My phone rang at 1:01am two nights ago. I picked up to the sound of my boss's voice saying, "Hey Allie! Welcome to your first middle of the night phone call. Now, get to the basement and take everyone you can find with you. The sirens you should be hearing mean a tornado has been sighted." Immediately I was overwhelmed with a desire to run out into the storm, get soaked by the rain, and feel the wind thrash my hair. At any other time in my life, that is exactly what I would have done. Instead I attempted to drag Zach out of bed (he refused), so I went by myself to the main stairwell and found a huddled mass of people, for whom I unlocked the basement door.
During elementary school, I remember having tsunami and volcano drills but never ones for tornadoes. I guess the ocean and the mountains in Oregon are more of a threat than the wind. During the worst lightning storm of my life, my dad drove us to the top of a butte near our house because he thought the radio tower on top would get struck and it would be a crazy sight to see. I remember getting bashed side-to-side (as we drove up the rocky side of that mountain in what was clearly more of a river than a road) and trying desperately not to touch anything metal. I felt pretty sure we might die. Of course we didn't and that storm was one of the most beautiful/exciting things I've ever seen.
I'm not big on fear. In my opinion, it's a detriment to the quality of ones life. I don't want to walk around not doing things or not saying things because I'm afraid. Did you know, in the time period of eight years, the nation's murder rate decreased by 20% but the number of murders covered by network newscasts increased by 600% (The Culture of Fear by:Barry Glassner). Fear sells! Tragedy captivates! Why are we so easily enchanted by the "truth" the media spikes our drinks with?
True; tornadoes are dangerous. Also true is the fact that tornadoes are fascinating, beautiful, exciting, and awe-inspiring. A person can tippy toe through life, focused on self-preservation and fending of possible tragedies, or you can enjoy the storm. You only get so many days and I would rather spend mine any place other than huddled on a basement floor. Maybe this is foolish but I'll own it either way.
I am not completely fearless, despite all my statements to the contrary. A fear I thought I had eliminated last summer has bubbled to the surface again. A few times I've stepped just inside the door to the basement. Other times I've stood at the window, watching the wind and rain. I haven't quite been able to throw myself into the storm and face my fear. Hopefully I will someday soon...
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
First few days in Kirksville
Hardly fifteen days and Kirksville already feels like home. Hours and whole days rush by like drops in an ever flowing river. I am here. The present moment has grown larger than life. It fills the landscape from the far reaches of my peripheral vision on both sides.
This place is thick with Amish friendship bread and sunny bike-riding days. The people I work with smile easy and listen well. Every day feels like a warm hug. The wind blows softball games and Saturday markets into my life and likes to whisper, "This is it!", while I smile.
On the fourth of July, Zach and I bought a bunch of seeds, pots, soil, and fertilizer. He planted lavender, spearmint, lettuce, spinach, and cilantro. I planted sunflowers. Our sun-filled patio plays perfect host to the army of fledgling sprouts that have burst up from the soil. My sunflowers tower three inches above all the others. Today I had to transplant them to bigger pots because they were blocking the sun to all of Zach's plants! Even though long-term we plan to live in Central America and live a fairly non-traditional life, Zach and I (for the present moment) have willingly succumbed to domestic happiness.
This place is thick with Amish friendship bread and sunny bike-riding days. The people I work with smile easy and listen well. Every day feels like a warm hug. The wind blows softball games and Saturday markets into my life and likes to whisper, "This is it!", while I smile.
On the fourth of July, Zach and I bought a bunch of seeds, pots, soil, and fertilizer. He planted lavender, spearmint, lettuce, spinach, and cilantro. I planted sunflowers. Our sun-filled patio plays perfect host to the army of fledgling sprouts that have burst up from the soil. My sunflowers tower three inches above all the others. Today I had to transplant them to bigger pots because they were blocking the sun to all of Zach's plants! Even though long-term we plan to live in Central America and live a fairly non-traditional life, Zach and I (for the present moment) have willingly succumbed to domestic happiness.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Central Oregon Photos
The girls walking along the trail at the bottom of Smith Rocks. 
Racheal standing on top of the cliff. We promised never to show her mom this picture.
Peacock Seduction
Shake those tailfeathers! Friday, June 11, 2010
Days Two and Three: Powerful Moments and Peacocks!
The first few nights of our trip, only four camping chairs sat around the fire. Jurgen, Rachael, Zach, and I filled the forest with laughter, poured it out the windows while dance-partying down the highway, and spilled it into every space in our beings. Some people have a special, un-nameable quality that makes you feel good when they are near. It has something to do with spunk, attitude, humor, and sincerity. My three friends definitely have that quality and it felt wonderful to simply sit around the fire with them.
Rain woke us the next morning, or maybe it was that early train on the tracks we foolishly chose to camp next to. We packed up and headed to Multnomah Falls, which is the tallest falls in Oregon at 620 feet. All I have to say about this place is: Multnomah-Shmult-foam-ah! It wasn't nearly as beautiful as Eagle Creek Trail and there were five times as many people swarming everywhere (including at least two buses of asian tourists and three dozen young parents with babies strapped to their backs and others toddling along beside). I will admit the falls there were beautiful but I prefer unpaved trails where you can walk completely immersed in nature. Multnomah Falls has too many distractions that slap me back to the reality of our overpopulated globe.
After the hike, we loaded our damp selves into the “burban” (my father's navy blue, diesel suburban which faithfully hauled us all over the state) and headed out along the Columbia River Gorge. We drove through the town of Hood River and took Highway 35 over Mount Hood to Central Oregon. I love the transition from lush, jungle-like forests, densely populated with trees and undergrowth, to the high desert with sagebrush and sparse growing Juniper trees. Breaking through the clouds into the sun feels good too.
That night we slept at my parent's house in Redmond. My red-headed little sister, Faith, monopolized the dinner conversation by monologing about cat warriors named Mousefur, Rainwhisker, Brokentail, and One Eye. Despite her bossy-ness and love for farting in my friends faces, I adore her.
The next morning, we met up with my cousin Hollie during a peacock mating ritual at Peterson's Rock Garden. That poor male peacock had his feathers fanned out for twenty minutes at least and the she-bird didn't even look up once. He kept strutting forward slowly and then, turning around to flap his tail feathers at her. I don't think I've seen anything more spectacularly hilarious in my life.
Next we picked up my 17 year-old sister, Kendra, and hauled the whole crew to a rock climber's paradise: Smith Rocks. Instead of taking Misery Ridge Trail, we followed the river trail along the base for awhile, and then cut off towards the top, zig-zagging our own way to the seemingly untouched peaks. I love trying to run up the 45 degree angle, half sliding every other step on loose gravel and sandy soil. Arriving at the top, thoroughly dusted and dripping sweat, feels so good. You can see for fifty miles in any direction and also 300 feet down the cliff you just conquered.
I feel overwhelming gratitude for these moments with these people. Sitting on top of a cliff while dangling our feet over the edge in reverent silence wraps us all thickly in the now moment. Some moments aren't punctured by distractions and those are the kind I treasure.
Rain woke us the next morning, or maybe it was that early train on the tracks we foolishly chose to camp next to. We packed up and headed to Multnomah Falls, which is the tallest falls in Oregon at 620 feet. All I have to say about this place is: Multnomah-Shmult-foam-ah! It wasn't nearly as beautiful as Eagle Creek Trail and there were five times as many people swarming everywhere (including at least two buses of asian tourists and three dozen young parents with babies strapped to their backs and others toddling along beside). I will admit the falls there were beautiful but I prefer unpaved trails where you can walk completely immersed in nature. Multnomah Falls has too many distractions that slap me back to the reality of our overpopulated globe.
After the hike, we loaded our damp selves into the “burban” (my father's navy blue, diesel suburban which faithfully hauled us all over the state) and headed out along the Columbia River Gorge. We drove through the town of Hood River and took Highway 35 over Mount Hood to Central Oregon. I love the transition from lush, jungle-like forests, densely populated with trees and undergrowth, to the high desert with sagebrush and sparse growing Juniper trees. Breaking through the clouds into the sun feels good too.
That night we slept at my parent's house in Redmond. My red-headed little sister, Faith, monopolized the dinner conversation by monologing about cat warriors named Mousefur, Rainwhisker, Brokentail, and One Eye. Despite her bossy-ness and love for farting in my friends faces, I adore her.
The next morning, we met up with my cousin Hollie during a peacock mating ritual at Peterson's Rock Garden. That poor male peacock had his feathers fanned out for twenty minutes at least and the she-bird didn't even look up once. He kept strutting forward slowly and then, turning around to flap his tail feathers at her. I don't think I've seen anything more spectacularly hilarious in my life.
Next we picked up my 17 year-old sister, Kendra, and hauled the whole crew to a rock climber's paradise: Smith Rocks. Instead of taking Misery Ridge Trail, we followed the river trail along the base for awhile, and then cut off towards the top, zig-zagging our own way to the seemingly untouched peaks. I love trying to run up the 45 degree angle, half sliding every other step on loose gravel and sandy soil. Arriving at the top, thoroughly dusted and dripping sweat, feels so good. You can see for fifty miles in any direction and also 300 feet down the cliff you just conquered.
I feel overwhelming gratitude for these moments with these people. Sitting on top of a cliff while dangling our feet over the edge in reverent silence wraps us all thickly in the now moment. Some moments aren't punctured by distractions and those are the kind I treasure.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
