Waking and dreaming in Idaho.

First, I'm definitely not getting enough sleep. Chalk that up to jet lag, but also the early morning dog, and also jet lag, and the argument my body makes, rather insistently, when I'm in this sleep deprivation mode, that everything is terrible and it will never get better and why WHY is that damned dog coming to our room so [expletive] early in the morning?

Bruiser, expressing his wish to travel to Idaho with us

by climbing into the passenger's seat.

Second, yesterday, I gave a getting-ready-for-school meeting the slip, leaving it midstream, to hightail it out of Salt Lake for the north, aka Idaho. Nothing against the meeting. It was a great meeting. It's just that we had a date with Idaho.

Was I tired whilst we drove? Yes, I certainly was. Did that sense of the persistent terrible tag along, like a sad little cloud? Sure it did. Still, as we drove the Mesa Falls loop to evade probably terrible road work, saw the Tetons over there in the distance, fields white with wheat, then lodge pole pine and aspen interspersing in a thickening forest, that sad little cloud seemed smaller. That voice less strident.

Thirdly, this place never fails me.

I still woke up way too early this morning (see: jet lag). I have a poem to write, and that's what woke me up. Well, that and some achiness (hey, spell check: achiness is not Chinese!). As I lay there in the dark, paying attention to my breath, I felt, rather than thought, the injunction: Steady now. And the poem began to articulate its own edges, and I kept breathing (as you do), and more came to me. So I got up at 5:45 a.m., and started to write.

The naps here are unparalleled. That's fourth.

Also? Early morning light. And early morning toast.

Song of the little road trip

how much work did you do today,
the day before fall break?
and what did you eat
for breakfast?

was it healthy? or your usual?
two-a-day? or one-a-day?
did you submit
your portfolio yet?

and what are the names
of the things you forgot?
did the traffic slow, and then
pick up again,

and slow and then
pick up again?
what color was the light
when you took

the turn to the north?
do you know where you'll be
staying? what did you buy
at the vending machine?

what's your prediction for
the quality of your fall break sleep?
have you devised the rubric
by which it will be assessed?

are you still writing
in your Pocatello motel
room? are you? still? tell
the truth: does the bathroom

smell like cigarettes?
when you go to the mountain,
what tribute will you give it?
will you lumber like a bear

down the village street? will you
drive over the pass in the dark?
who will be your bodyguard?
who will be your long lost pal?

Bird life of Idaho.

In Idaho, we love several things:

1. the journey up, as we leave behind, for at least hours and most happily days, the things that press us and worry us.
2. the georgian vista, as I once said grandly in a poem, of the high mountain valleys.
3. the blessed, blessed quiet.
4. the quality of the sleep, and the air, and the--again--quiet.
5. the river.
6. the birds at the river.

It's September, and we have been feeling the chill of it--up here, it's maybe fifteen or twenty degrees cooler, sometimes, than in Salt Lake--but there are still birds enough to give us a few thrills.

Flyaway. #henrysfork

A photo posted by Lisa Bickmore (@megastore) on Sep 6, 2015 at 9:55pm PDT

On the bridge at the river. #henrysfork

A photo posted by Lisa Bickmore (@megastore) on Sep 6, 2015 at 9:57pm PDT

The pelican line up. #henrysfork

A photo posted by Lisa Bickmore (@megastore) on Sep 6, 2015 at 9:59pm PDT

It's a blue heron on the #henrysfork

A photo posted by Lisa Bickmore (@megastore) on Sep 6, 2015 at 10:00pm PDT

The blue heron again, on the other side of the river. #henrysfork

A photo posted by Lisa Bickmore (@megastore) on Sep 6, 2015 at 10:03pm PDT

Big Springs at the dimming of the day.

A photo posted by Lisa Bickmore (@megastore) on Sep 6, 2015 at 10:02pm PDT

This

is it for the year, for us anyway. We will probably stop in sometime in October, but it will be closed for the year. Here are some things we saw today:

Mink? on the bridge.

shadow upon the water

waning moon rising

Quick trip--we're turning around tomorrow to go home. We'll hang around in the morning, though--one more ride down to the river.

Here I am.

We got here at five yesterday. I made dinner at six thirty. There was an awesome thunderstorm and rain. I fell asleep reading at eight thirty or do and slept for eleven hours, give or take. Yeah. Happy labor day weekend, everyone!

 

Posted with Blogsy

Lovely things from the last couple of days.

 

Van.

needing a moment.

 

at the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone.

 

At Big Springs.

 

Duke finds the water a little dubious.

 

Elk Nation.

The Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone.

The lower falls.

At the lower falls.

Posted with Blogsy

The river.

Today, we went to the boat launch at the river. It's just around the corner, so to speak, if there were actual corners around here.

The boys collected rocks to throw, to make big and little splashes with. I rolled up my pant legs and got in with them. They got thoroughly soaked. I dropped my glasses in the water, twice, but was able to retrieve them both times. I found some truly choice rocks for the boys, including one that was shaped like an arrow head.

After we were way wet and and had had about as much fun as was possible, we walked back home.

 

 

 

 

Posted with Blogsy

Yes, I can.

[Note to anyone keeping track: as long as I am still awake, it's still my "day," and thus my post counts. By my rules, anyway.] 

A few months ago, when I was planning this trip to Idaho with my daughter and the two grandsons, I thought, "Am I trying to repeat something that was really great, just to repeat it? Am I not thereby courting disappointment?" It was a stray thought, an errant thought. I proceeded anyway. Whatever would be different would be different, I reasoned. And what would be good would be good, regardless of the fact that we had done it, or something very like it, before, and it was lovely then and I hoped it would be lovely again.

Well, it is lovely. Lovely again, and lovely anew.

It's a little like the same old places we almost always visit every time we come up here, no matter the cast of characters. Today, we took the boys to Mesa Falls. We always try to go at around 10:30 a.m., the time my father once told me was when you could count on the light catching the spray and forming a spectrum of light. A rainbow.

Every time I go, I try to capture that light, and something about the force of the water. I'm pretty sure that each time, I try to capture just about the same exact image. I remind myself: you're trying to capture pretty much the same exact image. But I do it anyway. The capturing is part of it--the attempt--but it's also, I guess, a way of seeing the beauty anew.

tuff

basalt

The places to which we return, we return to for a reason. For me, it's because what's there evokes feelings that matter to me. Something primary, something that feels original to me. I feel so lucky to be able to come back here--this place that is part of any sensible definition of home to me--and to have shared it with my grandparents, my parents, my siblings, my aunts and uncles, my children and now their children. So, so very lucky.

Up here,

it rained tonight.
The fireweed is starting to bloom.
After midnight, we saw five shooting stars between us.

Also, the internet was iffy for a few hours--who knows why? So I will have pictures tomorrow. Anyway: I am up here with two grandsons, a daughter and her friend, and it is as peaceful and lovely as can be. Happy Idaho to all.

I would need a better camera,

or better words or at least a better lens. But I'll give it a whirl anyway:

Today, we drove up a mountain, which was different than what we thought we were doing. We thought we were driving east where there might, possibly, be . . . wait for it . . . bears. Or, to be more precise, where "it's the kind of country where you'd think there might be bears," as our friend stroke grocer recommended. We talked to him like three different times to straighten out what the directions would be to this mythic bear-possible-land. All of them involved Hwy. 291 and the post office.

Today we bought what surely is the most useless map of all time, of Jefferson and Fremont counties. It futzes around with all sorts of little roads with their little number names, not one of which we saw in actuality. But never mind. We did see a small sign with the number 291 on it, and lo we did follow it, and we did not turn from it. That's because the cashier at the other grocery store where we bought the useless map told us that, yes, he knew about 291, it was an unpaved road, "kind of washboardy," and criss-crossed by all sorts of road shenanigans--"a railroad track, ATV tracks," whatnot--things that might lead a person who doesn't know her way around a backroads mountain to get real good and lost.

Whatever. Our middle name is "Intrepid," so off we went up a mountain. Which we did not know we were going to do.

The guy was right--there was criss-crossery--but it didn't divert us from Hwy. 291, no sir. Every so often, we saw a sign, which kept us on the true path. Once we passed Hwy 292, which was on the map, we started to ascend.

"We're going up a mountain," I said to the historian. Why this should have been surprising, I don't know. But it was.

Ascend, then switchback, then switchback and ascend some more. Then lo:

The people, it blew my mind.

For the life of me I cannot figure out what mountain or ridge we were on top of. When I do find out, I will let you know.

6/23: intel: Here--that curvy folded part--is where we were. Unfortunately, it still has no name:

The Six Sigma of Idaho.

Remember this?



30 Rock Six Sigma from Bob Burtowsky on Vimeo.


Apparently, the real Six Sigma is an actual business thing, that tons of businesses do, that has to do with consistency, as demonstrated by the following graphic, which I totally understand which is why I made this screen capture of it from Wikipedia:

It apparently "seeks to improve the quality of process outputs by identifying and removing the causes of defects (errors) and minimizing variability in manufacturing and business processes." (also quoting Wikipedia. I am pretty sure it is the best source of information for topics like these, especially for blogging purposes.) Six Sigma is also apparently really funny. Tina Fey says so.


Well, in order to improve the quality of process outputs by identifying and removing the causes of defects for your future vacation in Idaho, I offer the following Six Sigmas (I know: the Sigma isn't  plural; moreover, the Sigma aren't things and have nothing to do with teamwork, insight, brutality, male enhancement, handshakery or play hard. But I'm pretending that they do, for blogging purposes) of Idaho:

• reclining
• indolence
• cookie eating
• book reading improvement
• snackery
• sleep hard

(Sorry there's no graph or chart, but my improvement of process outputs (see above) does not allow time for this kind of chart-making frippery.)


I am awarding myself a Black Belt in Six Sigma of Idaho. I think I deserve it.

The last post about bears. Probably.

Today, after our epic Yellowstone bear-seeing quest, we stayed close to home--took a little bike ride, admired the river which had, at the time we rode by it, practically no fishermen, read a lot, wrote, made cookie dough (which is currently curing in the refrigerator, since that's apparently what cookie dough needs nowadays), took small naps. You know, like you do.

An old friend from long ago, a writer and a gentleman, tells me on Facebook, where I have been airing my plaintive lament about the bears and how Yellowstone is apparently not letting anyone see them, that he sees bears all the time in the park, and also that bears show themselves only to the pure in heart. And, seriously, there's a part of me that kind of, sort of, believes him.

I probably need to engage in more serious, focused bear-seeking behavior, and not just identify a stretch of road where bears have appeared to other people. Perhaps I need to slow down more, stay still more. Perhaps I need to learn, really, how to look for bears.

When I was a kid, bears just showed up at--literally--your picnic. There's a part of me that thinks I ought to be able to see a bear just by showing up myself. A few years ago, I was in fine mega-fauna spotting form (no bears, but moose). Of late, I appear to have lost my animal-finding ways.

(I may or may not be talking about my inner life here.)

Anyway. I've been thinking about totems, a little bit--the animals that seem to express what we long for in our inner lives. What animal is my totem? Sometimes I think it is a dog, but actually a dog--a certain dog--may be my muse. Can a dog be both a totem and a muse? Maybe. I find that when I see other animals, I see Bruiser in them. For instance, take a look at this seal we saw in Scotland:

There were lots of these seals lounging about on a sunny day at Newburgh beach. Lots and lots of them. Some of them were in the water, coming very close to the edge where my granddaughters, their trouser legs rolled up, were running up to and barely into the water, then running back. This one's eyes remind me of Bruiser's--wary, soulful, apart.

I do not think a bear is my totem animal nor my muse. But bears are an emblem of where I come from, so I would like to see one again--be in the right place, however one defines place--be clear-eyed, patient, still enough--I want my heart to be pure enough for a bear to reveal itself to me.