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:
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.)
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.
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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