Camping Trip: Iron Creek Campground and Lava Canyon, Washington

 

Cispus River near Iron Creek Campground

After our hike at Mount St. Helens, we were all ready to get to our next campsite and relax (and we were crossing our fingers for fewer mosquitoes, too!). When we pulled up into our campsite of the Iron Creek Campground, I let out a sigh of both relief and wonder. Massive Douglas firs towered over our campsite, moss draped over every visible surface, ferns rustled in a cool breeze, and the nearby Cispus River created a calming white noise. It was a slice of old-growth Northwestern forest, a place saved from the saws that devastated— and continue to devastate— the ecosystems all around it. 

Camping Trip: Windy Ridge, Mount St. Helens, Washington

 Gary, Zach and I have hiked at Mount St. Helens a couple times before (Harry's Ridge in 2019 and Ape Canyon Trail last year), but it's a big mountain, and there was another trail to explore, one that began at the very end of a long forest road on the eastern side of the mountain. We drove through fog and clouds, glimpsing views of the flanks of the mountains around us, as well as a stunning vista of Spirit Lake, which is half-covered with dead white tree trunks from the 1980 blast, floating like ice on the top of the water.

Camping Trip: Takhlakh Lake, Washington

 After two days of huddling next to a window air conditioner to weather the 116ºF heat, Gary, Zach and I packed up the car to head out on a two-night camping trip in the Gifford-Pinchot National Forest in southern Washington. The first night we'd be camping at Takhlakh Lake, near the base of Mount Adams, a handsome volcanic dome that Zach and I hiked around on the Pacific Crest Trail years ago.

Flying

 

Last Sunday, Zach and I were up in the air again. Masked and loaded up with backpacks, we shuffled onto the plane and settled into our seats for our flight from St. Louis to Portland, Oregon. After so many years of piecing together shorter flights and long layovers, I always feel like I'm teleporting when, a mere four hours after takeoff, we land in the alternate reality that is the Pacific Northwest. (This reality was obviously from a different timeline than usual, though: how else could you explain the 111ºF temperatures?)

Scenes from the Northwest

 

We booked our flight to Portland a few eons ago, hoping that the pandemic would be well contained by then and that we'd feel confident about flying. Eons passed(I don't remember much of it, just lots of hiking to the music of cicadas, and teaching people about sourdough bread, and hours spent staring into the void [aka the internet]), and we made the decision to go anyway. We wanted to visit family. We wanted to hike beside the waterfalls and breathe the smell of pine needles warmed by the alpine sun.

This Month: Cards, Hiking, and the Way Home

View from Harry's Ridge at Mt. St. Helens National Monument: Spirit Lake and Mt. Adams

Whew, it's been a while since I've posted a general life update! I've been so busy waxing eloquent about our backpacking trips and rambling about random things that I've let several weeks go by since the last "this week" post. 

The most important news is that Zach and I are officially on the last leg of our time out west; we're heading home to St. Louis in just over two weeks, and have been trying to cram as much Northwest into our remaining days as we possibly can. On Sunday we're heading to Yellowstone to visit my brother Christian for a week, and after that we're hoping to do a short camping trip with Gary, as well as see everyone one last time before hopping the plane.

The end of a trip is always surreal, and especially this one. Seven months is a long time to spend time in a place; I still don't quite feel like I can say we "lived" here, but realistically speaking, I suppose we have.

Now, at the end of our time, I keep on struggling with all the things we didn't do, all the places we didn't visit and events we said we'd attend but didn't. But I keep reminding myself that this is not the last time we'll be out here.

In the meantime, here is some stuff we did do over the past month…

Single Candle Card Productions

I've always made cards for people; one of the reasons I looked forward to Christmas, Valentine's Day, and birthdays was so I'd be able to make cards. When I was about seven, I thought it would be cool to draw a logo on the back of my cards, and I chose a single candle, along with the inscription "Single Candle Card Productions" on the back, because that sounded impressive to seven-year-old me.

Fast-forward twenty-three years, and I'd started drawing more consistently. After kicking around the idea for a few months, I finally took the plunge by setting up an online shop and ordering some prints. Single Candle Card Productions was "real!"

If you're interested in checking out my work, hop on over to my Facebook shop. I'd love it if you liked and followed my page, along with sharing any of my posts that catch your eye. (Thanks so much to all of you who have already done that!) And of course, if you'd like to buy some cards, that would be great too!

Hiking Mt. St. Helens

A couple Sundays ago, we hiked the eight-mile out-and-back trail Harry's Ridge at Mt. St. Helens National Monument. I'd seen the mountain on the Portland skyline for years, but never visited up close, and it was a perfect day for a hike: chilly and sunny. I highly recommend the hike; in addition to winding through some beautiful wildflowers and huckleberry bushes heavy with fruit, it took us up on a ridge with incredible views of Spirit Lake, which is lined with the white skeletons of trees destroyed by the blast. 

Exploring Ape Caves

Zach had visited this 2.4-mile-long lava tube as a teenager, and it had been on our to-do list for years now. We drove up to the park with our friends Tyler and Adrienne, and spent a couple hours hiking through the frigid hallway of the lava flow. Sometimes it felt like we were hiking in catacombs (we sang some Gregorian-chant-inspired improv), sometimes like the belly of a whale, sometimes a cathedral, sometimes a chamber lined with enormous eels. The Lower Cave route was smooth-floored and open, leading to a dead end tucked far beneath the surface. We returned to the Upper Cave route, which headed toward the surface and required some serious boulder-hopping and clambering over loose rock. It was the longest I had ever spent underground, and when we climbed a ladder through a skylight out into the sunlight, I felt like Jill emerging from the underground realm in The Silver Chair. It was an incredible place to visit— if you're ever in the Northwest, check it out!

Playing Xfest

Zach and I spent last weekend at the Xfest Christian music festival in Stevenson, Washington, visiting old friends, watching bands play, and taking lots of walks along Rock Cove and the Columbia River, watching gaggles of snow geese dabbling in the water, ospreys wheeling overhead, and huge bevies of California quail scurrying like cartoon roadrunners across the road into the blackberry thickets. We played with Insomniac Folklore on Sunday night, which was a lot of fun, too!

Morning at Rock Cove

Downtime

Since we're going to be traveling a lot the next couple weeks, we tried to take some downtime this week. We went peach- and blackberry-picking with Gary at Sauvie Island, played a house show with Insomniac Folklore, and took an eight-mile walk to downtown Vancouver (Washington) to hang out in the park and read books at the library. Now Zach is finishing up his last few days of work before his vacation days kick in.

Right now, going home doesn't feel real. I'm just floating along, trying to soak everything in, letting the current of events take me wherever I'm supposed to go.

~~~

This Week: The Food Is Aliiiive! (And Some Hiking)

This peacock lives down the road from us and we found him eating the fallen blossoms. (He is alive, but he is not food.)

"Week" is a pretty loose term around here, as you may have noticed, especially when I lose a few days to some sort of mild flu. As I sit here sniffling and listening to the sound of the rain, I have to shuffle through my photos to help me remember what's been going on since the last update. In short? A few outdoor activities, and lots of mad kitchen science.

Homemade tempeh. Tempeh is a soybean (or any other kind of bean) product made by introducing a particular kind of spore to the beans, which then forms into a janky-looking covering of fuzzy white mold, similar to bleu cheese. Tempeh making is much more temperamental than tofu, so I left the project up to Zach— hence the mad science. The tempeh has to incubate at a particular temperature for 12-24 hours, so Zach bought a temperature-controlling device, which hooks up to a crockpot full of water, which is covered with a pan with the tempeh on it, which is covered with a towel to keep the heat in. I'm sorry to say I didn't get a picture while it was going on, but I did snap some shots of the tempeh when I was cooking it. It doesn't hold together as well as it should (we think we need to cook the soybeans more prior to fermenting them), but after being marinated in a soy-sauce-maple-syrup-paprika-garlic-liquid-smoke sauce and then pan-fried, it was darn delicious. Zach is going to try making another batch tonight to refine his technique. I get to cook and eat his creations. Win-win.

A cross-section of the tempeh. See the white fungus on top?

Marinating...

Frying...

Ready to eat!

Incubating yogurt with the fancy new temperature control

Yogurt. I had made yogurt years ago, but had switched to kefir since it's much easier. However, Zach's love for yogurt inspired him to get me to try again. The first batch (my batch) utterly failed because the culture I used (some leftover kefir) wasn't strong enough (the thickened milk was used for buckwheat pancakes instead), but Zach tried again with a different starter (fancy yogurt from the produce store), and was successful (method here if you want to try it). He's been eating it by the pint. 

Mead. Zach started a batch of mead, with a little help from supplies bought at the local brewing shop. 

Miscellaneous ferments. We also made a big batch of sauerkraut, some hot pepper mash that will eventually become hot sauce, and homemade fermented mayonnaise, which is pretty delicious. It's a fermented food kind of week! Next we're going to try sourdough tortillas.

The Wildwood Trail. With the help of a car, a shuttle bus, and some running down a mountainside to catch the aforementioned bus, we managed to hike the last section of the 30.2-mile-long Wildwood Trail in Portland's Forest Park. We have previously hiked two other parts of it, but now we've officially section-hiked it! If you live anywhere near this incredible trail, you are missing out if you don't check it out. 

Lacamas Creek Trail. Located in Camas, WA (a bus ride away from where we live), this is another gorgeous trail tucked into the unassuming urban sprawl. We've hiked it twice in the past few weeks, winding through woods, along a picturesque creek and lake, and over a meadow with the last of the camas lilies blooming.

See the cormorant perched on a tiny log in the water?

Reading: This Changes Everything: Capitalism vs. the Climate by Naomi Klein. I'm about halfway through this book, and holy schaMOLEY is it depressing. But I'm learning a lot, and I can feel my perspectives shifting as I more clearly and intentionally contemplate the crisis that humanity finds itself in today with our current economic system's effect on the changing climate. If you're into dense, depressing, but incredibly thought-provoking books about the environment, this is a good one. 

What have you been up to this week?

~~~

Mount Hamilton

Since arriving in the Northwest, Zach and I have gotten to do a fair bit of walking and short hikes around the area, but the highlight so far was our summit of Mount Hamilton, a peak along the Washington side of the Columbia Gorge, a couple weeks ago.

We arrived in a snowy parking lot and set out into the woods, our shoes squelching in the slushy mud. The trail began fairly mildly, winding along the hillsides covered in Douglas firs. Zebra stripes of light fell across the trunks, creating a dappled pattern of green all around. A mile in, we paused to check out some waterfalls that bounced down the hillside, including a pool where the first ten-foot fall thundered into a smooth sink it had cut out of the rock.

Skidding and slipping on the muddy snow, we began climbing up the shoulders of the mountain, then began a series of switchbacks that zigzagged their way up the slope, pausing at an outcropping of mossy volcanic rock that looked out over the Columbia Gorge. The sky, which has been hesitantly blue at first, was more solid now, and we could see far west down the river, from where we’d come.

After that, the snow grew deeper and more icy, and we tromped in frozen footsteps of hikers before us. The trees we passed were first dusted, then weighed down, with snow, which sunlight thawed and flicked off the needles, causing snow to trickle down or fall off in clumps with a soft rustling.

The higher we hiked, the more intermittent the trees became, and we often found ourselves switchbacking up empty snowy slopes that slid off into oblivion. My heart began racing, and Zach and I kept reassuring each other that we would turn back if it got too scary. The snow became deeper and got slushier, making us tread lightly to avoid post-holing. We scrambled under huge fans of fir branches touching the ground with the weight of snow, and tiptoed over tracks in the snow that ran a line across smooth cliffs. But at last, we scrambled through a short bit of brushy snow, and found ourselves on the summit.

Now we could see in almost all directions, both east and west down the gorge, looking at the town of Stevenson below and seeing the snowy mountains all around. The cliffs along the gorge almost look fake because many of them form perfect triangles, rising like pyramids alongside the huge river.

A woman and her adorable dog were at the summit, and we sat next to her and ate lunch while her dog rolled around in the snow (and tried to eat our burritos). On the way down, neither of us felt nearly as much fear, and we made it down safely and bought a huge tub of Tillamook hazelnut ice cream to celebrate.

~~~

A New Adventure

Zach on our recent hike up Mount Hamilton

I’m sitting at a desk in front of a triptych of large windows, looking out at golden sun melting into the forest of Douglas firs, English ivy, and bare maple trees across the street. My second-floor room, the guest bedroom, is a good spot to edit papers, or watch birds, or just daydream and watch the last of winter’s snow spiraling down. 

I’m supposed to be working right now, but it’s hard to find the focus. I’m just staring at the tiny Anna’s hummingbird perched on the tip of the pine free in the front yard. He’s fluffed out against the cold, and flicks his tongue in the frosty air. In the shadow he’s a dull green with a black head; when he turns, his face catches the sunlight and flashes an iridescent, electric-golden pink.

The past month is a blur. The past several months, in fact. I remember my hands in the dishwater at our house, our home, in St. Charles, so many miles and days away. I was washing, Zach drying. He had to leave for work in five minutes. It was early December. 

Zach said, “What if we moved to Portland for six months?”

My mind processed the words slowly.

“I could transfer to the Walmart out there,” he continued. “We could live with my dad and spend the summer there.” His eyes sparkled with a light that I hadn’t seen in months. 

I think I murmured something about that being an interesting idea, but I stared at the dishes and dug in my heels. What, uproot everything we had worked so hard to build— give away our chickens— say goodbye to our friends— leave behind the garden and the fruit trees— just to continue living the same normal life, but two thousand miles across the country?

Zach left for work, and I cried.

For two days I was beside myself. If we went to Portland, would we come back? Would moving there truly destroy everything we had built here? Why on earth would I want to pick up my life and haul it across the country, after investing so much here?

For two days I exhausted every possible fret and hiccup and worry, trying frantically to shove it away, but the idea lingered, even apart from the sparkle in Zach’s eyes. 

On the third day, something inside me clicked. The whole idea now seemed perfectly reasonable. Exciting, even! What a great way to travel while still making money! Why hadn’t we considered this earlier? I hadn’t felt so sure about something in months, perhaps years. 

Zach and I talked about what a six-month trip (temporary move? long-term stay?) might look like. The anxiety melted away as we talked about spending time with the Strader side of the family, visiting friends and grandparents, hiking in the mountains, learning trail skills in volunteer work, growing cool-weather crops in his dad’s backyard, visiting Mount Hood and Forest Park and the Oregon coast. Within the course of a day, the trip felt utterly inevitable.

Huge obstacles tumbled out of our way, one by one. Zach’s dad was excited to have us come stay with him, and the rest of his family in the area welcomed us enthusiastically. A close friend agreed to move into our house while we were gone. We found a wonderful home for our chickens. A successor stepped up to take my place as secretary in my neighborhood group. Zach was able to transfer to the Walmart a mile from his dad’s house, still as a customer service manager.  

My certainty didn’t waver. Not when I told our close friends and felt my heart break as they cried. Not when I cuddled Fluffy Buffy one last time before giving her and her sisters away to a friend from church. Not when I was having a nervous breakdown because packing was so stressful. The conviction remained. We wanted out and away, a break from the routine of life, a chance to look at our normal life through binoculars and figure out what the heck we were doing. 

Was it running away? It felt an awful lot like running away. Was that okay?

Finally, less than two weeks ago (I had to double check the dates, because I couldn’t believe that it was so recently), we sat on a plane, in the very back in the last two available side-by-side seats. I felt the ache of the stress of the past couple weeks wearing on me. Zach listened to music and I doodled and ate Oreos and drank plastic cups of orange juice even though yesterday I had promised myself to go all zero-waste and not get a beverage. We flew mostly over clouds, although a couple times I glanced down to see snowy wilderness below.

Finally, the plane submerged into the clouds, blotting the windows gray-white. This was always how I had entered the Northwest, and I found myself staring at the window, remembering my first solo trip to Washington: descending through two huge cloud banks and seeing the twinkle of lights below and knowing that I was in a new place, full of adventure, and feeling amazed that I wasn’t terrified.

Now, I found myself staring at the window in desperation. I didn’t want to look away or blink, even though my eyes were hurting from trying to see any pattern in the solid sheet of gray. Falling through a cloud that first solo trip, almost ten years ago, had felt like a new birth— I had known then that my life would never be the same. I wanted to feel that significance. I wanted to feel like this moment counted, like this trip was a kind of starting over, a new birth, a chance to open wide my heart and draw deep breaths of new air and say, “Here, this is my life. It’s an adventure and I will take it as it comes.”

I abruptly realized that I had zoned out; so caught up in trying to tease out the meaningfulness of the moment, I had missed it. Gray fir trees and little arteries of highways slid by under the window. We had broken through the clouds, and within a few minutes our plane roared to a stop. We had made it.

~~~

The Grand Gallivant: Return to the PCT

Ever since Zach and I left the PCT in September of 2014, we’ve wanted to return— not to hike, but to volunteer. A significant portion of the trail is maintained by volunteer crews, and we didn’t get a chance to join one, until this year.

After filling out the volunteer applications and convincing Gary to sign up as well, we chose a weekend trip at Nannie Ridge, which is close to the Goat Rocks in central Washington. We weren’t sure exactly what to expect, but got our gear ready and headed out last Thursday with high hopes.

The meeting place was the Walupt Lake Campground, which turned out to be a cool destination in its own right. It was a long winding dirt road to get up to the National Forest campground, but the cold lake surrounded by sweeping mountains was well worth it. We waded in the lake a bit, then got to camp for free next to the campground host. We met our crew leader that night, Haley: small and dark-haired with a quiet smile, she instantly struck me as one of the most laid-back people I’d ever met. Two other volunteers also arrived that night: Bart and Susie, a couple from southern Oregon who had done a bit of trail work before. We toasted marshmallows over a fire and chatted, excited to hike into the wilderness and start work tomorrow.

Walupt Lake

The next morning, we woke up early and got the group together as the stragglers arrived. Our crew consisted of eight volunteers and one leader: Zach, Gary, me, Haley, and Bart and Susie; a guy named Ben who was traveling around on his motorcycle with only one backpack to hold all his possessions (which he carried on his back while he rode); and a couple from Chicago (but before that, Romania) named Marinas and Anna.

We learned that we wouldn’t actually be working on the PCT itself, but an access trail called Nannie Ridge. It was important to maintain this trail so later horse crews could get up to the PCT to work on the Goat Rocks.

We hiked the three miles up to our group campsite, which was grueling because our packs were heavy with water. On the way up, we saw the part of the trail we’d be working on: it was deeply trenched in some areas, ankle-turningly rocky in others, and generally eroded all over. Our work was cut out for us!

The pavilion and kitchen tent

Once we hauled ourselves up one last slope and turned off to an alpine meadow, we learned that a horse-supported backpacking trip is the best thing ever. Tucked in between the spruces and purple lupine flowers, we found supplies cached for us: a dozen digging tools, a mesh-enclosed pavilion, a shade tarp, tons of cooking gear, several bear boxes filled with all kinds of food (the boxes folded out into shelving), and even a cooler of fresh vegetables! 

We scattered across the meadow, setting up our individual camps. Zach and I pitched our tent in a stand of pines on a little knoll, then helped get the kitchen area up and running. Bart and Susie dug a hole for dishwater, and a trench on the far side of the meadow for a latrine. Zach and I shoveled snow from a small snowfield on the edge of the area into garbage cans, to melt into drinking water since there was no other source of water here. After an hour of setting up, we ate some PB&J sandwiches, and prepared to actually start the trail work.

Haley walked us through the tools, most of which I had never seen before— the McCloud, the hazel hoe, the rogue hoe (my favorite)— and then we each grabbed a couple tools and started down the trail. 

Most of the work consisted of knocking down berms that had formed, either on the edges of the trail (preventing water from running off), or in the middle between two trails (forming trenches on both sides). We grabbed the heavy tools and knocked out the sod, evening out the ground so that it gently sloped to the outside edge. If that wasn’t possible, we dug some swales to catch the water and direct it off the trail via a trench, although we had to make the slope gradual enough so that people and horses could easily walk over it. As we worked, we had to consider different factors: rainwater, stock with saddlebags, hikers who naturally take the path of least resistance. 

After an hour or two of constantly bugging Haley about what needed to be done, we all began to fall into the rhythm and understand our work more intuitively. With nine of us working, we could fill in a trench in no time, and the trail was unrecognizably smooth and wide by the end of our first day. We hiked back up to camp, oohing and ahhing over everybody’s work. Haley made us a veggie stir-fry with rice and homemade peanut sauce, which tasted amazing after even just a few hours of hard work.

It turns out that the melted-snow situation didn’t work as well as it could’ve: the water was full of silt, which clogged the communal filter. We ended up having a big “filter party” where several of us sat around using our personal filters, as well as helping to strain the water through a towel so Haley could boil it. This is the kind of stuff that makes you really grateful for running water!

Zach, Ben, Gary, and Haley at our Filter Party. I love how ridiculously photogenic everyone looks here.

On Saturday, we worked a full eight hours: tearing down berms, grading the trail, fixing switchbacks, clipping vegetation, installing “water bars” (logs that direct the water off-trail) and even digging out and moving a huge boulder that sat in the middle of the trail. By the end of the day, the tendons in my hands were swollen and throbbing, and I was covered in mosquito bites and dust. We limped back to camp, where Haley and Ben worked together to whip up spaghetti with veggie-packed sauce and sausages. I hadn’t tasted anything so good since the PCT! We made a fire that night and burned our paper trash (including our dirty toilet paper, which inspired a lot of goofy joking), and we all chatted about random stuff. Marinas had hiked the Appalachian Trail, Ben had hiked both the AT and the PCT, and the others had done various shorter trips, so there were plenty of trail stories to go around. 

On Sunday, I woke up feeling refreshed, and we easily finished our morning’s work. Haley had announced we’d have the afternoon off to do hiking, and Zach and I knew exactly where we wanted to go: we wanted to hike up the last couple miles and find ourselves on the actual PCT. 

A five-minute hike from our campsite brought us to this view of Mt. Adams

We set out with Gary a little after noon, hiking over the top of the mountain we were on and heading north toward Sheep Lake. The sun was hot, and we were all sweaty by the time we reached the clear blue body of water. Zach hates cold water, but Gary and I decided that swimming was an order, and waded in. The water felt freezing at first, but once you got in up to your neck, it felt like you were floating in air. I paddled around, feeling some of the dirt wash off my skin. After so much dusty trail work, it was incredible!

After splashing around for a bit, we rejoined Zach on shore, and Gary opted to stay behind while Zach and I hiked onward toward the PCT. Within a few minutes, we saw the familiar wooden sign— PACIFIC CREST TRAIL NO. 2000— and set foot on the trail for the first time in almost three years.

I was home.

Even though I didn’t recognize this particular part of the trail, even though it would be a mile or so before anything looked familiar, I immediately felt the weight of returning to this path that had been my home for five months, and I nearly teared up. It was good to be back.

We trekked along the path, heading north through some woods, past alpine bogs and meadows filled with wildflowers, and out onto open slopes with views of Mount Adams and St. Helens. A jagged volcanic ridge rose up before us, the first of the Goat Rocks, painted with glacier, and at last I recognized where we were.

Haley caught up with us at Yakima Pass, and the three of us hiked together, chatting about her life as a trail worker and talking about what the area had looked like last time we had been through. Now, in high summer, it was still spotted with snowfields and banks that we had to scramble over. One section, that had been a barren slope of gravel when we crossed it, was now covered in a blanket of heather. 

We reached Cispus Pass, looking down into a valley that I clearly remembered. We hiked for a while, then sat by the trail with Haley, talking about this and that. But the sunlight wouldn’t last forever, and we had to return to camp. We waved goodbye to the valley and headed back.

As we walked, Haley pointed out the different wildflowers growing along the trail: dwarf mountain lupine, red columbine, Menzies larkspur, tiger lily, Indian paintbrush, beargrass, bunchberry, western pasqueflower. We even stopped at an alpine bog and she showed us exotic flowers such as elephant’s head, monk’s hood, and a couple different kinds of orchids. (Check out this page for pictures of the different flowers.)

Sunday was the last night with everyone, since Bart, Susie, Marinas, and Anna were heading out early in the morning, but we sat around the paper trash/toilet paper fire and had one last good talk. 

Group photo our final morning (minus those who left early)

On Monday, we packed up our personal camp, stashed the remaining food and supplies for next week’s trail crew, and hiked halfway down the mountain to do a bit more trail work. After a couple hours, Haley announced we were officially finished, and we cached the tools and hiked the remaining distance back to the campground. We said goodbye to Haley and Ben, grateful for the chance to get to know them. Then we took to the road, heading back to the world of flush toilets, instantaneous water, and wonderful, wonderful showers.

~~~

The Grand Gallivant: Fruit, Kayaking, and Old Friends

Playing a piano painted like a raccoon that sits outside the visitors center at Powell Butte Nature Area. Because of course.

The past couple weeks have mostly consisted of downtime. We’ve taken a lot of walks and hikes, finished the Tour de France (congrats Chris Froome!), and spent a lot of our days just hanging out with family and each other. Sometimes I feel guilty for how much time we’re taking off, but I also remind myself that spending time with family is important (I feel like this is the topic of a whole other blog post). 

Steigerwald Lake National Wildlife Refuge

Powell Butte again

It's just so cute...

Welcome to the Rose Garden!

Walking along the Columbia River

In the meantime, the notable highlights include day trips around the Portland area: we’ve made time to visit Sauvie Island and the “Fruit Loop” near Hood River, where u-pick options abound. We picked twelve pints of raspberries and blueberries one day, and a huge mess of regina cherries another. I love fruit!

One day we went on a family excursion (Zach, me, Gary, Ivy, Heather, and long-time family friend Shannon) to the Columbia Gorge, where we ate delicious pizza and ended up renting kayaks. I was a bit nervous going out on such a huge river, but we made it safely to a little island, picked wild blackberries that were juicy and sun-warmed, and floated back without incident, despite a fierce wind.

Last Friday, Zach and I took a day trip to Seaside, Oregon, to visit a couple who I had met on my very first solo trip, eight years ago. Kim and Steve met me at a hostel on San Juan Island when I was 20, and fed me delicious dinners, drove me to different destinations on the island, and generally made me feel at home. It was great to see their house in Seaside, and we picked up right where they left off. They drove us up to Astoria, where we explored the remains of a WWII fort, ate lunch at a brewery that’s inside the old Bumblebee Tuna cannery (lots of cool old equipment), visited the Astoria Column (a tower with a spiral staircase inside that gives you an amazing 360 view of the land and sea around you), walked along the beach in Seaside watching the sand fiddlers (mole crabs), and ate shrimp and potato salad for dinner. I’m so happy we got to reconnect with Kim and Steve, courtesy of the magic of staying in touch with Facebook! Zach and I drove home in high spirits, blasting Jonathan Coulton’s new album Solid State all the way (I don't think it's as good as Artificial Heart, but I love the high-concept story behind it and several of the songs are excellent). 

Inside the old cannery

View from the Astoria Column

Now today we’re in a flurry of packing— tomorrow afternoon we’re heading toward Walupt Lake, Washington for a weekend of volunteering on the Pacific Crest Trail. We’ve been wanting to do this for years, and I’m so excited to lend a hand to help out the trail that has given us so much. I’ll let you know how it goes!

~~~