The last few days have been full of fog, great rivers of undulating white streamers of fog crashing up the banks of the Columbia River Gorge like big waves at the beach during times of high tide and winds.
Driving around the Bald Mountain turns on Highway 141 out of White Salmon tonight was like driving through split pea soup. It reminds me so much of childhood when we would have a lot of fog. My dad would call it split pea soup so thick you could cut it with a knife, he said. When a car comes to wards you through the thick fog, you hardly see them at all until they’re almost level with you. The fog travels in fingers of undulating White up from the rivers below, and you will suddenly break out of the fog into perfect clear, then dive back into white so thick it’s hard to see your hand in front of your face. There is something so mysterious and beautiful about fog this thick, as though you could come out of the fog bank into a different time or place, a different world
These are images that are part of my heart, some of my favorites to bring back around. Most of these are available on my Smugmug site, they are often hanging in my gallery shows, and look gorgeous on Metal prints, Thinwraps, Gallery wrapped Canvas, or Prints
Beauty is everywhere. As I write this, I can hear the geese flying overhead through my open window. It tugs at my spirit to come and play and dance on the wind. Looking around me I see all the unfinished projects and “things I need to do” instead. No wonder I’m such a procrastinator! Hmmm, follow the geese to the lake, or take care of duties. Yikes! So instead, here I sit writing about it all, looking inside for the elusive flow of creativity that helps fuel my life. Inspiration seems to have been hiding lately. I feel a need to track down my creative muse and drag her kicking and screaming from whatever box she is hiding in among the remaining chaos from moving. Perhaps she fell asleep curled up in a box of special treasures gathered over many years. Oh, and there are far far too many of those gathered treasures, and choices to be made. It is starting to sound like a search for my muse might include more sorting and eliminating! Ohhhh the choices… they become overwhelming, and soon i wander off to follow a dream.
May 18. Lots of memories associated with this day, most of mine having to do with mom’s birthday and one birthday in particular when Mount Saint Helens blew her top.
May 18, 1980. It was my moms birthday, and my husband and I were in the old truck with mom and dad driving up in the hills past Trout Lake. We saw the column of Ash, and thought at first that it was a fire, but quickly figured out it wasn’t. We drove up to a place we could see a little bit better and watched for awhile. Then Jerry and I drove back home to La Center, and drove up back roads into the mountains on the south west side. We were sitting on a cliff all night watching it blow and you could feel the ground shake. Red tail hawks and eagles were soaring overhead.
10 days later on May 28, we were up in north eastern Washington seeing ash everywhere. While we were there the mountain blew again, to the south west this time. We couldn’t go home back down I-5, and had to travel through Yakima on the east side of the Cascade mountains back down to the Columbia River gorge and then west along WA-14. When we got to our trailer in La Center, there were several inches of ash piled on the roof.
Mom was fascinated by the mountain blowing in her lifetime, and thought it was a pretty interesting birthday present!
May 18, 2019. This year for Mom’s birthday, she gets another of her children, Roger, joining her in the spirit world. I’m pretty sure she’ll put him to work right away. Roger Black passed on May 16, 2019.
Mom, you are Missed, and Loved forever! I remember you talking about how strange it felt to be almost the last one left of your siblings. Now I understand all too well. You raised us to believe in the afterlife, and family being together forever; gratefulness fills my heart.
Mount St. Helens and me, in recent years. Taken at McClellan Viewpoint in GPNF
This is posting only now because for some reason my mobile app has not been uploading posts like I thought it was.
Roger Black, born May 8, 1942, died May 16, 2019. This beloved Navy veteran from the Viet Nam war was a Wonderful husband to Connie, father to Carmen Knopes and Sarah Vantinteran, grandfather to many, adopted Papa to dozens, and brother to myself and Boyce. We had three more siblings and two nephews who already passed on to join our parents in the spirit world; Nora, Sheldon, and Dennis. Seems like there must be a homecoming party happening on the other side.
Roger was a rock in our lives, Full of love and hugs, and good advice. He seldom got worked up about anything, and like mother he loved everyone and saw the good in them all. He taught us all so much just by example on how to be a better person.
In this last journey, Roger was escorted by another Navy Veteran who is 100 years old. The kind man from the funeral home was also a veteran, and the VA care home provided the beautiful flag. Employees and residents saluted, or put their hands on their hearts as we walked by.
We are so grateful for all the love and kindness from so many.