there to be sure.

And that space in my mind? There’s still room. You know it was more transformation than vacation if you are still calmly saying to yourself, “It will get done,” or you stay behind the slow moving tractor trailer for the last half mile to your exit. I’m still smiling. I have a feeling there was something permanent in this one.