Collections

My first two weeks back on the coast were spent sorting through my belongings and helping my parents sort through the house. I had held on to little trinkets through the years, keeping them as reminders of happy days and who I once was. But after driving a car full of my things 4000 miles, constantly worrying about what might happen (and forgetting to lock the car when hiking in Yosemite), I needed to reduce the bulk in my life. After all, these things do not define who I am, it is my relationships, my hopes and dreams, and the way in which I see the world that creates me. It was difficult and stressful, but highly rewarding to rid myself of unnecessary items.

My mom and I had a garage sale of all the things we had decided to discard. Excited shoppers arrived at 7:30 am, and I had to open the garage door while my tea steeped and my granola soaked in almond milk in the kitchen. By the time 9 am rolled around (the actual starting time), there was a lull, and about a third of our things had already been bought and we finally had time to organize and eat a soggy breakfast.

The sale was a success! Everything left over, we donated to Goodwill and the public library. And I felt a little lighter having gotten rid of things that had been holding me back, keeping me in the past.
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My grandma, my mom's mom, isn't doing well. I flew to North Carolina with my mom in order to see her, hoping that she might still remember who I am. When we walked around the corner of the nursing home and I saw her sitting in a chair, I could hardly believe that it was her. Her blue eyes had trouble focusing, and she seemed unable to form words in response. Her mouth was set in a permanent frown, a bleak contrast to the bright smile that used to lite up her face. Her hands, bent with arthritis, searched out others, and I gave her mine, hoping to give her comfort.

In the mid-90s in Marion, NY, she played with me and my sister in her backyard. The ball rolled into a hole and I picked it up only to find myself swarmed by yellowjackets. We ran into the house, my sister swatted at bees in the kitchen and I retreated to the bathroom with my grandma. I was crying and screaming, covered in bees and my grandma calmed me down, picking bees off of me, one at a time, squishing them between her fingers.

My grandparents had a garden, but as they grew older they stopped planting vegetables and what was left were rows of raspberry bushes. When we visited in the summer, my sister and I would pick Japanese beetles off of the leaves and put them in a little bucket of water. Then, we counted them as we tossed them down the food disposal in the sink, and grandma gave us a penny for every beetle.
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Three Willets, searching for a feast in the shallow water in the St. Louis Bay.

I went for a walk on the beach today. I left my book, snacks, towel, phone, and shoes in the car and walked barefoot across the sand and through the shallow waters carrying only my camera. There is nothing quite as joyous and carefree as walking barefoot, feeling the ground beneath your feet.

The wet sand squeezed between my toes as I waded in the water. Little mounds of sand speckled the shallows, crawfish! hiding under the sand, out of sight. Blue dragonflies and little butterflies quickly flitted by, disappearing against the blue water and sky. Three willets walked on their stilt-legs, dropping their long beaks into the water to grab a snack. They flew away, startled, when I walked by. My feet skimmed the top of the water, making splashes, and I felt like a kid, kicked the water, and watched as it splashed and broke into little droplets, falling again into itself.

The sun, the sand, the chirping of birds, the warm breeze, the cool water--it helped my mind and body relax and forget about yesterday, today, and tomorrow. I am here, now, alive.

End of this road

I left Tucson on Thursday later than I had originally wanted. I wasn't feeling well so I took my time loading up the car and went to a co-op to grab some groceries for the next few days. I didn't make it to Alamogordo, NM early enough to visit White Sands National Monument so I tended to my aching body and headed to the dunes in the morning.

White Sands National Monument sits at the northern end of the Chihuahuan Desert in the Tularosa Basin. The gypsum dunes encompass 275 square miles of desert and are the largest gypsum dune field in the world and one of the world's natural wonders. Gypsum isn't usually found as sand as it is soluble in water, however no river drains the basin in which White Sands sits, trapping it in the desert climate as sand.

I took a couple short hikes, the first a 1 mile trail in the ecotone between the Chihuahuan Desert, speckled with shrubs and cactus and small trees, and the nearly barren gypsum sands that glisten with the sun for miles. I saw different little animal tracks near the trail, not really identifying them, probably beetles, but I did recognize the tracks of a pocket mouse. Most of the dune creatures have evolved to become as white as their surroundings, including the little mouse, but they usually rest in the shade in the heat of the sun.

White Sands National Monument.

I followed the road into the center of the dune field and walked along another trail. I veered off, always aware of the trail, since it is easy to get lost in the white expanse, took off my shoes and walked up a tall dune. The sand wasn't hot like that found at the beach, but cool, and I dug my toes into the sand. The dunes seemed to dampen any sound that might otherwise carry, and it was refreshingly quiet of any modern day sounds. Finally, I put my shoes back on and hit the road again.

Saturday morning I headed into Carlsbad Caverns National Park, also in New Mexico. This park is also in the Chihuahuan Desert but in the Guadalupe Mountains. Heading in, the desert and mountains were something I had been seeing for hundreds of miles, and I wasn't totally impressed but I knew the caverns lurked beneath the surface. I walked down the switchbacks into the Natural Entrance, dark and ominous. The patch was paved and once in the depths, which would normally be pitch-black, there were small lights placed behind the speleothems casting dim light and shadows across the walls. It was incredibly mysterious, the air was cool and damp and smelled a bit stale. My heart beat a bit faster, not because it was strenuous, but because it was exciting. I imagined what it was like to be one of the first explorers, heading into the cave blind (no map, no path, no lights), not knowing when the cave might fall away into a pit (which do exist there).

Ansel Adams described Carlsbad Cavers as "...something that should not exist in relation to human beings. Something that is as remote as the galaxy, incomprehensible as a nightmare, and beautiful in spite of everything."

I walked the 2 miles through the Main Corridor and into the Big Room, winding around columns and stalagmites, under stalactites and soda straws peppered with popcorn (yes, these are all terms of speleothems, not just items at the movie theater). I had never seen anything quite like this. It was quiet in the caverns, but if another tourist commented about the rocks in anything above a whisper, if echoed through the cave. Back on the surface, the sun was bright and the air was hot.

I drove as long as I could that afternoon because I had made the decision to skip my exploration of Texas and to drive the 1000+ miles home to the Mississippi Gulf Coast. I was tired and not feeling well and as I said before, getting frustrated with the endless unpacking and packing of the car every day. And I'll still head to Texas in a few weeks to visit Anita in Houston.

(click here to see more photos from my 2 week long, 4000 mile road trip)

Half-way point

Yosemite is absolutely stunning. It is an oasis for hikers, kayakers, climbers, and hang-gliders. However, I imagine it was even better before the miles of pavement crowded with minivans and sports cars. (See the mention of the creation of "National Parking Lots" in Edward Abbey's Desert Solitaire). After hours of driving, a long hike sounded good, but I had to be sure to show up at a campground before dark, hoping there would be a spot for me. I went for a short hike up to the top of Vernal Falls and sat around the Emerald Pool. The valley was carved by glaciers and water still flows through, although not much late in the summer, most is in the spring from snow melt.

I made it to Bridalveil Creek Campground, elevation 7,200, just before dark and set up my tent in the mountain air. I drove out to Glacier Point at the end of the road for an Astronomy talk as stars appeared and listened to a young NPS Ranger as the told myths behind different constellations. Then I hunkered in for a chilly night. And it was COLD. After the sun rose and my things were packed, my car flashed a snowflake next to the number 32.

View of Yosemite Valley (and Half Dome) from Glacier Point after sunrise.

I woke up earlier than I had hoped, due to my frozen nose and toes, but headed back to Glacier Point to view Yosemite Valley- Half Dome and all - in the daylight. Then I hiked to the top of Sentinal Dome (not as impressive as it sounds) where I stood on the top of the granite dome and surveyed the valley below. I then took a stroll on the McGurk Meadow trail where little butterflies flitted from flower to flower. Finally, I walked through Mariposa Grove to see the Fuzzy Giant, Faithful Couple, and other notable Sequoias.

Then onward to Los Angeles- a huge, sprawling city with definite traffic problems. I was overwhelmed, to say the least, by the 12 lane highways and the far reaches of urbanity and suburbia. Perhaps it was a bit of culture shock (that's what I blamed). On Sunday, Zander, his friend Greg, and I went to Corral Canyon Park in Malibu to hike to a little waterfall. It's nice how parks can get you easily away from the crazy city life, but as we rounded a turn on the trail, we could hear traffic from the Pacific Coast Highway.

Los Angeles is a huge city like Yosemite is a huge park, it takes hours to drive across. Since we were by the beach (although it was chilly and getting dark), I insisted in jumping into the Pacific Ocean so we wouldn't have to make the trek again. I ran into the surf, ignoring stares from pant and sweater-clad onlookers, and jumped in the waves. It was cold, but worth it. I hadn't been to the beach for too long.

On Monday we explored the Fashion District where fabric shops line the city blocks with lace, satin, flannel, and fleece. We then wondered around Little Tokyo, into quirky shops, and then had some sushi.

Los Angeles Fashion District

It was hard leaving on Tuesday, since I will be on my own until I visit Anita in Houston on Monday. It was also hard because I was getting tired of worrying about my belongings stuffed in my car, tired of unpacking and packing what I need every day, tired of driving and exploring something new every day. It was difficult to drive away from another friend.

Tuesday I just drove through Joshua Tree National Park, I didn't find the desert as exciting as a giant canyon (now all parks are measured against the Grand Canyon, which is hard to come up against). The Joshua Trees looked like little furry people and I kept driving across the border into Arizona.

Now I am in Tucson, where it was 105+ degrees F today. I walked around historic old town and wandered into artisan shops. Then I wandered around Fourth Avenue, an area of shops and cafes and restaurants near the university. Most of the businesses in this area seem to be locally run by participants in the younger counterculture (their windows are plastered with signs concerning equality and against the 1070 bill). I ate a salad at Shot in the Dark Cafe, which reminded me of Kiva Han in Pittsburgh, and a man tapped me on the shoulder to warn me of the cockroach sitting behind me. I jumped, shooed it away, and then took another bite of my salad (a bit concerned).

I like the tile dome roof on the old Courthouse in Tucson, AZ.

I sit here on a couch in the living room of Tucson's hostel continuing to be weary of my itinerary. I'm seeing a lot of sights, trying to take them all in and wishing someone were here to share them with. I know there is that quote about if you don't like being alone then you are in bad company (roughly), but I have reached the hump in my trip of lonely miles. It is tempting to just drive straight to the Mississippi Gulf Coast, but that would be seen as a failure. I am doing this now because I might not have another chance. I am doing this now because I am at a thoughtful crossroads and hope to figure out what is meant for me in this life. We'll see what happens.