35. New York, City

The first time I went to the east in my young adult life I thought I was going to see city everywhere but when I drove through Pennsylvania, upstate New York and northern New England I was pleasantly surprised to find that it wasn’t all so different from my own northern Idaho. Ok, the little towns are much closer than out here but it’s still rural, wooded and beautiful. The east coast itself was much as I had imagined—sprawling megalopolis—but I still found myself enjoying the Big Apple and I still do. Anyone who likes lots of open green spaces, however, has to put that aside for awhile because in that densely populated city there isn’t much to be found. But Central Park is there and people swarm to it. While it is a different green space, the observation of people is a thing I rather enjoy. Every variety of person imaginable can be found in Central Park or New York as a whole for that matter.

            When you walk down the city streets the buildings tower over you much as the canyon walls of my own Salmon River. You can set in lawn chairs at Times Square and tune into something on one of the big screens through your cell phone. You can stand in line for Broadway tickets on discount. (We went to The Lion King.) You can catch a ferry to Lady Liberty. You can ride the bus and get snapped at for not having exact change (though that was years ago and now you can probably just use some sort of metro-pass). You can go spend hours at the Museum of Modern Art or the Museum of Natural History or the Metropolitan Museum of Art or any other museum. You can go into Macy’s or Bloomingdale’s and fight off the perfume sellers at they try to spray you with the latest scent. You can ride the elevator to the top of the Empire State building or so many others. (I went to the top of the Twin Towers on my first visit, but alas…) You can chat with the man selling $5 I ♡ NY T-shirts and then buy a couple from him. You can walk through the one really old cemetery at the Episcopal Church to prove to yourself that it really is an old colonial city. You can go into St. Patrick’s Cathedral and light a candle and say a prayer. And you can always go back to that park bench in Central Park and watch the ducks, maybe even wonder where they go in the winter. It’s just one city on a famous Dutch named island but it is America, disarming and welcoming, teeming and lonely all at the same time and I’m thankful for it. (And yeah, I’m pretty thankful I don’t live there either.)

34. The Statue of Liberty

            It’s true that you can enter the United States almost anywhere now in the advent of air travel, but the borders and the coasts are still the primary gateways into the land of liberty. I already wrote about the iconic western gate in San Francisco, the Golden Gate Bridge, but it would be entirely remiss of me to not be filled with gratitude for that gracious gift from the French in 1896, the Statue of Liberty herself. Lady Liberty has welcomed immigrants to the country for over 130 years now and she has been a constant beacon of hope for those of us already here. Emma Lazarus wrote a poem of which the last few lines are often quoted and I quote here:

Give me your tired, your poor

Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,

The wretched refuse of your teeming shores.

Send these, the homeless tempest-tost to me,

I lift my lamp beside the golden door.                                                             

I only went to visit her once, but I’ve seen her standing proudly there every time I’ve been to New York since that crazy summer day in 1986 when I was herded onto a tour ferry along with thousands of others to celebrate her 100^th year of welcoming. She’s beautiful not just in her presence but in all her symbolism, this angel of mercy waiting for the world. Often we try to shut her down, equating the ideals with a physical space but you can never squelch ideas. And that ideal lives on, breathing well before a beautiful statue graced the entrance to New York Harbor and the land of the free. And it is for that ideal which I strive to uphold as much as that colossus of copper which immigrated from France that I am grateful for.

33. The Golden Gate Bridge

The United States has always been a country of immigrants, immigrants attracted to the idea of liberty. We’ve also always been a country that struggles with immigration. Yet amidst all that conflict we still welcome the idea and the people who cling to it, and our port cities have come to symbolize all that struggle teeming with the ideals of liberty. Of course New York Harbor has the Statue of Liberty but out west in San Francisco we have the Golden Gate Bridge. I love that bridge. I don’t even claim to grasp much of its symbolism but I get enough of it to know it’s a sign of welcoming. Every time I’ve been there people are flocking to it. It’s no big surprise that many of them are Asian, or that many of them are already American citizens just come to remind themselves of the American struggle: the gold rush, the westward migration, the melting pot, the land of ideas. That crazy bridge that crosses the opening of San Francisco Bay is more than just some architectural wonder, it’s a feeling and that feeling is different for every foot that steps on it. Unfortunately for some it’s a feeling of despair because so many suicides are committed by jumping off that bridge. For me it’s beauty of humanity, American humanity and ideals. When the fog obscures most of the bridge you will still see its heights rising above. It represents goodness to me. And I think, for me, the greatest paradox is that it’s in California which is not by any stretch a favorite state for me. So that probably makes me love that bridge even more. I’m always a sucker for symbols. The Golden Gate Bridge is one of those American symbols that I am thankful for.

32. No-Li Brewery

            

            While it’s no longer October, it’s still autumn and beer season (isn’t it always beer season?) so I have to tell you about another brewery here in the Inland Northwest that I really enjoy. It’s in Spokane and it’s called No-Li. I haven’t been there too many times but I’ve found you can buy their beer in other places around here. One of my favorites is their March Forth IPA. I always like a citrusy IPA and this one is nice and orange-y and oranges are my favorite citrus fruit. I don’t claim to be a big fan of fruity beers but I don’t really think of those citrus tones in an IPA to be all that fruity, they just add a freshness to a typically bitter flavor and for me the combination is great. But have no fear. At No-Li you can get a variety of beers from my favorite IPA’s to stouts and Hefeweizens.

          The brewery itself is in a kind of strip mall just east of the Gonzaga campus on the Spokane River. It has good pub food that is reasonably priced and, like I said, good beer. Next door to the brewery is also Dry Fly Distillery. (It has nice Gin.) The parking lot area is the typical non-descript suburban strip mall but then you walk into the mall, down a hallway past the distillery into the micro-brewery and it’s almost a world of its own with views out onto the river. Inside there is the bar with plenty of televisions (all silenced) so you can watch a game. I’m suspecting the place is hopping during the Zag games, but I have never been there during any game of particular interest to me. At any rate, the place is a fun spot with good beer and for that I am grateful.                                                    

31. Fairfield County, Connecticut

           

           Fairfield County, Connecticut is the most southwestern county in the state of Connecticut and the most populous. The population density is due to its proximity to New York City—it butts up right against it. In spite of its dense population it really is a beautiful place with rolling hills and a variety of deciduous trees still trying to forest those hills in spite of all the people. When I think of it I think of an established suburbia that in the ancient days of our settlement was sparsely populated by farmers. You can still see many of those farm houses with little historical plaques on them. Someone’s name is on the plaque with the date the house was built, usually in the late 1600’s to early 1700’s. My family owned and lived in one of those homes in Trumbull for nearly 300 years but then they moved west to Idaho when my grandmother knew she was losing her battle to breast cancer. The house was sold, moved a few blocks away and turned into a veterinary office. About 20-25 years ago it caught fire and burned to the ground.
          I don’t know just what took my Puritan ancestors from Massachusetts Bay to Fairfield County and Trumbull, Connecticut but I wouldn’t be surprised if it was some sort of religious dissension. You would think we would have kept better track of that if we could keep a house for that many years but, then again, day to day living has always had a way of getting in the way of memory. It doesn’t change the fact that I have a strong attachment to that place even as I live so far away from it and would never actually want to live there. As I have said in earlier posts, this Potatohead is at heart a New England Yankee so it is with great affection and distant familial memories that I have a strong attachment and great love of Fairfield County, Connecticut.

30. Bread Loaf School of English

I have a strong connection to New England because that’s where my dad’s family is from so it should be no surprise that when I got my first chance to go there I jumped at it. In 1986 after completing my second year of teaching I got a scholarship to begin my Master’s degree at Middlebury College’s Bread Loaf School of English in Ripton, Vermont. I remember driving there from the Connecticut suburbia to the little rural spot in the middle of the Green Mountains. It was like summer camp for book people. In the beginning I was terrified and had strong feelings of inadequacy (all proving to be entirely unfounded) but eventually I came to love the place and gathering of people who had converged there. I am still in contact with the people I met there and I have reunited with them in various places throughout the United States and Europe. Bread Loaf has enriched my life in ways I couldn’t even begin to explain and ways that I can explain.

It is a unique institution that has gathered some of the most famous American writers and their teaching cohorts for the last century. People like Archibald MacLeish and Willa Cather and Robert Frost and John Berryman and Robert Pack and David Huddle and… well you get the idea… have gone there to teach and they have gathered teachers from throughout the country to share their passions and loves so that we could in turn share our own passions and loves with students and colleagues throughout the country. Because of that place I have collaborated with teachers from throughout the country and Britain. I gained the courage to go and live and teach in England from that place. The people there are extraordinary and their ability to collaborate and inspire has spread throughout a warm band of friends. It is a great American institution that I am very proud to be a part of. I am extremely grateful for the Bread Loaf School of English.

29. Sage Brush

I live in the west. Out here there is a very distinctive plant that is unique to the western parts of North America. It is sage brush. It’s so common out here that people seldom even acknowledge it. I’d say it’s everywhere but that’s not true. You won’t find it in the high alpine climates or the rain forests of the Northwest but it is in every western state. It has a pungent odor that is as present as the smell of pine on a hot day. I find I love how it covers the vast expanses of open plains often no higher than the mid shin of a man. Other times you’ll find it to be quite tall, almost tree like. It makes for a great camp fire, though it does burn rapidly as the smoky skies of this past summer can attest. Our western wild fires are more often range fires than forest fires and sage brush is a primary fuel.

            I know that when people see the vast expanses of sage brush on the plains and mountains of the west they more often than not equate the land to a worthless pile of weeds (why else would there be so many bombs tested in Nevada?) but I consider it a sign of unfettered beauty open to so much discovery. I’m not going to lie and say I don’t prefer the verdancy of a beautiful forest, but no one from the west who really loves the west can deny the power the silvery sage has over them. The west could be a true wasteland if it wasn’t for that abundance of pungent sage holding the vast open plains and mountains together in its lining of silver. I am ever grateful to sage brush. 

28. Pike Place Brewery

Another Northwest microbrewery that I really enjoy is Pike Place Brewing Company in Seattle. Like its name suggests, it is in the Pike Street Market Place—that rabbit warren of shops that sits above Eliot Bay. It has all the charm of an English Pub and the congestion of that famous tourist trap, Pike Place Market. But while you wait you can peruse all the collections of beer coasters hanging on the walls. Once you get seated (I’ve never waited more than 20 minutes) there is a good menu and all the variety of obligatory Northwest microbrewery beers. I you haven’t figured it out, I’m partial to the IPA’s. I like a citrusy bitterness. I learned to love beer in my time in England and it’s always a pint of bitter for me when I’m there. I think that also might be why I am enamored of microbreweries. At any rate, Pike Place is one of those craft beer places worth dropping by if you’re ever in Seattle. It’s another American place for which I am thankful.

27. Buddy's Restaurant, Pocatello, Idaho

There’s this little Italian restaurant in Pocatello that I like to go to. Years ago when I lived in Southeast Idaho my wife and I would go there fairly often. At that time it was more of a dive on the inside but since that time it has been remodeled retaining that cozy atmosphere with a little more hip interior. Of course anything in the eighties that hearkened back to the fifties or sixties was probably considered run down. The exterior still has that mostly flat roof with the mid 20^th century neon light that now gets the moniker of classic instead of run down. But it’s always been the food that draws people there. It’s just good Italian food. You can buy Buddy’s Italian dressing in all the local grocery stores of Pocatello because it’s that good. It will never go bigger than the Pocatello area because its fame is to remain local. But if you get there remember to order the salad. And one salad for two to four people is plenty, especially if you plan on eating anything else. It’s still good and it would probably be fine to eat nothing else besides the salad. Anyway, if you ever get to Pocatello be sure to eat at this little gem at 626 E. Lewis Street. Buddy’s is just another one of those great local places to eat that has its own unique character. That’s the America for which I am grateful.

26. Lardo's

Since I’ve started this little chain of praising local breweries and restaurants, let me tll you about one of my favorite little stops in McCall, Idaho called Lardo’s Grill and Saloon. It’s been there forever and I remember it from my childhood to now. Since McCall is Idaho’s mile high town winter is the predominant season of the year. Lardo’s brings comfort and warmth to the cold of that seemingly endless Idaho season. It has a huge pot bellied wood stove that blazes so much warmth that sometimes they have to prop the doors open. You will shake any chill in that old fashioned restaurant with the polished wooden tables and benches. The food ranges from the typical bar fare of burgers to the comfort foods of home—pot roast, pasta dishes and almost any kind of soup, but that, of course, is du jour. The bar offerings are not why I have ever gone there, probably since it’s a place looming from my childhood. But I know they have a good beer offering and that’s enough to satisfy me.

            In adulthood Lardo’s has become a kind of welcoming reminiscence of home as it used to be. It’s a stop I make when I’m travelling south. In my mind it always has a parking lot hidden from view by huge snow banks and skiers and loggers come together in that cozy place for a great meal, warmth against the cold and a moment of enjoying friendships. I’m thankful for that little place on the south end of McCall known as Lardo’s Grill and Saloon.

25. Tapped

There’s a nice little pub that I frequently go to in Moscow, Idaho. It’s called “Tapped” and it specializes in craft brews from throughout the Northwest and Inter-Mountain region. It serves great food at a reasonable price and it has a light airy atmosphere that is welcoming to families. I like to go there with friends and drink a beer or cider and eat some of their bacon wrapped dates. You can always sit in front and look out the windows onto the street. The windows are just like a huge removable wall that is open on summer nights so that the atmosphere is open and fluid between the street and the pub. I love how they have half priced days for certain working groups. Monday is the day for teachers, though I confess to not making it much on those days because it’s a little bit of a drive for a week night. I know “Tapped” is not necessarily a unique place to any small town, it’s just a nice example of one of the many fine things we have here in America. I’m grateful for that little pub on Main Street in Moscow, Idaho known as “Tapped” and all similar establishments throughout our country.

25. Hudson's Burgers

On Sherman Avenue in Coeur d’Alene, Idaho just across the street from a pretentious little mall called “The Shops” is a rather humble little burger joint that has been there for the past century. The place is simply called “Hudson’s Burgers” and that’s just what it is. There are no frilly fries or other side attractions, just burgers. And it’s always fresh ground beef. Yes, you can order them with cheese if you’d like and there is ketchup (even spicy ketchup) and pickles as well and maybe a soft drink. But that’s it. There is a bar where maybe 12-15 people can sit and eat, but since the place is always packed you’d best order it to go and find a table at one of the nearby parks to eat it. And don’t stand there trying to decide if you want Pepsi or Root Beer because there are plenty of people standing outside the door on the street waiting to place their orders. This is the kind of place to fill a logger’s belly, not some frilly tourist joint where you have five Italian names for a small, medium and large. “Hudson’s Burgers” is a slice of the good old days right in the middle of a tourist haze and it’s a breath of fresh mountain air for me.

24. Pumpkins

Come fall another great American food source that I enjoy makes its annual appearance: pumpkin (and squash to a lesser extent). As old as American Thanksgiving is the pumpkin pie and the scary jack-o-lantern carved from pumpkins is an annual favorite. But now in the 21^st century everything comes up pumpkin. We have pumpkin spice lattes, pumpkin crème centered Oreos, pumpkin waffle mixes, pumpkin spiced creams for our coffee and on and on. I won’t deny that I grow pumpkins every year just so I can carve some Halloween jack-o-lanterns, have some pumpkin pie and stuff at least one with a traditional autumn stuffing that I bake in the oven.  I still have pureed pumpkin in the freezer so that I can cook up a batch of pumpkin waffles at any time now. There are definitely certain American foods that define us as a people and pumpkin is one of those foods. Now as autumn comes in, harvest those pumpkins and join me in a pumpkin spice latte toast to that amazing squash, the pumpkin. 

23. Corn

Corn is a word claimed by Americans to mean something very specific. It is not, as the original and current British definition, a synonym of grain. Here corn is a plant that grows anywhere from 3’ to 15’ tall with large tassels at the top and ears on its stalk that have row after row of kernels. This native plant is also known as maize. Field corn is perfectly worthless for human consumption but you will see fields upon fields of it in this country as a staple food for our cattle. But we Americans like corn every bit as much as our cows (probably even more), we just prefer the sweet variety. We eat it in myriads of ways from just gnawing it directly off the cob to soaking it in lye and turning it into hominy. We grind it up into flour and cornmeal for breads, tortillas, hush puppies and Johnny cake. We pop it and coat it in butter and salt or some sugary concoctions (often just made of that very corn itself distilled into corn syrup). While you can find some varieties of corn in Europe, most Europeans view all our American “maize” as unfit for human consumption, though you’ll still find a popped variety in their cinemas and they do sweeten some of their beverages with high fructose corn syrup. It is a distinctly American food, shared with our brethren in all of North and South America. But it is in our US melting pot that we have concocted the plethora of ways to consume that oh so a-maizing grain. And however corny it may sound, I, for one, am grateful for corn.

22. Watermelon

There is something inherently American about watermelon and summer time.  I am always reminded of picnics and watermelon seed spitting contests.  Or there was always someone’s pickled watermelon rinds.  As a kid I felt that I could die peacefully by drowning (I loved water) but to drown in the sweet cinnamon-y syrup of pickled watermelon rinds would be heaven.  Those are the childhood memories of my Americana and watermelon but I am still enamored of the fruit.  I don’t know why watermelon has the reputation of being southern (except maybe for its need for a long growing season) because it is so abundant here in the Northwest though it’s pretty hard for many of us in Idaho to grow it in our backyard gardens.  Hermiston watermelon (from Oregon) is very famous about this time of year in these parts, but they are, however delicious, gigantic.  A newer thing is the oh-so-sweet Dulcinea or “personal” watermelon that I have come to prize.  It’s just as good as the seeded and overgrown Hermiston but it also fits in my refrigerator just fine.  But to be honest, the only reason I’m picky is the size.  I even tasted a yellow fleshed watermelon a couple weeks ago and I really liked it no matter how much it looked like cantaloupe.  I don’t see watermelon disappearing from the American landscape anytime soon and for that American summertime tradition I am grateful.

Running Injuries

            The thing about running injuries that really gets to me is all the inactivity that is required to heal.  It seems counter intuitive to all active people like me who know about moving:  it keeps you healthy and alive.  I sprained my ankle a couple of months ago while picking huckleberries and I’m just getting back to jogging a little.

Now I’m back to coaching my cross country kids and jogging a warm up with them before biking the full run alongside their running strides.  It’s very hilly here on the Palouse so biking has more uphill challenges than just running and my kids know that.  Some community members chide me while I bike alongside the kids, but I remind them that you don’t see the football coach out there taking hits on the line with his players.

The good thing about all of that is that it gives me time to read and sit in the sun drinking beer or gin and tonics or some other summer-y concoction.  As I assumed, I gained a few pounds while icing an achy ankle but I am staying semi-active and riding out the storm.  Even when I originally wrote the first draft of this I sat in the morning sun drinking a hot cup of tea and enjoyed the companionship of my cat.  You have to take life in stride and if that means (and here I use two overused—perhaps even patented—saws) making lemons into lemonade, just do it.

21. Alaska

            Alaska is an unbelievable space. I think it is representative of American ideology in every way:  frontier, open spaces, beauty, and unfettered wildness. I love all of that.  I love the Alaskan coastline in the southeast where the rain endlessly pelts the unending forests.  I love the mountains that reach as far to the sky as they can, frozen in their stature as glaciers slowly bring them to their knees.  I love that the rivers turn to ice in the winter and give access to villages that in summer become marooned in swamps and clouds of mosquitoes.

            I have been to the tundra and walked across its spongy surface watching clouds of mosquitoes rise to ravage my face in spite of deet dreams of shooing them away. Grizzlies have shaken the school bus I rode into the wilds of Denali National Park, curious to see if we’d come out to play.  A moose has towered over the car I was in and I almost felt I could drive between her legs.  While the sun might momentarily set in Fairbanks in August it doesn’t get dark enough to get much sleep.  And the whales breaching the surface of the bay not far from where glaciers calve causes me chills just in its memories.  Nothing is small in Alaska, not even the jokes about Texas.

            While part of me gets a little spooked by the great expanses where I might be the only person for miles, mostly that just thrills me.  I would cower at the darkness of winter but probably not the cold (I am from Idaho…).  In winter I could see myself turning alcoholic like so many others have.  But overall, I just love that huge expanse of beauty stretching from the rainy southern coasts to the frozen arctic and I just want to go back for another trip to its beautiful expanses.  And even while Alaska or that type of place may not be everyone’s cup of tea, we need to be grateful that it’s there and work in any way we can to keep its landscapes and cultures intact and as pristine as possible because they balance our world.

You Can't Grow By Worrying

We all have it in us to fall into depression.  At times the state of mankind seems utterly hopeless.  At times our own lives seem utterly hopeless.  In fact, if we were to dwell on eithr of those things our existence would become utterly meaningless and would, indeed, be hopeless.  So if you don’t think about the hopelessness but just the ability you have to focus on the positive you will grant yourself great purpose and great power.

            One of the many things that can cause me to go down the vortex of depression is my fears for my children, but especially my youngest son who has Leigh’s Syndrome, a particularly scary type of mitochondrial disease.  Mitochondrial disease can be, and often is, an inherited genetic disease and in the case of Leigh’s Syndrome it always is.  I won’t explain it anymore than that because my purpose here is to avoid that sense of hopelessness and to help you do the same.  We have no control over our genetic make-up so why focus on it to feel powerless?

            My fears for my son can be very real, very overwhelming and send me spiraling into that never ending vortex of despair.  Who will take care of him when we die?  We’re already in our mid 50’s.  What if he falls when we’re away from him?  What if someone takes advantage of his disability or just doesn’t recognize it?  What if?  Funny how all those stupid fears can be applied to myself as well.  I just sprained my ankle out in the woods while picking huckleberries. Do I paralyze myself with fear about being alone in the wilderness?  No! So why should I do that for my sons?  I should not.  I do, however, use those fears to spur me on to teach him independent living skills which are infinitely more difficult for him than they are me and I don’t detect him having great fears for his own life. Yes, he has some, but not nearly what I have.

            So I went out huckleberry picking again during the Great American Eclipse. I didn’t get many berries because I was with my son and neighbors and we mostly watched the eclipse. What amazing order there is in this universe. I have no control over it and everything works just fine. It was a gentle reminder, with my youngest son right there with me, that I need to pay more attention to the big picture and how small I am in it. Things might not go how I plan, but they go so perfectly when I see the entire solar system and universe where. I need to stop the worrying and watch the sun rise and sunset, the eclipse and the patterns of the world and the universe, not the pit of despair that really isn’t even there. Someone has it under control and that someone is way bigger than me. That someone doesn’t know despair, so why should I?

20. Gordon Birsch Brewery

My family and I were in Washington, D.C. the week of July 4th.  The weather was summer time warm, but not really too muggy considering the fact that we were on the east coast.  But we were walking and pushing my youngest son in a wheel chair near the National Portrait Gallery (well worth a visit).  We were going to meet a friend for dinner but we still had an hour to go so we decided to just rest at this micro-brewery we found at the corner of 9th and F called Gordon Birsch Brewery.  I thought a beer would probably be the equivalent in price to a six pack at home.  I was pleasantly surprised to see that the prices were no higher than any micro-brewery in the Northwest. I ordered a Total Cluster IPA and found it to be quite nice.  We sat outside on the street and enjoyed our beers.When the city and heat get to you, there is always beer. And I am thankful for American beer.                                                                                                         

19. Oregon Coast

I grew up in the mountains, so it’s no surprise that I love them. And probably no surprise that I love water since I grew up on a river.  But I also love the ocean.  I can’t say I’m particularly fond of being out on the open sea anymore than I like being on the open plains, but I do love the crashing of the surf, tide pools and all the amazing sea life.  So my love of the Oregon coast seems obvious. There are the mountains smack dab against the sea, sometimes almost violently crashing together. It’s absolutely beautiful.

            The Oregon coast is also very rural.  You remember all those small American towns I spoke of in an earlier entry?  That’s all there are on the Oregon coast.  True, they can be a bit touristy, but why not when you’re in such a beautiful setting?  The heavy forests of the Pacific Northwest meet the icy Pacific waters to form misty days.  Summer is almost always cool on the coast because the heat east of the Coast Range causes the icy waters of the Pacific to steam up creating fog and rain on the west slopes of those coastal mountains.  Winter is winter here, so it’s damp, wet and cold but not freezing like inland, again because of the tempering of the Pacific.  If you just want beautiful, warm sunny days on the beach your best bet is the autumn when the chill starts gripping the interior landscapes and the winter rains haven’t yet hit.  Spring can also have some beautiful sunny days, but spring in the Northwest can never really decide if winter has gone.  I’ve been in Newport in March and that’s when I’ve seen snow frosting that Coast Range even as the sun shone brightly on the beach.

            I love the Oregon coast. It’s beautiful, not usually my preferred weather… but I’m so thankful for it.  Just thinking about it makes me want to go on a run through the woods pretending the breeze is coming off the surf.  But right now I’m several hundred miles inland…

Blossoming

Blossoming

Watering from the sky gradually decreases

As summer waxes itself into existence.

And here I am looking at the flowers before me

Knowing, as I do, that now I have to depend

Upon that reservoir of water to keep them

Blossoming.

Even sunshine can be relentless without clouds

And clouds heavy and gray can bring a revival.

Is it paradoxical that we need them both?

Is it ironic that when the sun shines I crave

Rain with its heavy, chill that oppresses the soul’s

Blossoming?

Stored away like some mushroom in a dark chamber

Or sitting at a picnic table in sunshine

I ponder these seasons within myself, yearning

Never to be alone in darkness or the light

And paradoxically it is glimmering,

Blossoming.

Running with Age

As I get older I find I have to repurpose my running. When I was younger I used it primarily to compete. It was the one thing I really felt competitive at and I almost didn’t know what to do with it because I was good at it. I also relished the fact that people thought I was crazy to just go out and run six miles. I would enter road races to improve my times and maybe come away with hardware. I would also go out and run to clear my head.

            Now my running is anything but competitive. I find that I actually have to roust myself to run most of the time. Now I run to escape the effects of aging and to compete against the downfall of my own body. I run to avoid excessive weight gain. And yes, I still run to clear my head, to run away from those negative thoughts of time slipping away.

            But sometimes I still just want to be that crazy guy who runs endlessly, and plenty of people think I am crazy but there are plenty more who run now compared to those old days when I stood out as a crazy. I still want to compete, though now I don’t consider people under 50 fair competition. I consider it competitive to maintain times and occasionally beat some older times. My competitive nature is not gone and sometimes that frustrates me because I am slower. And that is the part of my running that I am working on repurposing. That is the part of my running that sometimes makes it so I don’t want to go out running as much as I used to, the part that now notices more than ignores aches and pains. But even so, I still run and with each step I remind myself that I run to live as I always have. And living isn’t really a competition, is it?

18. Boise, Idaho

            I love Idaho with all its majestic scenery and variety of people, so it’s no surprise that, in spite of all the grumbling I may say about its growth and constant oblivion to the rest of the state, I also love Boise, the capital city. Boise is rich in history, specifically the history of Idaho. This is where all the repositories of the state are accessed, even while the many resources are scattered throughout the state. It is Idaho’s largest city and center of wealth. It rests on the edge of the Rocky Mountains where they meet the western edge of the Snake River Plain just before the Snake River descends into Hell’s Canyon.  Access to a variety of outdoor activities are right there from hunting, hiking, fishing, skiing, white water rafting and a zillion other possibilities. Since I am from the mountains of northern Idaho and used to the comfortable enclosures of trees and canyons, the open plain takes some getting used to.  But exploring the vast open spaces around Boise has gradually taught me a new beauty of sunsets, approaching storms, and the big sky.

            The Boise River flows through the city and the founders of the city had great foresight in encompassing those river banks with beautiful parks and a green belt for running, biking, or just moseying through the city without noticing city. I love the museums and the library and fish (both real and artistically rendered) in this Boise River Greenbelt space. The foothills are a pleasant place to rise above the crowds and traffic and look over the city. At night it sparkles like a jewel in the desert. Boise State University campus blends from the busy buildings and traffic into athletic fields and stadium just above the beautiful riverbank parks. The capital area is at the center of downtown and historical buildings from the city center to the geo-thermal wonders of Warm Springs Avenue seem to flow from the steps of the capital itself. It’s a wonderful place to explore and the sun shines there most of the time. I love it.

Toppenish

17.  Toppenish, Washington 
There are certain landscapes that I grew up with a prejudice against because I came from timber country. The irrigated desert landscapes of southwest Idaho and central Washington are among those types of landscapes. I don't like the smell of cattle and sugar factories. I don't like the idea that Mexicans are exploited for their cheap labor by wealthy conservative farmers. I don't usually like the lack of trees and the open feeling of vulnerability from the plains.
     So having presented a glimpse of my dislike of such landscapes it will surprise you to know that one of the places I am thankful for is a small town in the Yakima Valley of central Washington. I have actually grown to love Toppenish, Washington.  It has all those things about irrigated landscapes that I mentioned above, but in their own quirky ways those very things have caused me to really love Toppenish.
     First of all, Toppenish is on the Yakima Indian reservation. It is home to all kinds of farming of fresh produce – asparagus, corn, melons, apples, pears, cherries, peaches, etc. It is also home to beautiful hop farms and vineyards and that means wine and beer. You can't go wrong with wine and beer.
      The town itself shows signs of tensions from a combination of ethnicities. Many stores have bars over their windows and you will always be able to find graffiti tagged onto walls. Mexican food abounds – and I mean authentic Mexican food. You can buy authentic tacos and burritos and… at small restaurants or street vendors. The new thing over the past 20 years has been the abundance of murals painted on buildings everywhere chronicling the history of the Yakima valley.  In Toppenish cultures come together on a collision course that splatters itself into the barren Yakima Valley in an explosion of beautiful colors and flavors and that makes me forgive any stench of a dairy farm.  Toppenish really is where the West still lives and thrives in a beautiful throbbing heartbeat.

Bloomsday

            On Sunday I ran Bloomsday with my oldest son. It is a 12K (7.46 miles) and I hadn’t run anything further than four miles in the last month (mostly because of having hernia surgery in March). I thought I would be sore, but instead my legs just feel a little heavy and sluggish. I convinced my son, Forrest, to run it with me because I didn’t feel I could possibly sustain such a distance mentally without some help. I knew I would have to walk. I also knew I didn’t want to run that far alone because I would undoubtedly walk more than I would need to.

            When the body takes so much pounding the mind says, “You’re going to be sore. Don’t you want to take it easy?”

            And the body says, “While you’re not all wrong in the head, I can handle quite a bit. What’s seven and a half miles compared to all those marathons we’ve done together.”

            And then I tell them both, “Look guys, I don’t want to get injured. I’m just coming back from hernia surgery.”

            And both my mind and body respond, “Take a friend.” So I did. I took my oldest son, Forrest, and we ran it in an hour and 18 minutes all with a compromising plan. Walk breaks.

            We decided to walk after every two miles. And we pretty much walked all of Doomsday (counting it as our walk after mile 4). When we got to mile six I didn’t feel such a need to walk so I said we could keep going. But Forrest wanted to walk. The last straight stretch before the final turn began to feel eternal. The sunshine, even though the temperature was cool, seemed relentless. Literally running stoplights seemed like some nightmare of hell. That’s when I started noticing my legs aching. That’s when I started noticing hot spots on my feet. I was ready to walk. And that’s when I heard the theme from “Chariots of Fire.” And that’s when I knew we had made it.

We ran through the finish line. We saw friends from Potlatch. We felt the mist from Spokane Falls. It was elating. Neither of us knew whether we could make it so easily. But we did. It felt good.

My body said, “That wasn’t too bad.”

My mind said “You did it. Good job!”

Riggins

16. The things that make Riggins, Idaho unique from any other place in the world are probably its isolation and canyon setting. The Salmon River Canyon is probably the second deepest canyon in North America since it converges with Hell’s Canyon (which is considered the deepest).  Having grown up there it’s hard getting my head around the idea that it is unique, but in reality there is no other place like it in the world. The fact that it is such a tiny little place also sets it apart (not even 500 people). Each person throughout the history of the town has their own individual view of the world as do I. I always think of Riggins as a little timber town resting at the confluence of two rivers in a spot (ironically) where very few trees grow. Now people think of it as a haven for outdoorsmen and white water rafters but when I was growing up those things were definitely secondary. Timber was king, and ranching was a close second. Yes, I grew up hunting and fishing and hiking and floating down the river but those were mostly just part of life and having them be destination vacation sorts of things seemed, and still seems, slightly ludicrous.

            But the genius of life may very well be its absurdity. For instance, think of how easy it would be to merely view the Salmon River Canyon as a dry and barren place isolated from civilization—the cup pretty much dry type of place. You can certainly think of it as a desert place with prickly pear cactus, black widow spiders, scorpions, and rattle snakes. Yet I grew up believing and still believe that it is pretty much the center of the universe over-flowing with eternal springs of life giving water. And that sort of idea about the place has turned it into a destination vacation spot for sportsmen in spite of the fact that the timber industry took a big nose dive in the early 1980’s. That’s crazy isn’t it?

            So I’m really thankful for that little spot on the map and the foundation it gave me to take all the lemons of life and make them into lemonade. Our very lives are a paradox. We shouldn’t be here, yet here we are. Riggins should have dried up when the mill closed, yet there it is. Give thanks for all the absurdities of life.

Small Towns

The numbered entries are my continuing "list" of things I'm thankful for in America. Since it's National Poetry Month every entry this month is a poem.

15. Small Towns

To say, “City folk just don’t understand,”

Is to make vast assumptions:

“Probably won’t like it,” “Too close to land,”

“Don’t know how to do an honest day’s work.”

But people from small towns do enjoy friends;

Take care of their neighbors like family;

Like shared meals at community events;

Volunteer for the rural E.M.T.’s.

People from small towns enjoy a brisk walk.

They see stars and know all the planets,

About the phases of the moon they talk

And of crackling fires or of a cold snap.

It’s not a hobby to know the flora

And fauna of where they live, a glimpse from

Audubon, no, but true knowledge of a

Way of life from birds, and deer, bears and all.

Many people probably understand

And some quietly deride from envy.

But it’s a choice not someone’s countermand,

Nor a contest to see who is better.

Picking up the hard white chalk

Picking up the hard white chalk

against the crashing background noise

as if water were pounding against rocks,

I am reminded of you.

Awkward laughter escapes us both

as we chase the waves,

shoes thrown aside,

pant legs rolled up to the knees.

Words escape me

as the waves engulf our laughter

and my protagonist lecture

drowns somewhere between

the chalkboard surf

and our escape from your mother’s

ten minute stop.

I skip the white object

across the green waves

of the chalkboard

and the questions of childhood

disappear into the sea

of humanity that sprawls itself

in desks before me.

You disappeared between the pebbles

of the Devon shore

and the bells that control

the classroom waves,

leaving me to scrawl

dusty questions to stares

as vacant as

mine.

McCall Brewing Company

14. McCall Brewing Company

McCall Brewing Company ‘bove the shores

Of Payette Lake is a place to get good

Beer and a hearty plate of scrumptious food.

It’s clean, has a homey feel to adore.

Your friends can come and share a stout and more.

It has those walls of dark paneled barn wood

And maps on tables of places you should

Take those friends on hikes to where eagles soar.

Have another ale ‘fore you hit the trail:

Dark brown porter, a golden wheat lager,

Doesn’t matter what you order, just drink

To your delight (not to the point of fight).

Then go out on your hike, carry that growler

As up hills you walk, the courage you drink

Must have come from that IPA. ‘M I right? 

Hernia Surgery

In honor of National Poetry Month I'm going to post poetry entries for this month. Here are my thoughts on running and my situation right now:

Hernia Hiatus

Staying in shape to move, to jump, to run

Makes me love life, the chance to be, to grow

But hernia hiatus is no fun.

How can life be lived on hold? Suspension

Between stop and go? Slush, not rain or snow?

Staying in shape to move, to jump, to run…

Our lives should be fluid, stopped for not a one,

Cups overflowing, bubbling down the road.

But hernia hiatus is no fun.

Guts bulging out, pushed back in. Oh so dum.

Better to go under the knife to go

Staying in shape to move, to jump, to run.

Can’t lift twenty pounds now that I’ve begun.

In to work each day I have to go

But hernia hiatus is no fun.

So now I will take a quick shot of numb

To keep pain from my gut stitch even so.

Staying in shape to move, to jump, to run?

This hernia hiatus is no fun.

Potlatch

13. When I think of all the great things this country has to offer I have to be thankful for the community in which I have lived for nearly 25 years: Potlatch, Idaho. Potlatch sits at the base of the Hoodoo Mountains on the rolling hills of the Palouse. Here we get the four seasons in full force so you get to see every shade of beauty that comes from our lush evergreen forests and the rolling farmland of the Palouse Prairie. Right now at the end of winter and the budding of spring the remains of the last of the dirty snow banks are flooding the rivers and the fields are beginning to look like grasshopper pie with the green crème de menthe of wheat fields against the chocolate hues of the muddy, as of yet, unplowed fields. And of course there are plenty of gray misty days with the constant dampness of the season that still, on certain cooler mornings, gives way to snow.

Our community supports each other. When someone is sick we have fundraisers to help them pay for incidentals. We have a food bank for those who are hit by hard times. We have community gatherings to celebrate our heritage from logger sports to fiddle concerts. We have athletic events for our kids through our Parks and Rec. District and our schools. We have community band and a community choir for our Easter Cantata. We have a great EMT and Fire Department made up entirely of volunteers.

Another great thing about Potlatch is that with all its beauty, it is just off the radar for tourism. We don’t have a whitewater river, rugged mountain peaks for climbing or skiing, nor any big lakes right here. We do have a large place in the history of the Northwest as the founding company town of Potlatch Forest Industries, home of incredible families that continued to make other big timber corporations and people instrumental in the invention of Teflon. But most of that is just quiet keep-to-ourselves information that doesn’t attract crowds. It’s the amazing beauty of the area, the community support, the four seasons—all of these things make me really proud and thankful for this little town where I live: Potlatch, Idaho.

Bear Lake

12. Bear Lake

      Another lake that has always captivated me and for which I am thankful is Bear Lake, a beautiful turquoise gem that rests on the border of southern Idaho and northern Utah not far west of the Wyoming border. It is definitely an alpine lake formed by glaciations in the Bear River Mountains as they call them in Idaho or the Wasatch Range as they’re better known in Utah. The lake is easily approached in Idaho from Montpelier south to Paris, St. Charles and Fish Haven. But the most spectacular approach is to come through Logan Canyon out of Utah so that you get spectacular scenery of the canyon itself and the high mountain forests and then an incredible overlook of the lake itself in all of its beautiful blue. While there are no large towns on Bear Lake there a number of small burgs such as St. Charles, and Fish Haven, Idaho as well as Garden City, Garden, and Meadowville, Utah. There are also some bigger towns very nearby in case you need any amenities. The famous sculptor of Mt. Rushmore, Gutzon Borglum, was born in St. Charles, Idaho.

            As far as the scenery around Bear Lake is concerned, it is that curious high desert with timbered north slopes of all the surrounding mountains. If you look to the west you very much feel a sense of woodsy-ness, but in late summer if you look east you might suddenly feel the need for a cold drink and a bottle of sunscreen. You’ll see plenty of raspberry bushes and you will want to stop at a local drive-in for a raspberry milkshake, the one amenity all the little burgs have.

           The waters of the lake are of a Caribbean blue. That comes from the silt carried into it from the aforementioned mountains and their desert character. Its color is unlike any other lake I’ve ever seen. Because of its unique isolation from other waterways (as is true of so many Great Basin waterways) it has some special kind of fish that are only found in its depths.  The lake is at a high elevation and freezes over nearly every winter so it is a great place for ice fishing. While it is a big body of water it still has a distinctly alpine feel. You know you are in the mountains when you are at Bear Lake. It’s kind of a secret hideaway for a select group of people in Idaho and Utah. And that, along with its beauty is something I am thankful for.

Aches in my back from running?

Whenever I get out of shape to run and then I get back to it, like now after the winter ice hiatus, I find myself getting all tight and knotted in my back between the shoulder blades. I’m never quite sure what to do about it. I’m also not sure if it’s just me with this problem or if other people have similar experiences. I can’t decide if it means I have a weak core or what. Sometimes I’ve just thought it was coincidental along with some other stress I might be having. I don’t usually stop doing crunches or pushups or other core work just because I’m not ready to run on the ice or because my mileage has been slack. I don’t know what causes it but I do know it coincides with getting back into running and it happens to me in the spring or fall when I pick up my mileage.

            So you would think that if you were going to get sore after a run following a winter hiatus that your legs would be the muscles that were sore, wouldn’t you? That doesn’t usually seem to be the case with me. I get all sore and tight between my shoulders. It slips up on me and more often than not I don’t associate it with my running. I start scanning all my activities in my head. What is causing me stress? It seems a huge irony that any stress build-up during my lay off didn’t cause aches in my back and shoulders. Sometimes it has taken me a couple of weeks to even realize that the center back tension is actually being caused by my reintroduction to running. Sometimes the ache creeps up and down my spine causing me to be stiff and to have tension headaches. I usually take ibuprofen or Tylenol at first.

            If the aching continues I build up to a heating pad and icy hot. Generally it doesn’t last any longer than soreness from any other activity but it just takes it awhile to click in my head that it really is from running. I also wonder why that’s where I get tight and achy instead of my legs.  My conjecture is that I always do enough cross training activities that my legs don’t drop off too much—that and the fact that when I go back to the trails I don’t ever overdo it anymore. I start up with a few (3 or 4) miles and then a day off. But I don’t do enough cross training for my upper body, especially my back, to keep that part of my body in shape. It’s either not enough shoveling of snow or that’s just not the same kind of work out I do with my back when I run. If you have any thoughts, drop me a comment.

Hunga Dunga

11. Micro-breweries: Hunga Dunga

Micro-breweries are places to gather with friends and enjoy each other’s company along with a good specialty beer. I like beer. In Moscow, Idaho there is a relatively new micro-brewery called Hunga Dunga Brewing Company that has replaced an old nursery where I used to buy many of the rose bushes I now have in my back yard. This year for Shrove Tuesday I went there for the first time with my good friend and colleague, Doug Richards. His wife, Shannon, met us there for the bar snacks that we turned into dinner. Some other friends came in and we all drank beer and ate snacks from the menu. If you want to go there you need to go for the beer. The menu is very limited and all considered snack food to go with your beer. It can get kind of spendy and, unless you order everything on the limited menu (like we did) you aren’t going to get full. The beers are all great so far as I could tell. I’m an ale man and I was impressed by a Black IPA and another IPA. I had a pale ale and samples of Winter Ale and Pumpkin Ale all of which were quite nice. I also had samples of an oatmeal stout and another light oatmeal beer. It seemed to me that there was an offering of every type of beer for everyone’s palate. The atmosphere was congenial and the crowd was eclectic. We all had a good time and I can see myself going back soon. It fits into my category of a good micro-brewery. And like I said, I like beer. I’m thankful for micro-breweries.

Lake Coeur d'Alene

           10.  Lake Coeur d’Alene is different than all the other lakes in northern Idaho.  The Coeur d’Alene Reservation encompasses most of the southern portion of the lake. The tiny town of Harrison rests on the eastern shore at the mouth of the Coeur d’Alene River. Old rail paths follow and cross the southern portion and they are now turned to beautiful bike paths. The city of Coeur d’Alene rests on the northern shores and at the head of the Spokane River which flows out of the lake making its way to the mighty Columbia.

            The lake is a mish mash of bays formed where creeks flow into it. The south end is where the St. Joe River flows between two lakes before entering Lake Coeur d’Alene. Interstate 90 follows the path of the Spokane River and crosses bays of the lake on the north end. That’s probably where the majority of people see the lake. That and the city of Coeur d’Alene itself where there are nice beaches, a resort, golf course, floating board walk and boat tours. It’s a beautiful place, very picturesque.

            I have spent lots of time on and in the waters of Lake Coeur d’Alene and it carries many fond memories for me. I’ve hiked Tubbs Hill, swam at the main beach, and purchased food from the street vendors in Fort Sherman Park. In summertime it can have the atmosphere of an amusement park where the attraction is the lake itself. I’ve taken cruises on the water, walked the boardwalk and enjoyed that whole atmosphere. I said it was different from the other large lakes because it isn’t quiet. But it still has its hidden bays where solitude can be found. It’s also the lake I live closest to and frequent most these days. I suppose I sometimes take it for granted. But it has a beauty and joy all of its own for which I am very thankful.

American Authors

           9. Of course I am thankful for a zillion things about America right where I live but as a nation we share a heritage that is greater than geography and I want to point that out in these entries also. We have a rich heritage in our American authors and I am a huge fan of several American authors living and dead.

The sublimity of Henry David Thoreau’s Walden brings me a sense of comfort as does his inspiring Civil Disobedience which has the capacity to give a sense of order to even the most disorderly times as now.

            Edgar Allen Poe and Stephen King share a rich American experience of the horror genre. I know it might sound weird but it can be so much easier to fall asleep with the scary clown of It or one of Poe’s live burial stories than watching the news. As far as contemplating life, Robert Frost and Sylvia Plath are number one in my book. “Nothing gold can stay.” I love the help F. Scott Fitzgerald gives of humanizing the Jazz Age and Hemingway is a master at giving complex thoughts meaning through the least amount of words. The two of them help me understand so much about those film strip memories I have of my grandparents and great grandparents 50 years ago.

          You know I have studied and taught these masters for years. I could go on and on about the great American poets, What Whitman, Emily Dickinson giving voice to the voiceless, ee cummings stylistically rearranging the world; Langston Hughes daring to dream; Frederick Douglass forcing us to look beyond the fuzzy warm poetry of the fireside to the realities of oppression and slavery. And what about the angst of Holden Caulfield and the navigation of life from the point of view of an adolescent? Thank J. D. Salinger. Thank you America for your beautiful writers. Go read some of these masters.