OK, all I can say is I gave it my best shot: I am just not meant to be domesticated. It’s been two years since my last Beagle post
and during that time I purchased a lovely home on Bainbridge Island and tried
my best to sit still. I even built a
pottery studio—talk about sitting still!
I picked wild blackberries from my yard and made jam, I canned pint
after pint of apples as they fell off my trees, I gorged on blueberries that grew
in my little fruit orchard. How much
more domesticated could I be?
But this past summer I found myself becoming more and more
unhappy; I didn’t feel like myself and, looking back now, I can see I had become
depressed. Despite being in the PNW
during the summer (which I do enjoy), the burden of home-ownership and the
feeling of being trapped on an island combined to make me claustrophobic and unhappy.
And all this time Beagle was patiently waiting adjacent to
my house. I would hitch her up on occasion
and take her for a drive which only served to enhance my feeling of living a
lie; I belong in Beagle. It hurt to lock
her back up.
Then I realized that just because I own a house doesn’t mean
I have to stay in it. I considered
getting back to spending one-third of my time in Beagle, but was that a good
idea? At some point, in advancing age,
shouldn’t you welcome the familiar and the known? Was I crazy?
All it took was opening Google Maps; all that open space,
all those places yet unseen. I started planning
a two-month journey through Montana, Wyoming, Colorado, Utah, Nevada, California
& Arizona, a giant Z across the western states which would allow me to
visit dear friends and family.
I felt like Me again and received the bonus effect of suddenly
realizing that my lovely BI home can just be looked at like a fantastic VRBO which
I have for three to five months a year—during the glorious months of fruit
harvesting and paddling on Puget Sound.
I already felt lighter.
Knowing that I wanted to visit the Grand Tetons, one of my
favorite places on this entire planet, and end up in Colorado by the 10th
of September for two tennis tournaments with one of my favorite people on this entire
planet, I had a bit of a time constraint.
So, oddly for me, I plotted the first four nights as one-night stops and
learned that I love it. The mileage per
day was low—the longest was 280 and the shortest was 126 which allowed me plenty
of time in the afternoon for a long walk and leisurely mornings of exploration,
hiking and paddleboarding. (Two campgrounds I stayed in had a 1:00 PM checkout of
which I took full advantage)
One such morning dawned in Salmon Lake State Park, Montana. Having
done the quick campground trail to the day use area, I packed up Opus and we
set off in Lebchen (Wurzig’s replacement, still a Cayenne, of course), leaving
Beagle behind. And oh the joy of driving
without the trailer after two rather long days on the road! This
day we found nirvana: Placid Lake State Park in Montana. It is worth breaking my
rule of no gravel roads for Beagle (a mere two miles of it) to reach the park
along the shores of the shimmering Placid Lake.
From the campground there are miles of trails and we Carpe Hikem’ed; parking
Lebchen on the side of the road, to hike a couple of miles of the Lakeview Trail. It will be a revisit next year.
It has been twelve years since I traveled through Montana in Salt with Alan (and the three dogs and five chickens) and I had forgotten how much I love that state. It’s like Colorado with water and like Idaho without the guns and Jesus. I will do this again next fall and plan on spending a lot more time there.
Early on in the trip, like as soon as I was driving off the
ferry in Seattle, I knew I had made the right decision. I felt like me, I felt free and adventuresome. On the
fourth day of travel, driving south on the gorgeous Highway 287 in Montana, the
Zac Brown Band’s “Free” song came on, I wanted to belt out the lyrics but since
my aneurysm situation, I knew that doing so will bring about a screeching pain
a few minutes later. So I quietly sang along. But then Toby Keith’s “How Do You Like Me Now”
came on and I threw open the sunroof and sang along at the top of my lungs
thinking about that woman back on BI who wondered if living this life was
crazy.
How do you like me now? Now that I’m on my way? Do you still think I’m crazy standing here today?
Couldn’t have been more perfect.
Well, I could have done without the screeching pain. But it was worth it.
***
PS: If you are
wondering how an atheist and confirmed bachelorette can stand listening to
country music, it’s simple: I substitute
“kit” for “jesus” and think of Opus when the songs turn to love.
