Saltwater on sand; snow on the land

We've been in Vermont for a over a week now.   The rains have come today, but I think this is the warmest day thus far this year.  More than 2 feet of snow still covers much of the ground, and we hear the increasingly frequent thunderous harumpfs of big snow clumps sliding off the roof onto the ground below.

2 weeks in san francisco, the land of no winter.   All the days were sunny and warm, and we witnessed barely a trace of the notorious fog.  Otherwise, it was: get this wool and down away from me, go to the beach in shorts and flip-flops.   Leisurely schedule, bunking up in a spacious house in the city, going on lots of walks, amid a landscape in full bloom, lounging on the sand.  Good friends and family to visit with.   This became the vacation we needed, although we missed out on seeing some very important friends along the way (by cancelling the roadtrip).

And then wham!  We arrive in Vermont on the 'first day of spring', where the winter's still going, highs in the 20's, down to -5 at night and all the plants sleeping--as far as I can tell, not one bud on a twig has even begun to swell.  Of course, Gwen, who's in a space of vast openness and learning, adapts more quickly than I do, taking to the mittens, snow pants and sleds with gusto!

We've begun to connect with some of Rae's close friends--wonderful people--and I am beginning to gain a sense of community here.  Culture here's not frilly or fancy.  People seem to be down to earth with strong sense of place.

Well, that's it for now!
Sweet spring music!!

ok, so we're going to fly (in this case, not "with our own wings")

1st, a poem:

Death of a trip.  (don't worry, we are safe and well)

This was the dream, maybe:  the thrill of motion, glimpsing the changed environs through the windows.  Pulling over to stretch out spine and shake legs, just at the point when the stiffness and cramps can't be tolerated any longer.   Stepping out into the enormous landscape, washed over by the scents and sensations of this new air on my face.  I breathe it in deep as I pace around like a calf newly born, wobbly but confident.  Did I gestate in What's that?  Oh yes, the child and the pregnant mama.

I cannot belong to these lands I scarcely pass through.  Even as I sit and scoot at 75 mph over them, buffered only by the upholstered seat, minivan chassis, suspension, axles, tires (40 psi), asphalt and road base.
I cannot know them.

We decided not to drive (it took me a little while to surrender).
This decision offers me one less morsel to feed the illusion that I can know all these places we were gonna visit.  
That what we would see of them was really them,
that we would catch more than even a whiff of their stories.

Abstract tenses aside, here I sit, still disoriented from surprises, evaluations, options, indecision.

Safe for sure, and on the path towards the destination, yes.

After the threat of our vehicles' mechanical failure that arose last Saturday, we managed to get ourselves to Ashland, Oregon and there we stayed for about 3 days and nights, saw some dear friends, met and stayed with some very sweet extended family.

At first, we assumed the "worst": that the transmission was going to need to be rebuilt or replaced, which would likely cost at least as much as the vehicle is worth.   So, considering our many needs and limits---spacial, chronological, emotional, financial, etc-- we poured over all the options.   Sell the van if we could.  Then, buy a replacement vehicle?  Take the train or fly and ship our extra stuff?

Big question seemed to be:  how important is this trip? The van runs great again--it just needed new spark plug wires--but the place we're really going is Vermont, not all these other places in between.   We could perhaps get some more worthwhile encounters in these spots if we had more time, and if the driving wasn't a strain on our bodies, a/o developing minds.

So, with a sigh of regret for the visits with friends and family that will not happen this time around,  we bought plane tickets to Vermont and the most ominous task before us is selling the minivan in the SF bay area...

We are needed in Vermont: we, ourselves, need us there.  To lay the foundation for our lives there.
To nest in.

meanwhile,

thank you, Dan and Penny for receiving us here.
thank you, Gabe and Koruna for stationing us in the arms of the river /forest in your company.
thank you, Sidney and Louie for taking us in when we didn't know what was next.

plus general thanks and love to all, etc.

Off we go 'back' to where I haven't yet belonged!

Crossed the big old Columbia river yesterday.  I put Gwen to bed last night here at our friend Cailtin's house in Portland, OR.  As my exhaustion from manic packing and cleaning set me to dozing off, I woke with the full realization that I no longer live in Washington state.  That a full reality of resettling awaits; that, bound together with my family, we have set out into a largely malleable future.  We have arranged for stations along the way, where friends and family old and new await us, to no doubt whisper to us simple and mysterious messages of wisdom and folly.  Rae's parents await us at the terminus of this path.   There we set up the physical and emotional space to welcome another child out into the breathin' air.   Meanwhile, I begin the overdue process of finding employment, and allow the unraveling of my identity as Olympian/Cascadian to begin.  

Cascadia, Olympia.  I pick the epic a/o elegant words when given the chance.

This is as full as it gets I think, and yet matters of migration, fatherhood, family love, bonds and responsibilty ring familiar tones in me.   I'm focusing now on releasing much of this stress accumulated in ornery neck knots.  Oh yeah, I'm the one creating this stuff through my habitual responses,  so I get to let it go.  Ahhhh...
Of course the help of massage artists and other healers is needed too.  

Several people, mostly of the older generation, have agreed that it's incorrect to say that I'm going "Out East".  Apparently even though I've lived in W.Wash since 1981 (for about 94% of my life), our culture and therefore our language says that Westward movement is forward movement.  Oh, the inertia of frontier-ism!  Therefore, I have to say 'Back East'.   It is certainly the direction from which my ancestors emigrated.  Here I go, then, plunging back into the interior climate, retracing expeditions I only traveled in the genes of my antecedents, deep in the serum of the potential futures.

It's dreamy outside today.   Rae knits, Gwen naps.   The reality of this reinvention of self, identity and home creeps in on the bright gray Portland air.    I have not yet begun to miss the many friends, family and places that I love here in Cascadia because I've been so distracted by the intensive focus on packin up, movin out, gettin on the road.   I am grateful to you all for your love and support in this big old turn in the road I'm following.

Jerm  27 feb  2014