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| In Flight Catherine Al-Meten Meyers |
And change is good. Change and dynamism bring about new opportunities and different circumstances and conditions. All this change calls us to adjust, adapt, and look at the way we're living differently. Philisophically, it all makes sense. In actuality, in the every day of it all, change isn't always easy. We live in a time when change is rapid and chaotic and constant. Just when we get used to one set of circumstance, they change forcing us to adjust again. Alvin Toffler, a futurist writer of the 1970s wrote a book, Future Shock, describing pretty much what has been happening over the last 50 years. In the macrocosm, we witness constant change, yet in our personal lives, we still try to build in some semblance of stability. We grow comfortable with the status quo, and yet, we still find that the inevitable comes. Change happens.
With writers, the last twenty or thirty years have been an incredible time of change as well. The technology that has enhanced our ability to communicate, research, share, and discover data and information in real time, has changed the way we relate to one another and has changed the way we think and understand the world in which we live. Possibilities have opened for us to extend our writing skills beyond just what we can write by hand or type out on a page of type written script. We have moved from a press that depended on typesetting and printing to one of electronic media and press. While traditional publishing houses still exist and dominate much of the writing market, independent, freelance, and self publishing have all become terms and occupations that are less desparaged and moving more into the mainstream. What does all this have to do with setting out in search of a new trail and animal poop? Well there is a connection here, and it has to do with learning to recognize the trails, though they be metaphoric, that we are feeling called toward. How do the day to day activities and events of our lives, point us in the direction that is ahead? Toward that which may be the next right step for us?
As I set out to take a walk this morning, I wasn't sure of where I was going. Having moved to this area recently, what with all the unpacking, moving, holidays, and pretty bad weather, I hadn't gone out on the river walk by my house since the middle of the summer. I went out on a small section of the walk with a friend who lives here, and had a kind of vague recollection of how we'd made our way out there. It's not far from my front door, but it's over and across a field with no clearly marked path. That is no path unless you know what to look for. Night before last at about 3:30 a.m., my cats alerted me to movement outside our door. I ran over to the sliding glass doors and there in the moonlight was a large body next to my car. The body was a giant elk who was making his way into the yard. There is a small path beside my house that the local elk use as they make their way around their territory. Their animal souls have been using these trails for thousands of years--years and eons before the houses that cover the land were built. The elk and deer, the birds and other animals still wander on the trails they have always wandered on as they go from place to place. Only now they have to make their way around the buildings, fences, gardens, and vehicles that we have planted in their way.
This morning, I bundled up. It was icy cold. The car windshield still had a layer of ice on it, and the tall trees all around the property were blowing in the wind. Living on the edge of the Continent as I do, the cold winds of winter have a meaning unlike anything I've ever experienced before. My yoga buddy warned me about the winds on the coast, and though I believed him, I didn't quiet understand what that meant to me until this morning. I wore my thermal top, some long underwear under my jeans, a warm jacket, and a couple of scarves--one around my neck, and the other wrapped around my neck, shoulders, and face. I crossed the street and made my way along the split log fence that neatly lined the big estate across the street. Gong to the end of the fence line, I found a deer trail that led through the bush. The trail was so faint it was almost impossible to discern. Then I spotted the first pile of scat...elk poop I could tell from the size. My suspicions were confirmed as I continued to follow the path that was nothing more than some beaten down wild grass with an occasional pile of animal droppings. Next I saw deer droppings, and then more elk, and I knew I was on the right path. The animals take the same paths over and over, and they also take the best paths.
The field was still protected from the icy winds that I could hear blowing. Looking up, I saw a gull or two having trouble flying forward as the strong winds pushed them sideways in their flight. I pushed forward. Now and then it seemed the path split. I had to decide which path to take. The one that led up a hill or the one that led more to the right towards an open area? I chose the one to the right. I chose it because I could see fresh scat on the path ahead. The elk had gone this way recently. Making my way to the end of another fence line, I found a dirt road that led to a bank of rocks that were covered with dirt and weeds. I remembered climbing up this bank last summer when it was dry and slippery. Today it was solid and much easier to climb. And there was a fresh pile of elk poop right in front of me. The elk must have come this way. I climbed up the bank that was about 4-5 feet high, and found myself out on the riverwalk. The River was right in front of me. Nothing protecting me from the blowing wind and the river that flowed swiftly out to sea beside me. The walk was a simple path of asphalt built atop a levee of rocks. The river was high and swift today, full of whitecaps. Whitecaps indicate a rough sea, and there was not a single boat or ship to be seen out on the water.
I looked west as I turned my back to the wind, and started my walk. I saw one long fishing pier and mooring, and the remains of an old pier right in front of me. The pilings from a once upon a time pier, were all that remained of one of the old canneries. The other pier up ahead was still in use, and at a distance I could see a cannery its smoke stacks smoking indicating it was busy at work. This is crabbing season, and the dangerous task of going out in the winter waters to get that delicious crab dinner for you, has cost more than one man his life. Just last week a crew from a fishing boat that capsized was pulled safely aboard another boat who just happened to be near enough to help. The survival time in cold, rough water is measured in seconds and minutes at this time of the year, not hours or days. This crew was lucky to walk away with their lives. Unlucky because their fishing boat is in the briny deep of the Columbia River, but alive. We all breathed a sigh of relief when we heard they were safe, and more than one of us prayed in gratitude for the miracles of the day.
In front of me on the ground was my long shadow...stretching out to a length heading north and south about twice the length of my real body. I have accidently taken shadow shots of myself on many occasions. Today I took a photo on purpose, and noticed that this was the first of many photos that I will be taking on this new trail that is now part of my daily routine. My daily routine has changed abrutly and quickly. From writing day after day, getting to yoga 3-4 times a week, seeing clients on a regular basis, and taking little side trips and participating in different activities, I have reverted to some kind of packing routine. I pack, and unpack. I load and unload. I haul stuff from place to place, and wonder what to do with old furniture, clothes, books, and doo dads. My body screamed for over a month at me, letting me know it didn't like the changes I had put it through. I had trouble adjusting to the changes of light and my cats' new antics. My whole routine of life changed, and I have not yet figured out what a new routine is going to be.
Last week I began seeing clients again. I began writing daily chapters, and started making plans and taking care of business other than moving. My new shopping and cleaning routines are beginning to fall into place. After letting my laundry stack up, I found a place in a national park that has a cute little laundromat in the woods. It's perfect, neat, and clean, and very close to my home. It's a new weekly adventure. We are learning about the patterns and routines of the local animals as well. The cats and I are on the ground floor for the first time. We pick up much more of the local action this way. Deer, elk, other cats, and dogs wander by. The bushes outside the windows are full of tiny finches and I'm sure there is much more going on than I've noticed yet.
Out on the river walk, I wrapped my scarf around my face, and pulled my green wool hat down over my ears, and breathed deeply as my teeth chattered and I felt the cold wind pierce my clothes. Bone chilling wouldn't be too heavy a word to call this. Fortunately I had put some warm gloves on. but my face was freezing and my watery eyes and runny nose were icing up on me. I got to the end of the trail, took a few shots of the pier and a memorial bench left for the River Keeper, and I turned off the path and headed down another path to the main street. I crossed the street and walked a bit. Seeing that my path led back into a neighborhood, I turned back toward the river path. I thought I'd try to walk it against the wind for a ways. Getting back up on the path, the wind was now blowing in my face. I took some shots and breathed deeply wondering if I was going to survive, and then it hit me. I wasn't doing this walk as an act of contrition or because someone was forcing me to. So I turned back and decided to walk back down to the road and back towards my house--a more protected route.
In the neighborhood where I live, there are no sidewalks. Instead there are more animal trails that lead up and around cracks in the ground, property line fences, trees and bushes, and mail boxes. When the property got too rough, I'd notice that the deer or elk had worn a second path leading out of harm's way. The paths they blaze are best to follow because they know the best and easiest ways to avoid trouble. They also know the prettiest paths. Today there were no elk or deer on the path with me, but I followed where they have worn a true path through the neighborhood. Walking past the old estate across the street from my house, I remember seeing the elk walking along the same path I was on today. I stopped at my mail box, pulled out yesterday's mail, and took one last look up the hill to where I had followed the deer and elk scat to the river walk. Next time, I'd walk the other direction, and explore the path that leads east. Today it was enough to recognize how to find my way by following in the well worn paths of those who know the path better than I .
And what did I discover? That the river has a different kind of beauty when it's almost too cold to bear. That the path may not seem clear or direct, but if I follow my instincts, trust what has come before, and make choices that soothe rather than harm, I'm bound to get some good work done. Today I have some beautiful shots of the river, the mountains, the bridges, piers, and little pieces of my new neighborhood. I've looked at things from a different angle, and allowed myself to move out of comfort into something much more enjoyable---exploring. When I got back home, I was taking my hat, scarves, and jacket off, when I discovered a large twig stuck in my hair. Attached to the twig was some dried up lichen, and I wondered when it had attached itself to me on the walk. In following the deer and elk paths, I had had to make my way through a lot of bushes, trees, and grass. Somewhere along the way, I picked up pieces of the past and I became part of the path. Maybe some animal will follow my scent and go looking for or avoiding the human who had wandered out of her ordinary world into the world of the river and its life along the river as it rushes out to sea.
