Category Archives: Ramblings

A Quiet Place To Run

18 Sunday Aug 2013

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What I love most about this place we live is that there is always a new place, always a place with no people, always green and water and sweet air.

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Sometimes you just have to look a little further, venture someplace you don’t know.

The dogs and I have five places we usually run, and in all five, for most of the year, we have the trails to ourselves.  This time of year, the two river trails are busy with summer people, and the other three trails, beyond the gates on tree company land, were closed to entry two weeks ago because of elevated fire danger.

So we’ve been going to the river trails in the early morning before the summer people have had their breakfast, but a late shift Friday had us out in the afternoon with no place to go, so we went further up Larch Mountain, into the National Forest land, to find a place.

At milepost 9, we found a gate with paved road and walked in.

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Well, I walked.  The dogs exuberated.  (No, it’s not a word.)  (But it should be.)

I expected, it being Larch Mountain and all, and Larch Mountain having a large network of trails, that we would come across a trail that would take us off into the woods, but two miles of paved, and another mile of pack gravel before we ran into a Bull Run Watershed No Trespassing sign, and nary a trail.

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Still.  Beautiful little creeks that those of us in the party with four nimble legs could get down to for a cool down, wildflowers by the road, gorgeous forest, and quiet.

Venture out someplace you don’t know.  There’s something there, I promise.

Here, have a smile.

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Snapshot No. 7

27 Saturday Jul 2013

Posted by in And Around, Ramblings, Snapshots

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The end of July always feels like it came too soon.  There is such a brief moment of summer, and where has it gone.  Beauty day after beauty day slips away in the thousand things, defined by the small pieces of each, and the next time you look around, the greens have faded under the sun, and the river runs low and green, and the dark comes earlier every day.

It is the time to slow down and notice the tiny gifts, to make the most of the strong days and soft evenings.

And to go out in the yard and sleep with an old dog under a starred night sky.

Image:  Loree Harrell, July 2013, King by the spring on Larch Mountain.

Snapshot 6

05 Friday Jul 2013

Posted by in And Around, Day Trips, Ramblings, Snapshots

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huckleberry red

I have to tell you a funny story about red huckleberries.

You didn’t even know there was a funny story about red huckleberries, did you?

Well, anyway.

Back in the days when I was married, my husband and I went on a trip.  We must have been somewhere out in The Woods, because we were on a dirt road in a much-loved F150, and I spotted red berries on a bush and said Stop! I Want Some Of Those Berries!

My husband, being a good and sensible man, said, Are You Sure Those Berries Are Edible?

I said, Yes, of course they are.  I remember those berries from my childhood.  Dad said they were edible and we ate them and we didn’t die and so, Yes.  Of Course They Are.

My husband, being a both good and reasonable man, stopped the much-loved F150, and I debarked and ate several handfuls of the berries.

…

A mile or so down the dirt road, my logic superceded my enthusiasm, and I wasn’t Quite as sure those were the berries of my childhood, and I said, I Think those were the same berries we ate and didn’t die.

I could see him, being a good man, and also an ex- Eagle Scout, making a Plan for how to get me to a hospital without breaking the much-loved F150, and, really, I was being silly (probably) so I said, I’m sure those were the berries of my childhood, and we both pretended to relax while waiting for me not to die.

Anyway.

The point is.

Last week there were no huckleberries.
This week there are huckleberries.
The moral of the story is there are cycles in life.
Or the moral of the story is there are huckleberries in life.
[Both red and blue.]

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One of those.

Larch Mountain is as much information as you get because, really, there ain’t enough for both of us.

Snapshot No. 5

22 Wednesday May 2013

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Sometimes it’s all gray and green, cottonwood fluff…

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and sweet sweet blue.

Sweet sweet blue

I love the living smell of spring –  the pungencies of cottonwood and warming damp earth, of scotch broom and wet dog. 

Almost a match for the abundance of green.

[cellphone pics, dusk, and drizzle… ]

Snapshot No. 4

13 Monday May 2013

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Sandy River Gorge; Loree Harrell, May 2013

It was raining lightly when I got to the woods last night after an overcast day.  That was good after days of beautiful blue sky, as it meant we had the trail to ourselves.

In the rain, under gray skies, the forest was glowing with a light all of its own.

I never remember how it is.
Or maybe I choose not to remember.

So that each shift is fresh wonder.

 

A Triumph Of Trilliums

14 Sunday Apr 2013

Posted by in And Around, Other Side Of The Inside Of The Box, Ramblings

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When I was a young girl, what I knew about trilliums was that each one will only bloom once every seven years.

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I don’t know if that is true, or if it was something to tell a child who wanted to take the treasure of a perfect flower home for her own, or if, maybe, I am remembering something that never happened at all.
I don’t expect I’ll ever punch the buttons to find out.

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Because do you know what happens when you find out that this beautiful, this perfectly white, this immaculately formed, miracle first flower of spring in front of you last bloomed in the year you were born?

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It creates a miracle in every next time you see it for the rest of a whole life.  Something joyful that is only for you.

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The first trillium appeared on my trail to the Sandy River on March 26th.  Every day, the first was joined by the next and then more, until there were dozens.  Right there and just for me.  And for the past twenty days, I have hiked that two miles down, two miles up, with more delight than the everyday peace that place is for me.

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They are starting to fade.  White petals tingeing to lavender, today’s deluge of rain and hail bowing their heads.

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It’s okay.  The wild strawberries and the salmon berries are blooming and will soon be a different kind of delight.  The ferns are showing new furls, and will fan out to obscure their winter-killed fronds.  The cottonwoods are leafing and, once again, the understory will contain no clear paths through.

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I hope that when my season is done, I turn gently to lavender before I sink back to ground.

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Mama, thank you for teaching me this love of wet and green and mud.
Loree