an october day in the forest

  

I was so eager to go for a hike and a nature outing this week and we planned to visit a nearby state forest.  My hope was that we would walk awhile and then settle somewhere for lunch and then we could play and maybe I'd even get to read or knit while the girls romped nearby through whatever natural playground we found.  

We parked along a deserted forest road and trekked up a trail in the quiet woods.  Douglas firs, Ponderosa pines, and cottonwoods towered above us as we picked our way carefully among a rocky uphill section of the trail.  Around the bend and it was a spongy floor of fallen pine needles carpeting our way.  We spotted elk tracks and droppings and many deer trails veering off into the trees and meadows.  A jay scolded us from a treetop before flying off, irritated at the racket made by children excited to be outside.  Lyddie triumphantly identified a Doug fir by its needles.  Millie found a walking stick and followed close to her daddy, while Rosie tried to cling to my hand and carry several sticks and pieces of bark at the same time in her other hand.  I snapped pictures here and there and shushed continually to no avail.  Any creatures that might have been in the woods fled far before us.  

Jesse taught the girls last week how to lay snowberries on a hard place and stomp on them to make them pop loudly.  I laughed to see the antics so reminiscent of Independence Day "pop-its" but occurring entirely naturally.  He said this was something he used to do as a kid in the woods where he grew up, and he was a little pleased to impart something happy from his childhood to his own children. 

We made our way to a picnic area and sat watching the robins in the bushes across the creek while we passed the grapes and chewed our sandwiches.  There were some complaints about the cold, and apparently a sweatshirt and a woolen sweater weren't enough for the children (though to be frank, it wasn't just the children complaining of cold; apparently my strong mountain man no longer likes to be cold.  I was sure to find every opportunity to tease him).  My disappointment was real that we had to wrap up the day early, right when we were arriving at my favorite part.  But first we roamed the creekside and I was pulled  - "Mama!!  Close your eyes!  Let me lead you" to forts made of branches the girls constructed with Jesse last week while I was home sick.  We balanced on logs and noted how much higher the creek had risen since the previous week, and marveled at the increased color in the leaves as well.  There was such a riotous display of beauty in the hills there, even the usually-yellow aspens had decided to put on red-orange gowns to compete.  Although we were really just a half hour's drive outside of town, it was such a different landscape that it felt like we had traveled much further.  We will certainly return to this forest and my grand plans are to be sure to bring hats, mittens, and coats and to hopefully have a campfire over the afternoon.  We will have our very own outdoor classroom if I can help it!  I think it is quite likely that the days we spend in this way are the most formative and important thing we might do in these young school years.  They are certainly the most favorite thing we do. 

action and inaction

  

Our hike to the cliffs of the Columbia River seems like light years away in some ways. In other ways it feels like it just happened.  The gorgeous spread of creation falling away before our feet in every direction; mountains, rivers, cliffs, rock formations, the surprise of early wildflowers.  Gentle breeze, a quiet picnic lunch on a grassy knoll, playing keep-away-the-crackers from the puppy.  I hope it is as happy a memory for my children as it is for me.  An ideal March day out of doors if ever there was one.

As I mentioned last week, I am waiting to hear from a doctor about what is going on with my thyroid.  I suspect that any time anyone has ever uttered the words "There's a mass" the listener's heart stops for at least a few brief moments.  That's the kind of experience I had last Tuesday.  The soonest scheduled appointment I can get nearby is April 20, with hopes of a cancellation.  

The surrounding of friendships and family has been a great encouragement to me.  Daily texts from friends of Scripture verses or other quotes sent my way are now scribbled on a poster on the wall so that every time I come to the table I am reminded with a very visual set of promises from my Lord about His goodness in all circumstances, in both waiting, and knowing; in action and inaction.  Praying for others seems to be the best antidote for the strain of worry nagging in the corners of my mind and I am at more peace most of the day than seems logical, for which I can only say thank you to the Holy Spirit for His kindness in imparting His peace that passes understanding. I have a few friends that certainly need extra prayer right now and I am reminded of God's good plan for me and my family as I pray for His courage and peace for my friends too.  

stopping

  

Summer days change pace so much and I find myself already looking forward to the regularity of autumn's schedule.  Never mind that it's at least two months away. However, I wouldn't trade this time for that.

One week is full of reaching out into the community, of seeing familiar faces of children who live in emotional and physical poverty, and seeing smiles spread across those same faces at the appearance of The Church who has come to play bubbles, sidewalk chalk, and crafts with them.  A pouring-out kind of week but also a being-filled kind of week. 

Then another week is altogether different, with bits of family togetherness that help balance out little girl hearts who miss their daddy on those ministry-laden weeks.  I so appreciate the way my husband seeks balance in this, the way he spends time planning and making memories with us in special ways.  We recently visited Mount Rainier and I must ask, is there anywhere that can compare to the glory of the mountains?  The pristine subalpine meadows rich with wildflowers that creep right up to the glaciers, the glaciers that look so close that I can surely reach out and touch the blue ice.  There are butterflies floating all around, and deer so near we can see their flanks quiver in anxiety for us to move on down the path.  A family of hoary marmots played on the rocks nearby as we walked, and who knew that something with such an unflattering name could be so adorable?  I am drawn in again by the splendor and majesty and clarity and explosion of color.  The life in this place is so fleeting, the season for growth so short, but if not for the long seasons of cold and ice, the verdant beauty would be diminished.  There is a heart lesson for me in this. 

Then at home, we move swiftly through each day, wondering when the sun goes down why so much is left undone that needed doing, but then remembering that it is better to stop and splash with the children in the pool, or guide that little hand with its needle up and down through the cloth while her eyes are alight with excitement, or flop onto the bed in the middle of it all and read a story to that one in need of a few minutes with Mommy. The moments of stopping are more than stopping; they are moments of beginning and sustaining.

The squash is being eaten by squash bugs.  The strawberries are being eaten by strawberry bugs. My raspberries have finished their first round (oh I miss them already!). The peas never did grow well and will be pulled in favor of a planting of kale or some other fall crop (what's your favorite fall crop to plant?). The basil is exploding and I can imagine for a few minutes that instead of a weed-infested garden of the most basic vegetables, I am digging in an exotic plot of land with figs and basil and olives.  Just that lingering fragrance of basil.  We harvested our first ripe tomato today and celebrated promptly with a lunch of Bacon, Lettuce, and Tomato sandwiches.  Lyddie expressed my feelings precisely by declaring with alacrity, "OH this is SO delicious!"

Forest

When we went to Mt. St. Helens area, we hiked The Trail of Two Forests.  First we accidentally wandered around the forest peering into big caves and holes in the rock, but I didn't have my camera or my phone with me, so no pictures.  Then we realized we were aimlessly following what were likely deer paths through the woods and turned back.  The actual trail is a boardwalk with educational signs and was amazing.  Apparently thousands of years ago, an eruption occurred and lava flowed through the forests.  Basically, lava surrounded trees, which caught on fire and burned, but the lava cooled faster than the trees burned, which meant that the lava cooled around the trunks, which then burned away and left huge tree casts in the forest.  Some of them were like wells straight down, and some were horizontal.  There is even a tree cast tunnel that you can climb through if you're brave enough (we weren't). The picture immediately above is part of that tunnel and you can see the cast of bark left where the lava cooled against a tree trunk before the tree burned away.  It is an old forest cast in stone with a new forest growing up all around it.  

The colors of the pictures are quite accurate; I haven't edited them in any way.  It was lush and rich and spongy, greens and yellows and browns in hues so deep and vibrant.  I really love the Cascades and miss the damp mosses now that we're living here in the desert on the other side of them.

The rest of the pictures are from the same trip on the property of Cedar Creek Retreat, where we were staying, a 20 acre plot with trails and creek access a quarter mile from the cottage.  Describing it as beautiful is an understatement.  It was breathtaking.