I sort of hinted at this a couple of months ago, but it is finally official: REI got wind of me and I’ve been contracted to essentially keep doing what I do. They aren’t asking me to sell a product or be anything other than what I am, an unlikely outdoorsperson. For the next six months, you will very occasionally see that some of my posts are sponsored. They are also sponsoring the two meet-ups I posted about recently on Instagram.
As many of you know, REI, specifically with their #ForceOfNature campaign is making attempts to interrupt the common outdoors narrative. Obviously, there is so much work to be done and some of us have been doing it for awhile already, but this is a big deal. I’m a thirty-five-year-old, fat, queer, high school drop out who started hiking five years ago. When have you ever seen someone like me featured in the mainstream?
I am so grateful for this opportunity to share my experience and connect with all of you in the ways that we do. I feel like so many of my dreams are clicking into place. I’ve missed out on a lot of experiences and opportunities my peers have had due to lack of resources and access.
This may not be the most exciting news to my anti-capitalist, punk, queer communities, but I do hope you’ll support your girl in getting paid. I’m not making the big bucks, so don’t get it twisted. This will essentially help me to take a couple days off a month to focus solely on writing and adventuring and building community based on diversifying the outdoors. I still need a lot of help, financially, to keep doing all of this, so if you were thinking about donating to my patreon or paypal, I can absolutely use it. No pressure, I’ll stop touting it all of the time soon. 5% of monthly donations are donated to the Trans Assistance Project.
The bedroom is way too dark for 8:30am. Rain. I get up begrudgingly, my body a pin cushion of unexplainable pain. I hear the two lambs crying nearby and limp to a window to see what the fuss is. The dogs are chasing them around the front yard, all parties confused as to why they aren’t with the herd.
I hate to admit it and I don’t want to give it power, but I already know today will be a bad day. I’m having fun on the farm with Erin and the animals and the chaos, I could easily stay here another night, but I’m hoping a change of scenery will work some magic on the funk in my bones and brains. I have too much on my mind and it’s nothing that can’t wait for our return to Portland, but I just can’t turn it off. Also, I’m going to CRATER LAKE. Can that just be enough?
I get up to make coffee and the lambs’ vibrato “mehhh” is louder than ever. I open the front door and find this:
Oh, hey guys. They also wanna know what’s up.Brie’s up now and we quickly pack our stuff. She makes us breakfast. We’re ready to go, but we hang out with Erin for a bit more. It pours on and off for just minutes at a time. Brie and I wordlessly exchange concern for the day, neither one of us wanting to admit how foreboding this manic weather feels. We say our goodbyes. I don’t feel ready to leave Southern Oregon. I’ve barely scratched the surface.
I exclaim over every view as if I haven’t been looking at these views for the last few days. Brie says something like, “when you look at a field, you’re never just looking at a field.” It reminds me of the Rumi poem I always return to, There is a Field:
Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing,
there is a field. I’ll meet you there.
When the soul lies down in that grass,
the world is too full to talk about.
Ideas, language, even the phrase “each other”
doesn’t make any sense.
Our first stop is the historic Jacksonville Cemetery, only about twenty miles from Williams and a few miles from Medford. Jacksonville is a cute little olde town. You know, art galleries, overpriced everything, but adorable. We find a coffee shop and attempt to caffeinate the gray blahs away. Why are all of our trips like this?!?!?! (Rhetorical: Oregon.)
Love that wrought iron.
Not scary at all. Nature is femme What if this was all that was left of you?It feels good to walk around for awhile even in the rain. I’m wearing all of the warm layers I brought which makes me worry about tonight, especially since we’ll be even higher up at Diamond Lake. I pee behind a giant marble grave of some very clearly rich people in the Christian section of the cemetery and feel like maybe I’m being a sacrilegious shit head, but I can’t wait any longer.
Brie and I get back in the car and begin the drive to Medford, where we’ll soon be en route to Crater Lake. We talk about the very real possibility of being fogged out at Crater Lake and agree it’s worth trying even if it doesn’t work out. We might head back to Portland after, which sucks because we have all of this time.
Oh, and obviously we stopped at the In-N-Out Burger. The only one in Oregon.
There were too many people inside, so we ate in the car. It was SO GOOD.The drive is gorgeous, especially the parts along the Rogue River. Before our last turn-off, we realize Google Maps has lead us astray and we won’t be able to take 138 to Diamond Lake because of weather. Huh. We have no reception and our maps indicate a clear alternate route, but we decide we will definitely be heading back home after this. I don’t want to, but I also don’t want to camp in the rain and possible snow.
Yeah, camping sounds awesome right now…We pay the $15 to get into Crater Lake National Park, the only national park in Oregon, and being that we are officially driving in snow and can’t see even two hundred yards in front of us, we know we aren’t gonna see the damn lake. I’m pretending I don’t care, it’s beautiful! We pull up at the first big viewpoint, the only one open at the moment, and…
Behind Brie, that’s Crater Lake. Really.
This is a really weird thing I’m not sure I want to admit, which makes me feel like I have to: I’ve been here before. At least once. I think maybe even twice, I just can’t remember. One of those times was maybe in the last fourteen years since I’ve lived in Oregon and I still can’t remember. My PTSD/too-much-partying brain is that bad. SUCKS. So, this is potentially my third time and still, I’m going to need to come back again to actually see it, but at least I’ll actually remember this time?
We’re in the park for less than an hour. It’s going to be a long day of driving. I’m at that point in my depression where I’m so annoyed by my own feelings and needs. My adventurous spirit has been lost for too long. I think it got mixed up somewhere with my medical bills and chronic pain. I try to be nice to myself. I try to believe this is temporary because it very likely is, right? I don’t want to go back to Portland, which has become more of a symbol than a place: real life and all of it’s harshness, my unsatisfying and underpaying job that doesn’t appreciate me, no cats, no money, fear and imposter syndrome about the GOOD things happening. I feel ashamed of how my negative headspace shrouds the very real, lovely things in my life. I have always felt, even as a child, as if I exist in two worlds. I’m losing my sparkle, myself.
The other day, I was doing one of my side hustles, some landscaping at work. As I was taking a picture of this giant lupine I grew, a man walked by, reeking of alcohol, and snapped the flower’s stalk. His face was a mix of laughter and something like confusion. I was enraged. It felt so personal and shocking. As I tried to explain to my coworkers what happened, all of them sympathetic, it dawned on me just how not a problem this was. Not for me, anyway. There is so much shitty shit happening in the world. This was not one of those things. Yes, the lupine and the planting and the growing and the metaphors gave me real joy, but I could feel the pain and recklessness radiate off of this guy. That petty joy might actually have given him some relief or maybe even his own “WTF am I doing?” moment. I know that feeling of impulsively taking a small joy from someone to dull an edge, like slowing my car to ten below when someone tailgates me, or ignoring a customer who is impatiently interrupting my transaction with another customer. It’s all so fucking petty and speaks only to our pain and feelings of powerlessness.
The ride home is long and tedious. My back is killing me. Brie and I exhaust the sweeter details of the weekend before mutually running out of ways to be positive. We listen to NPR and dread the world, but we get a sunset.
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We wake up in the surprise king-size bed. It’s already 9am. Definitely, not farm life time. Erin has probably been up for more than three hours. I’m well-rested, my back only hurts a little from the unfamiliar bed, but I would’ve been far less comfortable had I been sleeping on my sleeping pad in my current physical state. Honestly, I was nervous about that. Should I thank the Universe for giving me a bed? Maybe, but I really really really love camping. I put my camping dress on, make us coffee in the surprise full kitchen and then Brie and I head out to find Erin. Continue reading “Day Two: Williams and Wolf Creek”→
My alarm goes off at 7:50, but like most days lately, no matter what time it’s set for, it takes me about thirty minutes to get up. I lay in bed and check email as Brie continues to sleep undisturbed. I have a pingback awaiting approval from a website I’m not familiar with. Pingbacks are these notifications on WordPress, my webhost, telling you when someone has linked a page from your website to theirs. I check what’s been linked and a random woman has written an entire article grossly misinterpreting a piece I wrote, Fat Woman Falling. It’s fake sympathetic, off-the-mark about everything I actually wrote, focusing on what she perceives as my body shame and it accompanies no less than a dozen truly awkward photos of her thin, socially-acceptably attractive self working out. Whatever horror I was feeling evaporates as I look at a couple more things on her website: more of the same weird articles about what she incorrectly deems “body-positivity” and weird selfies accompanied by fat-positive hashtags. No comments or likes on any it. I can’t really get it up to give a shit, which is refreshing because lately I care too much about everything.
I get out of bed, finally waking Brie, and put on my beloved camping dress. Yes, I have a camping dress. It’s nothing special, just a black, stretch cotton, two-strap, mid-thigh length dress with an empire waist. It’s super comfortable, passes for cute and I’ve worn it on pretty much every camping trip for the last three or four years. We have a goal to be out the door by nine AM, which is lofty for us and our night job lifestyle, but we actually do it. I mean, we still have to go grocery shopping for the weekend, which almost always sends me into an anxious, agoraphobia spiral, but as I carry all of the stuff down the four flights of stairs to my car, I notice that my normally pain-bogged body feels kind of… not terrible. Grocery shopping is quick and easy, Brie and I are on the same page despite our still uncaffeinated, early morning selves. Our camping trip bodes well! Continue reading “Day One: Portland to Williams, Oregon”→
Google map: don’t bother. From the Hood River Bridge, head west for 1.5 miles then make a right on SR 141. After 6 miles, just past Wet Planet, turn right onto Oak Ridge Rd. for 0.8-mile. Turn Right on Rattlesnake Rd and set your odometer. At the nine mile mark (most of this is unpaved, but fine for 2-wheel drive in drier weather), stay right and soon you’ll see the R1800 junction just after a tree with a “6” on it. Ignore any other trees with “6” on them, just pay attention to the mileage (I saw at least one other “6” tree). Turn right for another 0.8 until it dead ends.
Drive time from Portland: 1h45m
Permit: n/a
Intensity: Easy (Beginner Level: Doable, but there is a creek crossing). 0.5 mile, little to no elevation gain
Open: mid April through July? Depends on the rain, I imagine it completely dries up in hotter months.
Tagg Magazine is a magazine for “everything lesbian, queer and under the rainbow,” and they graciously interviewed me for a piece about @UnlikelyHikers. This came out weeks ago, but my head has been too up my butt to share it. I was in a deep grief brain fog when they interviewed me, but they skillfully made me sound good. Thanks, Tagg Magazine!
