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

The Pilgrim's Way.

Lindisfarne is known as the Holy Island. It turns out that this place, back in the 7th c., was full of learning and industry and, relatively speaking, wealth. It's where the Lindisfarne Gospels were produced. And the Vikings, those axe-wielding, longboat riding Vikings, busted it all up. It's fairly riveting as medieval religious stories go, since in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, it's reported that in 793 when the Vikings struck,

'In this year dire portents appeared over Northumbria and sorely frightened the people. They consisted of immense whirlwinds and flashes of lightening, and fiery dragons were seen flying in the air. A great famine immediately followed those signs and a little after that in the same year, on 8 June, the ravages of heathen men miserably destroyed God’s church on Lindisfarne, with plunder and slaughter.'

[Side note: among my excellent company today, which included a son-in-law educated in Scotland, a daughter who was an English major, and three Scottish schoolchildren--and the historian!--I was the only one who ever heard of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle. Frankly, I could not believe this, the people. On the other hand, my granddaughter said under her breath, 'dragons are real.' Thank you, Anglo-Saxon Chronicler!]
Anyway: as my daughter pointed out today, in the past two days, I've had the chance to do two things I have long wanted to do--visit Jupiter Artland, and walk from the mainland across the causeway at low tide to Lindisfarne. And visit the ruined priory, etc.
Yesterday, I was trying to size up the actual length and walking conditions of the walk. I thought I had read that it was about a mile. Piece of cake. But then I read somewhere a length of five miles, which isn't a big deal except that you have to get on and off the island during the hours of low tide, or you're stuck, and while I wanted to have a tiny inkling of that walking the pilgrim's way thing*, I didn't want to do it at the expense of seeing it with my daughter, the historian, my grandchildren. Also, the description of the five miles mentioned mud. And I only brought one pair of shoes on this road trip. (NOTE TO SELF: one pair of shoes is NEVER A GOOD IDEA.)
Last night at dinner, I said to my son-in-law, 'The good news is, I've made up my mind not to worry about the walking. I mean, I would like to do the walk, but I don't want to make a fetish of it, and the more important thing is going to the island.'
Sensibly, he pointed out that we could just check it out when we got there this morning. Of course. Just wait and see. And when we arrived this morning, the weather was beautiful, the length of the walk was clearly just under a mile, and they agreed they'd be glad to drive to the other side while the historian and I walked. Perfect.
So my one pair of shoes and the historian and I walked across the causeway:

and it was glorious.
***
When we got there, we saw this

and also this:

and also this:

Let it be noted in the Chronicles: this was a great day.

(and also: dragons are real.)

*It should be noted: the actual Pilgrim's Way is not the causeway--you have to follow markers, and it's longer, and--it must be said--muddier. Full disclosure: I took the easy way. The one pair of shoes way. Definitely, I did.

Birds of America.

When I look at all the pictures I've taken over the last few years, they fall into the following categories:

1. grandchildren
2. children
3. the historian
4. flowers
5. the sky
6. birds
7. graffiti and street signs
8. art

I'm not sure I have any explanation for these categories, or if I need one. I love these pictures, in all the categories, and looking through them is a window into what that day was like--that particular sky, the light, the location, the specific birds. I also feel a certain exhilaration in capturing a bird, any bird, in the frame. Even if the capture is blurry--it conveys speed. 

Palm Canyon

Tanager (Idaho)

Tanager (Idaho)

L.A. River, Glendale Narrows

Palm Canyon 

Along the river walk, L.A. River, Glendale Narrows

Palm Canyon

L.A. River, Glendale Narrows

L.A. River, Glendale Narrows

Island Park, Idaho

Harriman State Park, Railroad Ranch Bridge

Memo from Idaho.

Up the road, they're excavating a site where, formerly, there was a cabin. This was a place on the river--we used to use their pier to walk out to the water, and to clamber up after a river float. Now, there's a truck rumbling up and down, carrying away dirt and rock from that site. Eventually, maybe, there'll be a new cabin there.

In the spirit of home improvement, we have purchased two new mattresses. The old ones were pretty darn old--fifty years old, my dad says. Below, the miracle of a box spring, naked and still shiny. It was very springy, which made it not such an excellent mattress for sleeping. For making a lot of bouncy noise, it was awesome.

Hardly anyone is up here in the village. So we walked up the road past the cabins, at the moment unoccupied, to the river.

There are birds everywhere. We found a couple of nests in the eaves.


We also have burrowed in, with our food, our paints, our woolly socks (it's a bit chilly here), our cameras, our books.

On our evening walk, the birds let us get pretty close:

Los Angeles: the report (Part 3).

On the second day, we headed up Highway 1 to Topanga Canyon, after which we planned to hit Mulholland Drive. But first, we went to Venice Beach, which inexplicably I had also never been too.

Historian: You've never been to Venice Beach?

Me: (my life has been a hollow, empty shell.)

So we stopped. We walked on the beach. We absorbed some of the local culture. We bought two cds from guys on the strand.

Reggae guy: You will like it! I'm asking just $10, but whatever you can pay.

Me: I love music! I am happy to pay for music, especially directly to the musician.

Hiphop guy (with another cd): You will like it.

Me: Um, we just bought a cd from that guy.

Hiphop guy: I know that guy, his music is good. Reggae. Mine is very different. I speak five languages. I am from Senegal.

Me: Senegal? Cool. (pays $10 to hiphop guy)

Other musician guy: (brandishes cds)

Me: (flees)

We listened to the cds while we drove up Topanga Canyon. And that was pretty awesome.

TAGS: long billed birds, street art, iconic, hollow shell, suckers for the music

Land spreadin' out so far and wide.

In the city, there are movies. Lots of movies. Harry Potter, for instance. There are grocery stores with a lot of produce. In the city, there is a farmer's market, and there are peaches. In the city, I could be having lunch with my friends, and petting my dog, and wearing different clothes than the ones I've been wearing. I could wear blue shoes instead of red ones. Or yellow shoes. There are free concerts downtown.

In the city, I have a garden and flowers. A combination of sprinklers and twenty-year-olds are watering them. People are having parties and I am not in attendance. There are outdoor chairs I could sit in after having taken Bruiser for a walk whilst sipping iced tea.

In the city, there are grandchildren I haven't seen for two weeks. Swimming pools. Target. A printer.

In the city there are no bats under the eaves.

In the city there is a library where I could return the novels I have already read and in turn, check out new ones.

HOWEVER: in the city, I almost certainly would not have done the work I've done here, to wit: revising sixteen poems and counting, renaming the manuscript, and getting a grip (yet again) on what it's all about. I would not have read so many books and I would not have spent as many peaceful, restorative hours in a place I love, with the historian whom I love. I would not have seen so many birds or coyotes (or bats), nor would I have logged as much river-time.

City: when I come back I will have a big howdy for you. But till then, I'll be living off the land and whupping my manuscript into shape. I trust there'll still a little bit of city-style summer fun left when I see you again.

Too soon to tell.

A video essay about patience.

patience. from lisab on Vimeo.

Update 1.

We arrived yesterday evening. Our accomplishments thus far:

1. Brought up two bikes with no mishaps.
2. Slept the sleep of the blessed last night.
3. Cabin-napping. (Studies show that cabin-napping is far superior to regular napping.)
4. Two walks by the river.
5. Watched a new episode of Law & Order: Criminal Intent, which featured an egocentric poet/editor of a poetry magazine. Oh! 'twas very heaven.
6. Watched three episodes of In Treatment, which is everything I have been told it would be. Which is to say, excellent.
7. I finished one L.A. detective novel and am now halfway through The Black Dahlia. Which is excellent as well. Remind me to tell you about my whole new L.A. thing. There is a reading list.
8. Started reading through my manuscript. Hey. It's the weekend. I'll get serious tomorrow, which is Monday, which is, in case you forgot, the beginning of the work week.

The people, Idaho is beautiful. There are birds everywhere, all kinds of birds. It is warm but not hot, and there was a wonderful stiff wind swooping around everywhere while we were eating our dinner, which was spaghetti, which tasted like everything tastes up here: perfect.