After all the unfettered beauty we have witnessed in our time on the road, I didn’t think I could continue to be blown away by the natural world. My experience of the raw wildness of the Olympic Peninsula is in a different category of its own. First, there is the remoteness and the overwhelming feeling of being a visitor to an ancient and hallowed place. The size of the trees alone make you feel tiny and insignificant. It felt a little like being a character in the Honey I Shrunk the Kids movie or that favorite book from my childhood, The Borrowers. The giant Sitka Spruces and Western Red Cedars are Champion Trees(superstars of their species) and have been rooted in soil here for hundreds of years. It made me wonder who else has touched the bark of these trees, and what the world looked like then. These awesome specimens gave me a continuity to the past that seemed to defy the construct of time. Here in the rain forest, where the sky is blotted from view and the oppressive darkness is lit from within by mosses and ferns of every color and shape, silence gains a new meaning. There is always the sound of water, dripping softly from branches, gurgling trailside in hidden streams, crystalizing in droplets of fog creating eerie shadows and muffling conversation. Amazingly, in our week here, we only had a single day of full out rain. We threw our rain pants and jackets on and hiked deep into the forest to find hidden waterfalls, flowing rivers, and mystical meadows. 

The beaches on the Pacific are vast and scattered with enormous logs, to enter any of the them involves a scramble over massive jumbles of bleached logs. It’s a beach walkers dream world of exploration. Fantastical sculptural driftwood lies everywhere and if you time your amble right(and its crucially important to pay attention to the tide tables here, or else you can get stranded easily between headlands) the tide pools are watery treasure chests of beautiful creatures. I was amazed by the candy cotton pinks and neon lime greens of the anemone colonies. The slimy slug-like sea cucumbers with their dark green mouths that puckered shut if touched, fascinated and repulsed me. My favorites are the sea stars, hard to find but when you do, it’s like you hit the jackpot. It’s with childlike wonder that I run my hands over its spiny back and marvel.  The giant sea stacks make the beach ramble a photographer’s dream. Sea birds, cormorants and herons nest on the tops of these two- story craggy rocks and pine trees grow from their rocky sides at odd angles. At one point in our walk, we heard a high pitched scream from behind a stack of boulders followed by another strange yelping sound. We see a young girl come running down the beach, she had been jumping from rock to rock and apparently scared a sea lion, who merrily chased her off and reclaimed his territory before lazily collapsing onto the sand.  

Some of the beaches are easily accessible, others require miles of hiking through rainforest to get there. I prefer the hike-ins, the juxtaposition of the crowded and claustrophobic riot of trees and ferns with the sudden wide open vista of the Pacific causes me to hitch my breath and get emotional every time. I feel my body respond unconsciously to both environments, like the sea creature to the ebb and flow of tides. The rain forest makes me withdraw my body into itself, I feel small and step softly and quietly, trying to become a part of the surroundings. I get pensive and reflective, my brain slows and my mood is meditative. The sound of the wind in the upper treetops reminds me of an approaching train. Then, the canopy begins to allow a little light in and the sound of waves crashing begin to make themselves heard.  My pace quickens and I feel myself yearning for the light and the water. That first step onto sand feels like a birth. I am a flower opening its petals, like one of those time-release videos. My eyes drink in the scene and I’m ravenous. I breathe deep, my heart opens, joy inhabits me. And the funny thing is, this happens again and again. Every time, a cycle of unfolding. it is addictive and wholly desired.

That was their tagline. I’d discovered Mountain Home Lodge when I was looking at a list of best places to eat in the state of Washington. (My birthday dinner at Arrowleaf Bistro in Winthrop was one of them!) and I happened upon the name of this lodge in Leavenworth, Washington. It was time for our weekly sanity break from the Cricket and this was in the direction we wanted to go. Besides, the town of Leavenworth was a Bavarian themed village and Oktoberfest was happening, so why not? I booked their cabin cozily named Stuart’s Roost for two nights.

Mountain Home Lodge is a very special place. I’m beginning to realize that out here in the Pacific Northwest there are some pretty cool remote cabins and lodges to hide out from the world in.  Mountain Home was 3 miles outside of town. I called when I read online that the road had a 45% grade and was narrow and winding, concerned that the Cricket would not make the trip. Sure enough, we were advised to leave it at the base of the mountain. Three miles later, we emerged into a clearing, a wide swath of meadow with a lodge tucked into the tree line and a few cabins built high on a ridge to the side.

Kathy and Brad were the owners and hosts and were incredibly good at the hospitality thing. The attention they show their guests is unobtrusive but masterful in the level of detail. They have crafted an oasis of serenity and beauty. Every evening, their chef prepares a plate of delicious appetizers and Kathy & Brad pour wine and there is a convivial happy hour of sorts. The lodge has some beautiful hand hewn log furniture and a huge stone fireplace. The view from their deck showcases the meadow and the Enchantment Mountains beyond, the sunsets are spectacular . The first evening we arrived, as we were getting to know the other guests, someone exclaimed that the elk had arrived and sure enough an entire herd of elk, the bull elk hovering nearby, were gathered in the meadow right in front of us.

We had planned on getting a long hike in the following day and Brad took his time to ask what we had in mind for our stay and created a personal itinerary for us based on our particular agenda. Trail snacks were offered, backpacks, sweaters, blankets. Every detail is thought of. Brad & Kathy are incredibly kind and their enthusiasm for their land is evident. Brad apparently grooms his trails and maintains the signs. There was more then 10 miles of trails to hike and we covered all of them that day.

The next day we wanted to use our bikes so Brad mapped out a scenic route for us , even scheduling a lunch stop at Good Mood Food. How did he know we were craving healthy organic food in a town filled with brats and german potato salad? Intuition. It’s what makes a good inn a great inn. Attention and affection for people.

Leavenworth is a wacky town. Much like Winthrop, the town decided that every retail facade(gas stations and convenience stores included) must subscribe to a Bavarian theme. The result is a fantasy village, a walk down the main street and you are transported to a Disney-esque vision of an alpine Bavarian town. Even the local brewpub sported gingerbread. It struck me as a bit odd, the ability to craft a unique identity and brand is crucial to independent, locally-owned businesses, didn’t this shackle business owners? I asked around to a few of them and there seemed to be a resigned consensus that while the rules regarding architecture and facade were restrictive, the town was thriving. Apparently, tourists love all things Bavarian, why fly across the ocean when you can experience authentic alpine culture in a tiny town in Washington State? I had to admit the town was lively and the surrounding countryside, verdant and lush with fields of apples, pears and apricots was pleasing to the eye. Farm stands dotted the back roads and there was a feeling of great abundance in the Wanatchee Valley.

We made sure to stop in the small town of Cashmere, I was drawn to the history of the place. The main street sported a throw back bakery with cookies and doughnuts like my grandma used to make, and a true old-fashioned soda fountain, egg creams for $1.50! Armenian immigrants, proprietors of an apple orchard in 1918 began producing a unique confection they called Aplets and Cotlets as a response to a surplus crop, the idea coming from their memory of eating Turkish delight as children. The candy was originally sold at a roadside stand but gained national attention at the Seattle Worlds Fair in 1962. Today, Liberty Orchards, the original company continues to produce the iconic sweet in the town of Cashmere.   I purchased a box of Aplets and Cotlets and Mark and I treat ourselves nightly to these wonderfully old-fashioned powdered fruit concoctions.

The cabin was perfect. After 5 days of camping, the lack of privacy and small creature comforts becomes trying and just having space to move freely and take hot showers and a warm room to wake up in seemed like incredible luxuries. I would sit on the porch in the late afternoon and write with a glass of wine, content and inspired.  We were here  in this place when the massacre in Las Vegas occurred. I am glad we were able to be in contact with our boys, we all needed to talk and express our mutual fears and horror. Being removed from civilization and cut off from television and media, I was beginning to understand why people lived in these out of the way places. Las Vegas seemed very far away and the chances of being caught up in random violence seemed remote in this neck of the woods. I was overcome with sadness and a feeling of such helplessness, the tragedy and senselessness, the frustration and anger at our government, our inept president, the NRA, all welled up within me. And then I stepped out on the deck and watched the sun’s rays through the hemlocks. I was grateful for the moment but also grateful for the space and time to reflect on my role in the world and how I could do better, how I could do my own part in creating an environment for my children to raise their children in. The answers are not forthcoming but my heart is in the right place.

1000 Steps closer to Heaven. It might be an illusion but I believe that nature is one of the answers to our collective pain. Reverence for the trees, the mountains, the water, is as good a place to start as any.

We have been on the road for 23 days and we are finally rolling into civilization after weeks of wilderness. Mark is scheduled to take his test on September 25th in Helena, Montana. It was a serendipitous choice, we literally looked at the map and pointed: there.  We were ready for a dose of community, a main street, sidewalks, shops, and maybe a good place to eat. A little culture. And yes, a respite from one another.  It’s been surprising to me that we are managing to spend 24/7 together and we have only had a few spats, usually when one or another of us is cranky.  Still, Mark and I like our alone time. At home, we can go into separate rooms or floors. Or I can go to a friend’s house (yes, I miss my girl times). Or go for a long solo walk. Here, we are doing everything together. We have always traveled well, there is much we are simpatico over. We both enjoy routines and we love to hike and read. We like to eat at regular intervals and seek out challenging experiences.  Despite our commonalities, it would be good to have a breather.  I also missed being able to patronize small businesses and I looked forward to seeking out cool local places and meeting and talking with proprietors and hearing their stories.

So, we were excited by the prospect of Helena. We had reserved the entire third floor of the Carolina Bed & Breakfast. We figured a B&B would be best so Mark could spread out and study, I could do laundry, we could each do our own thing. Colleen, the proprietor at the B&B was generous on the phone. She had one smaller room for one night but then offered the entire upstairs for our stay, at the cost of a single room. I reserved immediately.

The Carolina turned out to be a perfect place to stay. Helena is the State Capitol and many of the old homes hearken back to the late 1800’s when over 50 millionaires(gold in those hills!) lived in Helena, more per capita then any city in the world at the time. Colleen was the ideal host. A slim blonde woman with bundles of energy and a knack for interior design, she spoils her guests with delicious breakfasts and a gorgeous home. When I mentioned finding a laundromat, she offered to throw our dirty stuff in her machine. That’s going above and beyond. I’m always full of admiration for B&B owners, the constant work and level of hospitality that go into their daily business. Colleen was a warm and solicitous host, if you ever pass through Helena, Montana, stay at her establishment. You’ll be glad you did.

I spent my days writing on Colleen’s sun porch, where tea and cookies were replenished throughout the day. One day, I worked with Mark in the local library. I love checking out the local bookstores as well as the local libraries, you can get a real feel for the town and they are usually a clearinghouse for information. Mark and I would meet for lunch, then I would spend my afternoon walking and exploring.

The main street here is called Last Chance Gulch(a reference to the gold boom mining town), it functions as an outdoor walking mall and it seems to be in the process of revival: a brew pub, some galleries, a few coffee shops, some excellent period architecture. One afternoon, I decided to check out the Myrna Loy Theatre (the Hollywood actress was born here). It was an obviously beloved community center with two small movie screens. I had the theatre to myself as I watched PattiCake$, an independent film about a girl rapper from NJ (loved it!)  In the evenings, we would explore some of the great local places recommended by Colleen. The Hawthorne Wine bar is a place I would love to see in my hometown. Dozens of excellent wines by the glass, a dark industrial interior with a long bar and plenty of intimate seating. It was jammed with people and we had a great time talking with the servers and manager.

One afternoon, we wandered into a wine shop we noticed on a previous walk, Martin’s Wines. It was a lovely small shop, made even lovelier by the proprietor, a dapper gentleman of the shop’s namesake. Martin has over 40 years experience in the restaurant/wine industry. He had a great story to tell. He was in a horrific motorcycle accident years ago and with the proceeds from the settlement ended up traveling the US.  He traveled in military fatigues and when asked about his service he mysteriously would tell people he was in intelligence. I suppose that kept people guessing. Eventually, Martin ended up in Helena, where with an investment of $5000 he opened Martin’s Wines. It was Martin’s birthday and we had just caught him closing up shop to go to his own celebration next door. But not before Martin spent some time with us, recommending a terrific wine from Israel that was way off our radar. Interestingly, we trusted Martin, in that 15 minute conversation he had engendered a sense of shared community with us. That wine was fantastic. Thank’s Martin! It was a pleasure. That’s what LOCAL is all about.

Despite our positive experiences at the locally owned businesses, I found Helena to be an odd place, I couldn’t get a feel for it. There was a gorgeous cathedral, St.Helena, that sat on a ridge looming over the downtown and a few historical museums. There seemed to be a lack of vibrancy around the downtown, we never saw that many people walking the streets except when we frequented the bars or coffee shops.  That may be because it is a government city, but I was still surprised at the lack of foot traffic.  I enjoyed Helena, we had two fantastic meals, one at the Italian joint, Lucca’s, voted best restaurant in Montana. Another, at the Mediterranean Grill, an authentic eatery serving delicious middle eastern fare. Both locally owned and operated. I am realizing how spoiled we are in Holland with our plethora of committed local owners.

We decided to make a pit stop on the way to Idaho and stayed for an overnight at Jim and Mary’s RV Park. We got a kick put of this place, it’s not a stop we would ordinarily make. A multitude of flower gardens, and clean showers and restrooms were the high point. These things start to matter when when you are on the road for endless days.

And it was ten minutes from downtown Missoula, which we were anxious to explore. We immediately fell in love with this town. A college town, there was so much going on, good energy here. There seemed to be an old style fifties bar on every corner.  We stopped at the local wine shop, Missoula Wine Merchants, and received some good tips from the manager Barb, who steered us to the best place in town for cocktails, Plonk.  There we met Shannon, a transplant from Kalamazoo, who made some mean mezcal Negroni’s. She had come out here for school and never returned to the Midwest. The mountains called to her. We hear that a lot in our travels. Our friend at the wine bar also suggested Masala, an Indian place for dinner. I could rhapsodize on and on about the quality of the veggie korma, naan bread, tikka masala and the serrano coconut side. I was in culinary heaven.

After the glorious excesses of two smallish cities, I was ready to get lean and mean again. Bucolic pastures and meals by the campfire were calling.  Now that the test was in the rear view, we had no agenda. Freedom! We knew we wanted to pursue the good weather and the North Cascades in Washington were beckoning. Deciding not to take the most direct route on Hwy 90, we looked at the map and decided on the long way, Rt 12 over the Lolo Pass to Lewiston Idaho. An adventurous drive on a reputedly stunning road, let’s go!