COMING HOME - MY JOURNEY'S FURLOUGH
What is it about 'the home stretch' that makes the heart beat a little faster, the foot press the gas pedal a little harder and the pot at the end of the rainbow loom large in one's consciousness. After 2-1/2 months of travel, visits, spectacular sights and a few average days, I looked at my mileage gauge on Pedro. It tells me I have posted almost 10,000 miles since my journey began. Anticipation was high, and my attention to landscape details rolling before me was at fever pitch. Today, I'm headed 'home' - that is - to Minnesota - for a 5-week reprieve before I launch into the remainder of my year-long journey. Next up, I will travel east and south as I set my sights to California again, and Christmas with family. Studies in contrast have always peaked my interest, which is why black and white have held prominent display in the homes I have decorated over the years. With wild displays of contrast, God has painted his earthly domain - nature's treasure trove. Today, as I relive the past 3 days' travel, natures' contrasts loom large.
Having visited America's premier national park, Yellowstone, once before, I began my small group guided bus tour with a degree of mediocre anticipation. It was a stellar day, in terms of temperature, however, the forest fires that were burning in the surrounding 3 states created a gray haze that obscured the distant mountain ridges from visibility. Not to be deterred from the day's enjoyment, I dismissed this as a small inconvenience, listening with great interest to the avalanche of wildlife and nature-knowledge our tour guide rattled off with gaity and encyclopedic verbage. Nothing less than astounding - the wall of data she could produce in a short time. I engaged my audible filter on occasion, but at day's end, the park was so alive to me with understanding and meaning, that I was grateful for the experience. At another time and place, I could expound on Queen Elizabeth's collar, the palisades, the caldera, which conifer needles are square and how you can tell the temperature of the thermal pools of Yellowstone by just looking at them. The highlight of my day, and nothing less than awe-inspiring, was the 'grand canyon of the park', a wonderland of color and depth I'd not seen on my first visit.
Plateaus and plains - an enthralling contrast to the numerous mountain ranges I'd traversed in previous weeks - now the panorama that surrounds me as I make my way eastward through Wyoming and South Dakota. The color of my world in a single word - amber, with smatterings of pale lichen verde. The crevasses, clefts, and butts interrupt the swathe of flatness with regularity, giving in to staccato of nature's variety. Mesmerizing - it is - the great expanse of sun scorched grasses and nubby shrubs - signs of the prevalent drought of this year. The hours roll off in succession, captivating my attention to an audio book, though with some effort. A degree of lethargy invades my day, longing for a sliver of 'normal life'. What are my friends back in MN doing - how is their golf game - what flowers are blooming in their gardens - how many coffee dates have I misse? - a longing for home fills my being.
RV parks become oases in the lives of those wayfaring strangers who live in a residence with wheels. The truth is, not all are created equal. The clean-quotient, the natural environment, the services provided, the supplies available - just to name a few of the desirables. This Friday evening I am to be graced with a very pleasurable 2 night stay-over - my Pleasureway rig and me. My laundry stash was spilling over, my living space not passing the white-glove test and oh yes, the bug bombs clinging to Pedro was disastrous. It was time for a cleanliness overhaul. Mountain View (aptly named, as the Black Hills are just beginning at the eastern Wyoming perimeter) RV park passes the critical review with an A+ - a special spot indeed. Maybe part of it is my discovery as, I headed to the privy - a delightful open-air recreation area with 2 digital TV's displaying Friday Night football - yes - it's the Vikings!! Whoa, now this feels like home!! Where's the chili and popcorn? A splendid night for me, indeed.
Bidding goodbye to the friendly RV custodials I sense an energy drawing me to 'my roots'. Could I make it all the way home, today?? It's a long shot - off I roll, a new energy replacing the lethargy of the previous day.
The back roads of South Dakota are new territory for me. One sees far more 'real' life on the back roads than what is afforded on the interstate system. Leaving I-90 an hour east of Rapid City, I launch into a new kind of custard grassland world. Herds and herds of cattle dot the countryside. I am still trying to figure out why so many times the herds of cows are all facing the same direction at the same time - a most curious phenomenon. I'm hopeful someone will unwrap this folly soon for me! I almost expect the herd to do a 'quarter-turn-to-the-left' as I gaze out my window on their world.
Today is a 'no-no' day - mostly junk food (hate it when I do that!), but I don't want to take time to cook or stop at a restaurant - I'm longing for HOME. At days' end, I realize I will need another 1/2 day of travel to arrive home in some semblance of order. I roll into a comforting Walmart for my night's sleep and a bit of NFL pre-season amusement on my nifty RV-TV, before giving into REM-sleep.
Southeastern Minnesota feels like an 'Iowa space' to me - resembling the lay of the land I knew for the first 18 years of my life - Norwegian Iowa farm girl that I am. A smile is pasted on my face - I'm going home. The land has become an intensely deep green, lying in the ribbed lines of soybean and cornfields I am so familiar with. The geometry of the nation's bread-basket continues to intrigue me - the way the oat and alfalfa fields square off with the corners of the bean and corn fields - great lined patches that give air-travelers a quilted-view of the world that is Minnesota and Iowa. I will bet that the farmers of Montana and Wyoming know not what a drainage ditch is. My smile turns to a giggle as I glide gently down the asphalt country road near St. Leo where a large antique sign is posted in the farmers front yard, reading: 'Coca-Cola-Fountain Service' - yah, 'Right'!! Minnesota nice, the rural Minnesota mentality displays a 'hard-working-class' where the lion's share of farms are carefully manicured with prolific garden plots. Rolling into Danube, the sign says - "The Town with Heart". "Nice, .... oh, what's this... a self-service vegetable stand - to be sure - only in rural MN!!" I stop, pick out my potatoes, onions, watermelon and banana peppers, place my cash in the chained-down money box and I'm on my way again.
Loving the familiarity of silos, cattails, holsteins, bales of hay and vintage threshing machines gracing the line of trees on a rare farmstead, I grin, full of pride in my home country. I fly past the Bootlegger Supper Club, a small town hangout for the locals, and an occasional vagabond traveler. As I coast into Bird Island, I roll to a stop by the local quilt shop. One last stop before I am 'home'. A few 'must-haves, bit of jolly conversation, and I'm on the home stretch.
How to celebrate my personal homecoming - an afternoon at the Minnesota Landscape Arboretum. Nothing finer, except that the drought has left it's mark on the usual pristine display of botanicals. There are no guarantees in life, but the condition of the roots in both the botanical world and the human world give way to hope for new growth, new seasons of life.
I sit on a bench overlooking the bog - green with algae, but beautiful in texture and depth. Here I rest, a traveler who is safely home - wiser, more enlightened, finding energy and nourishment in my roots, in my faith, in my future. Thanks be to God!
Intothewind-Naturegirl
Thursday, August 30, 2012
Wednesday, August 22, 2012
THOSE MAGNIFICENT MOUNTAINS
Mountains are the majestic part of my pilgrimage journey that I never seem to tire of. Of course, if I am on non-interstate roads as I traverse these giant masses of earth, rock and trees, the attentiveness required can be quite tiring. Yesterday morning I was driving East on Hwy 2 from north Seattle (Monroe, actually) at a very early hour of the day. The mountains of Stevens Pass were still hiding the morning sun. The black silhouette of the evergreen-covered mountains loomed large in front of me, ever so gently turning gray as the sky began to 'pink and yellow-up'. Without warning a streak of bright white flashed from behind the silhouette. What a spectacular show over the next 5 minutes. With more regularity I have seen the sunset as I drive, but this early morning drive was a rare treat.
Five states have seen my finger tracing on the atlas that lies on my drivers side-table over the past 8 days. I love maps. It is something that reminds me of my Dad. He was an avid studier of maps. My Dad left his earthly home when I was 19 years old. The last words he said to me were, "I wish I could go with you." (in response to the news I'd shared with him that I was moving to Seattle, Washington to attend school). On more than one occasion over the past 3 months of travel, I have thought of Dad and hope he is smiling on me as I run off the miles of this country. He would have loved it!
When I need a Starbucks or a public library, my GPS is invaluable - otherwise, my atlas is my friend. As I study my route, I note the names of the mountain ranges I will pass through. The song -- "I've Been Everywhere Man.."-- has come to my awareness of late. I'm thinking I should write a song with all the names of the mountains I've seen!! Remember the part in the 'I've Been Everywhere' song where the singer starts rattling off about 30 names of towns - it's a linguistic feat to be sure! Wonder if I could do that with the list of mountains I've seen, which reads like... 'Siskyou, Shasta-Trinity, Sapphire, Salmon, Smithe Redwoods, Humbolt Redwoods, Grizzley Creek Redwoods, Scott, Trinity, Cascade, Rocky, Garnet'... so many mountains, such variety of trees, smells, rock formations, grasses, shrubs, wild flowers, and riverbeds.
Mendocino County lies just north and west of the well known Sonoma/Napa wine region of California. The mountains of Mendocino are babies compared to the Rockies, but beautiful, nontheless. Mendocino has wonderful wineries - none better than Parducci, where my friend and I spent two days . Their wines are terrific. Ninety-year-old vines hug the patio area where we lunched on both days. Interstate highways do not bisect this rugged county, thus the narrow roads are one curve after another, hugging the hillside and revealing hidden farming and vinyard treasures as Pedro makes the 1-1/2 hour trip from Willits to the small town of Mendocino on the coast. The treasure of Mendocino, other than the cute shops of the town, is the sprawling Botanical Gardens that sit on a piece of land that meets the ocean's surf. The view from a bench I occupied as I studied the pounding surf and the masses of rhododendrons behind me, was mesmerizing. I wonder how I might encapsulate this feeling of euphoria forever?!! Leaving Mendocino I began my 8 days of mountainous exploration.
The intoxicating smell of the redwoods through my open windows not far north of Mendocino is ingrained in my consiousness. There is nothing quite so wonderful as that smell! This day's travel saw a 50 degree change in temperature from the coastal winds to the inland mountains of northern California. Driving from noontime and into the late evening of the Trinity Mtn range and descending sharply through dozens of curves as I enter the city of Redding is intense, a test in focus and stability. The promise of tomorrow's freeway travel into Oregon is indeed welcome as i lay my head on my pillow on this night.
The days tick off my calendar and the mountains change from massive walls in front and beside me, which I experienced in Washington and Idaho, now giving way to level plains of grasses that pave the way for the rise in the distance of the rounded-top mountains in mid Montana. Today I will arrive in Yellowstone. A special treat for me will be a bus tour of 'the park' with a busload of other folks. I look forward to all I will learn and see tomorrow.
As I contemplate the images of mountain and forest, I think of the metaphors they are to human life. Some are rugged, tough, difficult to navigate - quite like life at times. Some are gentle-sloped rises and descents with occasional trees and greenery - a pleasure to glide over. When the denser forests collect too much decay, fires are the great purger of the debris. Our earthly journey sometimes must face the purging of debris in our lives - not pleasant to be sure, but one can be assured of new growth to come when nurtured with the great soft rains and sunshine of tomorrow's day. I have been blessed with the nurture of friends and dear ones in my days of the scorched earth of my soul. They have been the sunshine and gentle rains of my life - blessed am I.
Intothewind - Naturegirl
Mountains are the majestic part of my pilgrimage journey that I never seem to tire of. Of course, if I am on non-interstate roads as I traverse these giant masses of earth, rock and trees, the attentiveness required can be quite tiring. Yesterday morning I was driving East on Hwy 2 from north Seattle (Monroe, actually) at a very early hour of the day. The mountains of Stevens Pass were still hiding the morning sun. The black silhouette of the evergreen-covered mountains loomed large in front of me, ever so gently turning gray as the sky began to 'pink and yellow-up'. Without warning a streak of bright white flashed from behind the silhouette. What a spectacular show over the next 5 minutes. With more regularity I have seen the sunset as I drive, but this early morning drive was a rare treat.
Five states have seen my finger tracing on the atlas that lies on my drivers side-table over the past 8 days. I love maps. It is something that reminds me of my Dad. He was an avid studier of maps. My Dad left his earthly home when I was 19 years old. The last words he said to me were, "I wish I could go with you." (in response to the news I'd shared with him that I was moving to Seattle, Washington to attend school). On more than one occasion over the past 3 months of travel, I have thought of Dad and hope he is smiling on me as I run off the miles of this country. He would have loved it!
When I need a Starbucks or a public library, my GPS is invaluable - otherwise, my atlas is my friend. As I study my route, I note the names of the mountain ranges I will pass through. The song -- "I've Been Everywhere Man.."-- has come to my awareness of late. I'm thinking I should write a song with all the names of the mountains I've seen!! Remember the part in the 'I've Been Everywhere' song where the singer starts rattling off about 30 names of towns - it's a linguistic feat to be sure! Wonder if I could do that with the list of mountains I've seen, which reads like... 'Siskyou, Shasta-Trinity, Sapphire, Salmon, Smithe Redwoods, Humbolt Redwoods, Grizzley Creek Redwoods, Scott, Trinity, Cascade, Rocky, Garnet'... so many mountains, such variety of trees, smells, rock formations, grasses, shrubs, wild flowers, and riverbeds.
Mendocino County lies just north and west of the well known Sonoma/Napa wine region of California. The mountains of Mendocino are babies compared to the Rockies, but beautiful, nontheless. Mendocino has wonderful wineries - none better than Parducci, where my friend and I spent two days . Their wines are terrific. Ninety-year-old vines hug the patio area where we lunched on both days. Interstate highways do not bisect this rugged county, thus the narrow roads are one curve after another, hugging the hillside and revealing hidden farming and vinyard treasures as Pedro makes the 1-1/2 hour trip from Willits to the small town of Mendocino on the coast. The treasure of Mendocino, other than the cute shops of the town, is the sprawling Botanical Gardens that sit on a piece of land that meets the ocean's surf. The view from a bench I occupied as I studied the pounding surf and the masses of rhododendrons behind me, was mesmerizing. I wonder how I might encapsulate this feeling of euphoria forever?!! Leaving Mendocino I began my 8 days of mountainous exploration.
The intoxicating smell of the redwoods through my open windows not far north of Mendocino is ingrained in my consiousness. There is nothing quite so wonderful as that smell! This day's travel saw a 50 degree change in temperature from the coastal winds to the inland mountains of northern California. Driving from noontime and into the late evening of the Trinity Mtn range and descending sharply through dozens of curves as I enter the city of Redding is intense, a test in focus and stability. The promise of tomorrow's freeway travel into Oregon is indeed welcome as i lay my head on my pillow on this night.
The days tick off my calendar and the mountains change from massive walls in front and beside me, which I experienced in Washington and Idaho, now giving way to level plains of grasses that pave the way for the rise in the distance of the rounded-top mountains in mid Montana. Today I will arrive in Yellowstone. A special treat for me will be a bus tour of 'the park' with a busload of other folks. I look forward to all I will learn and see tomorrow.
As I contemplate the images of mountain and forest, I think of the metaphors they are to human life. Some are rugged, tough, difficult to navigate - quite like life at times. Some are gentle-sloped rises and descents with occasional trees and greenery - a pleasure to glide over. When the denser forests collect too much decay, fires are the great purger of the debris. Our earthly journey sometimes must face the purging of debris in our lives - not pleasant to be sure, but one can be assured of new growth to come when nurtured with the great soft rains and sunshine of tomorrow's day. I have been blessed with the nurture of friends and dear ones in my days of the scorched earth of my soul. They have been the sunshine and gentle rains of my life - blessed am I.
Intothewind - Naturegirl
Tuesday, August 14, 2012
'SAN FRAN GOLD'
Layers rim the horizon of my world. Not far off to the west of the mountain I am perched upon lies the Golden Gate Bridge. Though my naked eye sees it not, I know it is there. Blazing orange, the late afternoon sun hangs low. The heat swallows me as I step from Mr. P, my now rather disorganized, collage-filled mobile living space. Mountain ranges, peaks and ridges lie between my solo mountaintop camping spot and that great double looped expanse of metal that defines San Francisco.
Mount Diablo State Park caught my eye while studying my map earlier this day. Needing a place to rest my head for the night, I shift into 'drive' after programing my trusty Garmin, and commence a short hour's trip to my destination. The soft-spoken lady at the north gate entrance completes my registration. The Juniper Campground, she informs me, is 7 miles 'ahead'. No problem, more treasures to see, right? Well now, isn't it great, and sometimes a bit scary, when the destination is not at all what you expected. Instead of a simple jaunt around a few corners in the park, I find myself climbing, climbing climbing, S-curves, hairpins, you name it.... the operative word is 'up'. When about 1/2 hour later I find myself overlooking the whole San Francisco Valley, it takes my breath away. I observe four other camping comrades who occupy this pinnacle east of the 'The Bay', though they are not visible from my nook on the mountain-side. Exploration o fmy domain reveals a warning about rattlesnakes (yikes, this causes a bit of dis-ease), and posted on the 'rest station' wall is all I need to know about the animal kingdom thriving in this neck of the woods. I decide I'd rather not meet up with a coyote, mountain lion or any of the other 4-legged creatures described, so I find comfort in close proximity to Mr. P. Relaxing is a bit of an issue for me on this night. A soft serenading CD comes to my aid, and a resurrected exercise in deep breathing. As the lights of the city below begin to flicker on, the scene below takes on a rather magestic aura.
Settling into the comfort of my bed for the night, the window drape creates a 2 sq. ft opening on the glittering night lights below. With a smile on my face, warm memories of the previous week steal into my consciousness. It had been too long - the visits with my California family. The thief of family connectedness, it seems to me, is distance, work and obligations to people who fill our lives. I sent the thief on a short vacation! As I now recall our time together, my soul is warmed as I remember the reminsicing over meals, the laughter, the realtime stories of new hills to climb - all touching the familiar part of my life from long ago. Dreaming together, we talked of future desires - wishing each other well in our journeying. To bear one another's burdens gives each other strength for the next step - together, the challenges and dreams were layed bare. A poem, penned years ago by Rudyard Kipling was placed in my hands by one of my 'next of kin' this past week. Re-reading the poem at this moment, I find myself deeply moved. Such an inspiring thing, when the generation younger shares their lofty purposes in life. I contemplate all the poem says. My eyelids grow heavy - I curl into the deeper comfort of my bed. Safely nestled in, I lift my eyes one more time to the flickering lights of the urban sprawl far below me. Mesmerized by the view, I linger, then gently give way to my dream world.
Descent on the morning after is far less anxiety-ridden than expected. No traffic and a ride in low gear makes my 15 mph trip downward rather enjoyable. The morning view of Diablo's golden rolling hillside delights every sense of my being. I spot a coyote a stone's throw away, minding his own business. A few photo-op stops interrupt my trip. Rolling through the entrance gate once more and through the very upper class neighborhood of Walnut Creek, I find my entrance to freeway mania. Pedro will carry me swiftly to the streets of San Francisco. Oh so quickly the city skyscrapers envelop me. Weaving my way through the throngs of people at Fisherman's Wharf, all the food vendors and pleasure seekers, I marvel at the diversity. A smartly dressed young man walks in front of my stopped vehicle, a grin on his face and a bundle of flowers in hand. Who, I wonder will be the lucky recipient? Rounding the next corner, there it stands - the Golden Gate Bridge, in all its glory. Maneuvering my way slowly, I embark on the drive across. The bridge is filled with pedestrians and bicyclists - cameras in hand, straddling each other, the masses traverse this world renown structure. I'm told, the thing to do is ride a bike over the bridge to Sausilito on the western side of the north bay, board the ferry and enjoy the return trip to San-Fran. Later in my week, on an excursion to Sausilito's bayfront, I understand. A sea of bicycles wait for the ferry's arrival - what a view!
Mill Valley lies a few minutes north of the Golden Gate's western entrance. I decide to pass some idle time in this idyllic place - a surprise 'find' for me. Serendipity never grows old, I say. My friend I am to meet is not available until early evening, so I park Pedro on a small side street outside a delightful art gallery. I've struck gold - art galleries, fine dining, boutique shops and little brick alleyways are thick in this 5 block area. Meandering through the galleries I discover that an 'art walk' is to start in 2 hours. Voila! So blessed am I! As I enter 'Moss and Moss', an "oh-so-small" home and gift boutique, I hear classical piano music -an elder gent plays the notes passionately - a nostalgic mood settling in. The shop is so artfully arranged. A book catches my attention - The Art of Losing. It is a book of poems. Why am I always attracted to "The Art of......" books? The Art of Pilgrimage; The Seekers Guide to Making Travel Sacred was the book I read 6 months ago that inspired my present journey. Hmmmmm. The book I am now holding costs too much. I buy it anyway. It seems pertinent to my life. The gracious lady, who has about a decade on me, takes my money, and asks where I'm from, when I tell her I'm a new visitor to this little village. I tell her a bit of my pilgrimage story. The piano continues to play. Transaction complete - she asks me to wait a minute. Retrieving something she wraps up, she tucks it in my bag saying, "A little something extra for you, my dear. I admire what you are doing." I'm touched, of course.
My mood commands me to savor some fine dining on this evening. El Paseo hides in one of the darling brick-lined, plant-strewn alleyways of Mill Valley. A peek through the low, unshuttered windows that are open to the alley reveal the white clothed, carefully coiffed tables surrounding the old world fireplace. I must - I say. They are not open for dining for another hour - no problem. Plenty art to see until then. It was well worth the wait. The moustached senior gent who attentively served my dinner was a treasure. His eyes twinkled - he gently touches my shoulder, "Is there anything else I can get for you, ma'am?" Dessert seems in order tonight. Waiting for my last course, I peruse my new book. Even as I read, I think of all that I have gained, in the midst of the losses in the past 2 years of my life. Dessert arrives. The chocolate and red wine are a fitting end to my Mill Valley soiree. Does this day really have to end? Oh yes, my friend is now waiting for me. Garmin leads me to her door. Hugs ensue. All is right in my world today.
Into the Wind - Naturegirl
Layers rim the horizon of my world. Not far off to the west of the mountain I am perched upon lies the Golden Gate Bridge. Though my naked eye sees it not, I know it is there. Blazing orange, the late afternoon sun hangs low. The heat swallows me as I step from Mr. P, my now rather disorganized, collage-filled mobile living space. Mountain ranges, peaks and ridges lie between my solo mountaintop camping spot and that great double looped expanse of metal that defines San Francisco.
Mount Diablo State Park caught my eye while studying my map earlier this day. Needing a place to rest my head for the night, I shift into 'drive' after programing my trusty Garmin, and commence a short hour's trip to my destination. The soft-spoken lady at the north gate entrance completes my registration. The Juniper Campground, she informs me, is 7 miles 'ahead'. No problem, more treasures to see, right? Well now, isn't it great, and sometimes a bit scary, when the destination is not at all what you expected. Instead of a simple jaunt around a few corners in the park, I find myself climbing, climbing climbing, S-curves, hairpins, you name it.... the operative word is 'up'. When about 1/2 hour later I find myself overlooking the whole San Francisco Valley, it takes my breath away. I observe four other camping comrades who occupy this pinnacle east of the 'The Bay', though they are not visible from my nook on the mountain-side. Exploration o fmy domain reveals a warning about rattlesnakes (yikes, this causes a bit of dis-ease), and posted on the 'rest station' wall is all I need to know about the animal kingdom thriving in this neck of the woods. I decide I'd rather not meet up with a coyote, mountain lion or any of the other 4-legged creatures described, so I find comfort in close proximity to Mr. P. Relaxing is a bit of an issue for me on this night. A soft serenading CD comes to my aid, and a resurrected exercise in deep breathing. As the lights of the city below begin to flicker on, the scene below takes on a rather magestic aura.
Settling into the comfort of my bed for the night, the window drape creates a 2 sq. ft opening on the glittering night lights below. With a smile on my face, warm memories of the previous week steal into my consciousness. It had been too long - the visits with my California family. The thief of family connectedness, it seems to me, is distance, work and obligations to people who fill our lives. I sent the thief on a short vacation! As I now recall our time together, my soul is warmed as I remember the reminsicing over meals, the laughter, the realtime stories of new hills to climb - all touching the familiar part of my life from long ago. Dreaming together, we talked of future desires - wishing each other well in our journeying. To bear one another's burdens gives each other strength for the next step - together, the challenges and dreams were layed bare. A poem, penned years ago by Rudyard Kipling was placed in my hands by one of my 'next of kin' this past week. Re-reading the poem at this moment, I find myself deeply moved. Such an inspiring thing, when the generation younger shares their lofty purposes in life. I contemplate all the poem says. My eyelids grow heavy - I curl into the deeper comfort of my bed. Safely nestled in, I lift my eyes one more time to the flickering lights of the urban sprawl far below me. Mesmerized by the view, I linger, then gently give way to my dream world.
Descent on the morning after is far less anxiety-ridden than expected. No traffic and a ride in low gear makes my 15 mph trip downward rather enjoyable. The morning view of Diablo's golden rolling hillside delights every sense of my being. I spot a coyote a stone's throw away, minding his own business. A few photo-op stops interrupt my trip. Rolling through the entrance gate once more and through the very upper class neighborhood of Walnut Creek, I find my entrance to freeway mania. Pedro will carry me swiftly to the streets of San Francisco. Oh so quickly the city skyscrapers envelop me. Weaving my way through the throngs of people at Fisherman's Wharf, all the food vendors and pleasure seekers, I marvel at the diversity. A smartly dressed young man walks in front of my stopped vehicle, a grin on his face and a bundle of flowers in hand. Who, I wonder will be the lucky recipient? Rounding the next corner, there it stands - the Golden Gate Bridge, in all its glory. Maneuvering my way slowly, I embark on the drive across. The bridge is filled with pedestrians and bicyclists - cameras in hand, straddling each other, the masses traverse this world renown structure. I'm told, the thing to do is ride a bike over the bridge to Sausilito on the western side of the north bay, board the ferry and enjoy the return trip to San-Fran. Later in my week, on an excursion to Sausilito's bayfront, I understand. A sea of bicycles wait for the ferry's arrival - what a view!
Mill Valley lies a few minutes north of the Golden Gate's western entrance. I decide to pass some idle time in this idyllic place - a surprise 'find' for me. Serendipity never grows old, I say. My friend I am to meet is not available until early evening, so I park Pedro on a small side street outside a delightful art gallery. I've struck gold - art galleries, fine dining, boutique shops and little brick alleyways are thick in this 5 block area. Meandering through the galleries I discover that an 'art walk' is to start in 2 hours. Voila! So blessed am I! As I enter 'Moss and Moss', an "oh-so-small" home and gift boutique, I hear classical piano music -an elder gent plays the notes passionately - a nostalgic mood settling in. The shop is so artfully arranged. A book catches my attention - The Art of Losing. It is a book of poems. Why am I always attracted to "The Art of......" books? The Art of Pilgrimage; The Seekers Guide to Making Travel Sacred was the book I read 6 months ago that inspired my present journey. Hmmmmm. The book I am now holding costs too much. I buy it anyway. It seems pertinent to my life. The gracious lady, who has about a decade on me, takes my money, and asks where I'm from, when I tell her I'm a new visitor to this little village. I tell her a bit of my pilgrimage story. The piano continues to play. Transaction complete - she asks me to wait a minute. Retrieving something she wraps up, she tucks it in my bag saying, "A little something extra for you, my dear. I admire what you are doing." I'm touched, of course.
My mood commands me to savor some fine dining on this evening. El Paseo hides in one of the darling brick-lined, plant-strewn alleyways of Mill Valley. A peek through the low, unshuttered windows that are open to the alley reveal the white clothed, carefully coiffed tables surrounding the old world fireplace. I must - I say. They are not open for dining for another hour - no problem. Plenty art to see until then. It was well worth the wait. The moustached senior gent who attentively served my dinner was a treasure. His eyes twinkled - he gently touches my shoulder, "Is there anything else I can get for you, ma'am?" Dessert seems in order tonight. Waiting for my last course, I peruse my new book. Even as I read, I think of all that I have gained, in the midst of the losses in the past 2 years of my life. Dessert arrives. The chocolate and red wine are a fitting end to my Mill Valley soiree. Does this day really have to end? Oh yes, my friend is now waiting for me. Garmin leads me to her door. Hugs ensue. All is right in my world today.
Into the Wind - Naturegirl
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