a journey into the past

Yesterday happened in two parts: the Auburn part, and the Bay Area part. The parents' lives part and the my life part. I'm going to start with the first half, and see how far I get.

This is the house my dad lived in for the first eighteen years of his life. Currently my aunt and cousins live there. I have countless memories of visits there, when we would make the eight-hour drive from Eugene, or longer when we lived in Montana. We spent several weeks there when each of his parents were terminally ill, and have been back only once or twice in the intervening decades. Perhaps it's this relative distance that gives such an air of sacredness about the place, to me. It's so unfamiliar, yet deeply familiar, entrenched in some of my earliest memories.

I woke in the morning and went on a brief jog around the neighborhood, observing, breathing in the air - even it felt different. I knew I was in California. I got to meet my cousin's three-year-old daughter. We read stories, and she is delightful. After they left, I packed up my things, and went on a slow tour of the entire house. Eyes closed, I would touch certain walls, pause in corners of different rooms, drawing on my own memories and trying to reach even further back. This house made my dad who he is, and subsequently made me me. It's really something that the house is still in the family.

It was a beautiful, sunny day in Auburn. The temperature was in the upper 50's and low 60's, and the air was peaceful as I went on a small tour of the town. Auburn was instrumental in the early Gold Rush days, and their old town area is nicely preserved. I had one other mission, though.

Up on a hillside just outside of town, a mile away from where my great-grandfather once had a mandarin orchard, lies the Auburn New Cemetery. My grandparents and great-grandparents lie buried there. In a beautiful reminder of the way the world works out sometimes, I happened to be there the day before the anniversary of my grandfather's death. I brought flowers, and just sat there for a while. I barely knew my dad's parents, though the memories of them I have are vivid and real. My grandfather earned a Silver Star in World War II, after which he taught English, and eventually got around to having kids. Even though he died twenty-one years ago today, he was 74 at the time. I wish I had been able to see more of the living link to my father's past as I have grown up. I was surprised at how simply being there moved me. I returned with flowers and set up a picnic lunch.

day 1: auburn, ca

Today! First day on the road! Where do I even begin?

First, as a disclaimer, I must tell you that I am very, very tired. Just like any smart person preparing for a trip, I spent my last forty-eight hours in Eugene trying to cram in everything I needed to do over the last two months, and subsequently leaving very little time for sleep (and I spent much of that mentally reviewing my to-do list)! Oh yeah, and then I drove 500 miles.

I rose early this morning to toss a last few necessities into the adventure-mobile, puzzle over new window signage, and bid goodbye to everyone. I got gas one last time at the Shell station on Prairie Road and wriggled my way out of Eugene morning traffic. I headed south on I-5, and was finally on the road again.

I am still in utter awe (an awe which borders on fear) of these mountains. Mountains are so huge. Foothills of mountains are huge too, towering and ominous. The interstate winds through these mountains, most of which are still packed with evergreens. You know how people accuse "cow towns" of smelling of livestock? Well, I swear that Roseburg, which has historically been a logging town, smelled of freshly milled pine.

It rained on and off today as I pushed south into the Siskiyous. I detoured through Ashland, about fifteen miles north of the border with California. The rain cleared for a half-hour so I could wend my way through their lively though small downtown. I always tell people Ashland is on my radar of places in Oregon I'd be interested in living, so I thought I'd check it out. We also spent the better part of a week there on tour in 2005, so I smiled fondly as I passed the laundromat we all had done our laundry.

One of the things about the mountains that is the most breathtaking are the clouds. Clouds and fog. Cottony wisps just rest on the mountain sides, shreds of gray brushing up against green. The fog hugged the interstate today as I crossed into California, windshield wipers humming as I mounted the summit. Mercifully, rain and fog cleared as I reached the first grand vista of the state, and under a cerulean sky with dreamlike clouds the whole valley seemed to stretch before me. I have never seen clouds so detailed, so dramatically outlined. They hung above a valley rich with greens, browns, blues. Mountains, hills, fields, orchards, all stretched before me for untold miles.

I rode on, thunderstruck by the enormous mountains that rose all around me: Mt. Shasta, elevation 14,179, the second-highest peak in California, was tremendous to behold. Yes, read that again: fourteen thousand feet high. It's a behemoth; I felt like I had never seen anything so huge.

I left the interstate at Red Bluff and took old Highway 99 into Chico, through the central valley. Farm stands sold walnuts, mandarins, kiwifruit. In the central valley, orchards spread under the shadows of the mountains. Row after row of browns and reds extend their bushy arms skyward under the ever-watchful mountains and clouds. I followed California highway 70 south from Chico, and again the weather smiled upon me. The rain eased, and as the day wore on, the sky turned a delightful medley of pastels. Light blue and light grey warmed me as a pinkish salmon stretched out from under the clouds, buoyed by yellow sunlight. I breathed it in deeply; it calmed me.

At Marysville, the weather still cooperating and daylight still on my side, I took CA-65, which led me southeast toward Auburn, my final destination for the night. The last thirteen miles of my drive I traversed on Route 193 (yes, Dad, I did it, and no, I did not crash). Auburn lies in the Sierra Nevada foothills, and 193 was a spectacular drive, challenging though it was as I wound around tight curves, driving ever-further into said foothills. I jumped on an old part of I-80 for the final two miles into Auburn.

My aunt and cousins live in the house my dad grew up in, and after exiting the freeway I followed my instinct, making a few turns and pulling up in front. I have countless fond memories of this house in Auburn, as we would spend long stretches of time here when I was a child. My cousins and I would write plays and act them out. I remember staying with my grandparents when my mom went to help my uncle after the 1989 Loma Prieta earthquake. I remember being here for weeks when my grandfather and, later, my grandmother were terminally ill. I hadn't been here since 1997, though, and it's surreal, invigorating, and calming all at once.

I know where all the rooms in this house are. I can picture the furniture as my grandparents had it, feel the vinyl of the green couch downstairs, the hard metal of my grandmother's car in the carport. I remember how the sunlight glinted off blue bottles in the front window, the minute details of the toys we played with in the bedroom. My grandfather in his favorite chair against one wall, my grandmother perched on the velveteen yellow couch along the wall where now I rest.

Tomorrow I will explore more in the daylight, and tonight I will sleep.

Day 1 mileage: 504.

On the road again

I can scarcely believe it, but I have been in Eugene for two months minus one day. In a matter of minutes, I will be departing to adventure back to Ohio!

The longer I spend somewhere, the easier it is to put down roots. This happens all the more quickly when I pass that time somewhere roots already exist. Leaving Eugene today is decidedly bittersweet. I'm extremely grateful for the time I've spent with my family; I have been able to explore Eugene and parts of Oregon; I have enjoyed reconnecting with old friends. I feel confident that now is a good time to leave, but at the same time I'm tempted to feel like I'm not ready to go yet.


I have many things to ponder as I head south to California. On the road!

the great adventure, part 2, v. 1

So I am pretty sure that I will be leaving Eugene on the 12th or 13th. That is one week away. I do not have a whole lot of time to prepare, but luckily I am already in adventure-mode. Also I have done this once before, and it turns out that planning road trip adventures is an extremely fun pastime.

So far I have outlined the places that I will stop over, planning to stay one night in each unless otherwise noted. I think it will take me about thirteen days to get back to Athens, which of course could be extended or shortened as adventure dictates. When I was driving out to Oregon, I had a specific date I needed to be here by, and as of yet I do not have that heading back to Athens.

Here are the stops on my journey (subject to change):

Day 1: Ashland, OR
Day 2: Auburn, CA
Day 3: Oakland, CA
Day 4: Santa Clarita, CA
Day 5 & 6: Phoenix, AZ (two days - lots of relatives)
Day 7: Santa Fe, NM
Day 8: Oklahoma City, OK
Day 9: Cleveland, MS
Day 10: New Orleans, LA
Day 11: Nashville, TN
Day 12: Roanoke, VA
Day 13: Athens, OH

If you are my friend and you live in one of these places, please let me know! I will update my itinerary as I make changes. Before we (me and you, dear readers) know it, I will be posting from the road again!

And my thoughts begin to wander eastward

Today the sun is shining brightly in Eugene. I just returned from a delightful jog along the river that I only wish would have lasted longer. The Willamette River, swollen by winter's rains, shone a dazzling blue under the cloudless sky. I jogged through Alton Baker Park near the football stadium as the path wound through a forested area, hugging the river. The last five days have been almost entirely rainless here, charmed by sun, our ears nipped the perfect amount by chilly air. These are winter days that evoke fond memories of Athens, and I start to wonder if it's time to go home.

I have in fact all but decided that it is time to go home. I feel at home here in Eugene, this is true. I also know that it was essential for me to be here over the past two months. Should I decide to stay for the remaining fifteen weeks of my mom's treatment, I know that I will find ways to be helpful. I can only hope that the things I have done here have been helpful to her. I know that it has been therapeutic for me. I have been enjoying my time here, and have been lucky to reconnect with many old friends. To be in such an old, familiar haunt is comforting in ways I will ponder once I am gone.

But I live in Ohio. I live in Athens. I lived there for two full years before I came out here in November, and I have been gone for two months now. These are not long periods of time, but neither are they negligible. I am comforted by the knowledge of the community that I have back in Athens, that still exists even though I am far away in this surreal version of my homeland. I am buoyed by warm memories, proud of what I have accomplished there, thrilled at the prospect of returning. When I think about the details of my apartment, the layout of the streets, the vibrant familiarity of friends, workplaces, local haunts, a smile appears on my face unbidden. I remember how easily I felt that Athens was home, a seeming instant after my arrival two autumns ago.

Oregon will always be here. I can come here whenever I want or need to. If I get back to Athens and the next week, something happens and my mother needs me, I can travel back here. It is 2,500 miles away - but it is really not that far.

As enthusiastically as I await my return to Athens, I am equally excited to get on the road again! Before I can breathe in the healing Ohio air and feel the rapture of the hills, I have more mega-adventuring to do! The road trip of all road trips is not yet complete.

2010: a year of themes

I want to reflect a little on 2010, and I'm just now catching up due to the fact that I was in fact on an adventure over the New Year's weekend.

I have to resist the urge to term 2010 the Year of Adventure, though it certainly was full of them! Looking back, it seems like last January, February, and March were a lifetime ago. Indeed, each theme I focused on throughout the year seems encapsulated in its own unique annum, a special period of time distinct from all the others. I found great solace in categorizing things this year, creating themes and titles and concepts to focus on, so in summarizing the year, I'm going to follow suit.

I suppose that this is more for my benefit than the benefit of any readers who chance upon my blog, but I'm going to do it anyway, because I can. I am pretty darn pleased with the way this year turned out, and I feel pretty good about where I'm at now in terms of Sarah-development. I'm giving myself the month of January to mull over what the theme for 2011 ought to be, if there is one.

Thematically, here are some things that I did in 2010:

Adventure: bought a tent, drove from Ohio to Oregon, threw myself on the grass along the banks of the Ohio, hiked on a hill that Lewis & Clark mapped, drove right into a sunset in Kansas, soaked up beauty everywhere, went on many, many small day trips and weekend adventures, went swimming nearly every day all summer, lost my glasses, got new glasses, had a personal tour of Skatopia, explored many beautiful, sacred places around Appalachian Ohio, worked at an after-school program in Glouster, went camping a lot, drove to Washington D.C. and back in a weekend

Bravery: got a tattoo of a rhododendron, drove across the country solo, went camping on a working farm that was probably haunted, called up people I hadn't talked to in years, had a bakery business of my very own, decided I didn't want to have a baking business, quit the job I loved a lot, stood by my mother's side during surgery, healing, chemo, aftermath as much as I could be there for, accompanied her to get a haircut and a prosthetic, learned that I don't always have to be brave, and that it's okay to go home or to say I can't do something, faced up to mistakes I made, cut my own hair a lot, fell down while jogging a lot,

Communication: wrote lots of letters by hand, called people on the phone, showed up on friends' doorsteps, sent postcards, kept a blog, wrote a LOT of journal entries, spent a month furiously scribbling words in marker and construction paper and hanging them around my apartment, communed with nature more than I ever had, breathed in the spiritual world, had a shamanic healing session, listened to my body, learned how essential it is to really, really communicate in a relationship, worked on the balance of communicating about good/bad things, cemented connections with regular customers by reaching out to them, called my parents every weekend,

Exploration: took myself on a road trip around West Virginia, went on a 10-mile hike at Lake Hope, drove through western Maryland's beautiful hills to see Washington D.C. for the first time, visited Michigan for the first time, crossed the Rockies, consciously spent a lot of time alone to learn what Sarah wants, went to a Reds game, visited several state capitals, invented gluten-free pizza crust & many other tasty concoctions, got familiar with little back roads & tiny towns in Athens and Meigs Counties, looked for cool new ways to experience Oregon,

Roots: had a surprise visit with my cousin in Virginia, spent a week visiting my sister in Illinois and showing her around Athens, found the gravestones of my great-great-great grandparents, followed other ancestors' footsteps out west, spent two months in my hometown at my parents' house, played sousaphone in the alumni band, got back in touch with music, really began to feel at home in Athens, wrote wrote wrote a lot, explored the way my roots in Eugene still exist, visited my great-aunt and great-uncle in Idaho, spent three days in Denver with family friends from my toddler days, went to a west-Eugene wedding full of the younger siblings of high school classmates,

Dreams: planned an enormous road trip adventure, spent afternoons laying in the grass reading, learned to dance, played piano, saw a lot of astounding sunrises and sunsets, slept under the stars, reconnected with music, followed the Ohio River, visited Marietta, the first successful city in the Northwest Territory, saw Oregon as the pioneers saw it, made several lofty plans for education (both of myself and ways I can educate others), looked into teaching and traveling abroad, found ways to make dreams of all sizes become reality,

Personal Growth: learned to accept my body as perfect exactly how it is, subsequently becoming healthier & happier than ever, ran two half-marathons, learned how to be an awesome single 25-year-old, learned about having to try at love, stayed active and in tune throughout the year, went on countless walks and hikes, became aware of the spiritual energy emanating all around me, sat in awe of the moon, the universe, the people on this planet, cut my own hair a lot, took really good care of the adventure-mobile, found how healing reaching out to others is.

The sun sets on this weekend's adventure

Here is something really cool: Every single day, the sun sets, and every single day it rises. Each time this happens, it is a spectacular sight. What this means is that every day, no matter what, at least two beautiful things happen.

I drove south out of Portland as the sun began to creep its way toward the horizon. The interstate winds through the valley, rising and falling over hills. Sometimes I forget about the sheer size of mountains; I think the fact that the valley, which is technically framed by the Cascade Range and Coast Range, is rimmed therein by countless series of hills. That is how impressive the topography is here - our valleys have hills.

From atop one of those hills, just south of Salem, I could see the whole rest of the valley extend in front of me as the sky darkened. The ribbon of road was dotted with red taillights as far as I could see. It was unseasonably clear for the Northwest today.. Nonetheless, clouds framed the hills and horizon in the distance ahead. As the sun sank, pinks and oranges highlighted every wisp of cloud in the sky, forming a gauzy seam of pink atop the hills. This haze of pink and orange remained, ever so slowly fading into darkness as I continued to drive home.