Thoughts From a Micro-place

It's amazing how much a spiritual place can rejuvenate the soul.

Today I visited and attended the Unitarian Universalist church here in Vancouver. It's a nice congregation, a bit bigger than the one in Reynoldsburg I use to go to, but the people are just as welcoming, which was a wonderful relief from all the xenophobia I've been experiencing elsewhere.

Being in the church and participating in the ceremonies really brought me back to a happy reality. One where people were so glad to have a new face in the crowd, and a new person to introduce themselves to. And the singing, and the service; it all brought a sense of camaraderie to the faith we all struggle with.

Finding myself renewed when I got back, I proceeded to clean and try to get my computer to work. I spent much of the afternoon with little effort, but because my morning was so great, I really had no reason to be upset.

While I was crawling around on the floor organizing the many crazy cable systems just strewn out about the case, I noticed the bottom of my desk, with its strange dimples on the bottom.

It got me thinking. What if there existed such a thing as a micro-place?

I think that there are such places in the "micro" form. Little areas which have the same categories as "place", and can easily be described using simplified versions of different " place " based ideas.

Take for under my desk for instance. It is a place which I never thought of being anywhere special, but when I was working on my computer, I caught myself thinking: "Huh. Never been here before."

A lot of people have micro-places at their desks or area where they work. Things must be in order and perfect in order to work. (Or not, but still, you can describe the desk using the same terms you may describe a city or neighborhood.)

I feel as though the mind can be a micro-place. You can be out of your mind, or in the right mindset. All these words describing a "place" and how you interact with that place.

And maybe that is what I got out of church last Sunday. A rebalancing of the micro-place we like to call the "mind".

No Place Is Perfect

Place is a funny word. It can mean a state of mind, a physical location, a region. A planet, a person, an emotion.

The sun is setting, and its amazing how much chillier it is getting in the building where I am. The warm radiant blanket begins to slip away under the horizon. It makes the mountains in the distance clearer though, as the particulates no longer have to reflect as much of the rays as they go beneath the land.

This is a place. A place full of rain, and green, one with snow capped mountains, and quirky settlements.

The places you visit in your lifetime are worth thousands of words. But not nearly enough to satisfy the urge to see more. There is something beautiful in every place. Something to be appreciated, sought out and acknowledged, even in the "worst" of cases.

A mountain top removal mine shows our amazing ability to manipulate our environment and technology to adapt. A natural preserve shows our respect for what exists, and our desire to keep some part of the world stable in the ever changing landscape. Deserts may look empty, but under all that dust and shrub lie an entire ecosystem of plants, animals and microbes. Yet the very basis of forests rest upon the solid yet ever changing rock, only a recollection of ages past long ago.

There are infinite places. Geography dictates that something is a part of something else, until you get to the elementary particles and the outer limits of the observable universe. Yet even those are made of "things", even if it is only colorful descriptors and the hypothetical unknowns.

Yet, I always long for the base. For those rolling hills of the heartland, ripe with crops and a sky horizon so great that it beckons you onward. That indescribable patchwork of farms, forests, and houses. The iconic Americana picture. Flags lining a street of a small town with no stoplights. Kids playing out and about in the yards, as the tractors roll through digging the fertile earth. There is no place like it.

Then there are the people you love in those places too. Some of them you get sick of being around, but you love them none the less. And some of your best friends, they hail from those mountains and fields as well. And you can't get it out of your mind the time you went back for Christmas, and how that made you realize how much you missed the place where you grew up, and the place where your loved ones resided.

How I miss that landscape so. The adventures, the craziness, the great times. It's amazing how strong this urge can be sometimes.

Backwoods and Beaches (Dunes Added for Good Measure)

There is something inherently romantic (as in nostalgia and fascination/relaxing, not person to person romantic, although for some that is true) about the idea of a vacation at the beach. The sand and the ocean just signal relaxation; it's like a fundamental quality of the objects themselves. And it doesn't even have to be sunny and seventy-five. Sixty and overcast still works just as well.

It's amazing; the coastal mountains. They remind me so much of the Appalachians back east. Covered with trees, rolling forever. They have a sort of tightness about them, but they don't tower like the Cascades.

Driving through them, there is one thing that the Appalachians do not have: An ocean on the other side.

Coming upon it, you don't quite get it at first. There is a huge river, and it just keeps going, and going, and eventually it just widens out to the endless sea.

I would say I have a love/hate relationship with the sea, but in the Northwest you get the best of both worlds. Usually, or at least in the East, you pick either ocean, or mountains. But here they run right into each other, creating some of the most stunning scenery. Little sections of beach, coves hiding countless wonders, with cliffs to be scaled, and water so cold it creates the exhilarating release of worries and life, and brings you back to the present, while letting go of all of your past troubles.

At the same time, the hike to get to the beach, the emptiness of it all, it demands reflection. That is what purpose the dunes serve.

Imagine you set up your camp, settle in, and for the first half of the next day you run around, not knowing a damn thing about these "dunes" everyone raves about. After hiking a quarter of a mile through the woods, all of a sudden, you come upon the first dune, kids scaling it. Instantly I got the feeling of driving through the open and unknown terrain of the west, with its large mountains and extending plains:

I couldn't believe my eyes. I quickly, although with much strain, climbed the first one, only to be greeted by a completely awesome (using the literal meaning of the word) landscape.

Amazing. Simply amazing. I instantly fell in love. I had to explore more. I simply took off, through the sand, and towards the looming ocean in the distance. Armed with only my bare feet and my water bottle, by god, I would get there.

After trekking across the sand, and through the forest, and over more dunes, I came upon it. The Pacific Ocean. I had been here before, but this time, it was different.

I tried explaining to a friend on the way back the whole idea (albeit messed up) of Easterners and our gratification from Manifest Destiny. I experienced it when I visited Seaside and Astoria last summer, but it was more pronounced this time. I literally was trekking with bare feet through a forest with pine cones and splinters littering the ground, before I could get to the ocean. There was more of a conquest feeling about it. I fought my way to that ocean, and when I reached it, it was beautiful.

But those dunes were calling again. The endless expanse of sand and wind, ever shifting in the most unique landscape I have ever seen. The sun began to set, and it was time to trudge back into the shifting hills.

Once found by friends, I camped on top of a dune for a bit, and caught the sunset. Caught the freaking sunset. Pictures can't do it justice:

Finally, I have seen the sunset over the Pacific, and completed that great feat of watching the sunrise over the Atlantic, and watching the sunset over the Pacific. Again, the Manifest Destiny kicking in.

The long ride home consisted of wobbling around for the first hour of the trip in the passenger seat, then slamming a Dutch Bros. coffee which consisted of six shots of espresso and drudging through two traffic backups around Portland. I am still exhausted, especially from swimming in the frigid ocean for an hour and a half yesterday, but it was all well worth it. Oh god, it was so cold, but so fun.

I guess I am becoming quite the world traveler now. I've swam in the Atlantic & Gulf, the Pacific, and the Mediterranean. What a place we live in. Where to in the next couple of years? Who knows? I'd like to travel to Alaska, or the Southwest to experience the desert, and I would kill to go abroad more. I guess the only problem is I'm getting tired of doing it all on my own, and this weekend showed me that travel with friends can be one of the best experiences in the world. Who wants to join?

The Ultras & Their Surroundings

So lately I have been out and about, hiking, tromping around in the woods, and taking pictures. So I figured I would share a couple of my photos with you all, and show how beautiful the Pacific Northwest can be when the sun comes out.

We begin the journey at a trail right along the bus line called Burnt Bridge Creek:

So here is the end of the trail, where it forms a small pond
just east of Vancouver Lake. Fruit Valley Road creates the
impediment, along with some railroad tracks.

A small bridge which crosses Burnt Bridge Creek.

The best part about the Burnt Bridge Creek Greenway is that it has these
great open spaces, where people can play with their dogs, relax in the sun, or play baseball or frisbee.

Next we head to Frenchman's Bar Park. Frenchman's bar is not located on a bus line, so I had to drive out to it, but it is a wonderful beach on the Columbia river where the tidal influence from the ocean creates every so slight waves across the river and onto the shore. The park itself links up with Vancouver Lake Park via a 5 mile bike and pedestrian trail, and it is relatively easy to reach by bike. Maybe when I invest in a bike I will take some trips out to both parks.

A cool shell design in the sand at the park.

The part of the park where the beach sand slowly turns into mud and wetlands.

One of the coolest things about Frenchman's Bar Park is that you can regularly
watch large shipping rigs float by on their way to the Port of Vancouver.
You can also see a pretty good shot of the Coastal Mountains there too.

Another cool part about the park is that it offers great views of Mt. Hood, Mount St. Helens, and Mt. Jefferson.
Mt. Jefferson is all the way to the far right, with a small white summit just visible over the horizon.
The reason this blog post is called the Ultras is because Mt. Hood, St. Helens, Rainier, Adams, and Jefferson
are all considered "Ultras", as in their summits and vertical relief is at least 1000 feet above the nearest mountains.

A general overview of the park. The beach and river are also really great places to
windsurf because the geography of the river usually produces really great wind.

Sometimes you just need to step back and enjoy your very own neighborhood during sunset.

Finally, I pushed my little car on Friday into the Cascade Mountains. Once up high enough, my little car provided me with some of the best views of Mount St. Helens, Mt. Rainier, Mt. Hood, and Mt. Jefferson.

A shot of Mount St. Helens off in the distance. I eventually found a good place
to see Mt. Rainier, but I couldn't get a good picture of it.

A view of Mt. Hood and Mt. Jefferson. Mt. Jefferson is in the middle/right of the picture.
You can see its small white summit just barely over the horizon.

At this point the road got a little too rocky and dangerous for my car, so I decided to turn back and call it a night.

Finally, I will end up this post with a shot I see all too often. The glorious bus stop, and its ability to allow me to travel all across Vancouver.

I have now learned why people love this place. During the spring and summer, when there is no rain, and the sun comes out, the entire place comes to life. Its an amazing spectacle. The days get longer, the people go outside, and life is just that much more enjoyable. I really see why suffering through a couple of dreary months of winter rain can lead to such a magical, natural, and rugged slice of America.

The Rush of the Beckoning Road

I followed the road's beckoning today. The strain of work, the grilling of my numbers, surveys, and statistics just got too grueling, and I needed to escape. To see a place that I have never seen before.

Luckily, I had the trusty Catalyst. She hasn't been driven in a while, so I asked her really nicely to take me to a faraway place. And so began my journey.

After work I pulled out onto I-5 Northbound with the one goal: Go somewhere and forget about work. Get away as much as possible before I lost daylight. I didn't touch my phone, I didn't look for directions, I just followed my intuition northward.

Quickly I departed Clark County into Cowlitz County. The border is not that far from Vancouver. But  I did not care. I sped past Woodland and Kalama, enjoying a glimpse of sun through the low lying rain clouds.

Quickly I came into Longview/Kelso area. Then the rain began. The roads are horribly drained here, so my car was slipping and sliding over the standing water on the freeway, ready to begin fishtailing like it was in the worst of blizzards in Ohio. It was then that I made my mission. I would continue as long as I could see the sun, and find it on the other side of the dreary weather. So I pushed through the rain outside of Longview/Kelso, and kept driving.

Now, I have driven up to Olympia before, but only once, so farther than Longview/Kelso was still relatively new to me. There is still a good half a county north of the two cities so I finally glimpsed a couple of the towns which I so often refer to, but have not visited. But I wasn't here to see; I was here to escape. Farther north I drove.

Because I did not want to stay on the freeway the entire time, I deviated to the East via US Route 12. By now I had left Cowlitz County for territory unknown. Lewis County. I did not know any city names here except for Chehalis/Centralia, so every twist to the east was new for me.

The geography of this area is completely new for me. I have very little concept of the microscale of the terrain, only the large features, such as the Cascades, the Willamette Valley, and that other part of Washington north of the Willamette Valley before you hit Puget Sound. Its not the Columbia River, and it is not the Puget Sound... and it is bound by the Cascades to the east, and non existent mountains to the west. The plain was pleasant.

I entered a valley where the Cowlitz River flowed through from the Cascades. And then, all at once, I dived into those Evergreen covered hills. Down, down, down, I went into the sharp and tight valley. And then out to a wider valley, surrounded by the Cascades themselves. What a beautiful sight. I could just imagine seeing Mt. Rainier, a mere 40 miles away, looming in the distance, hiding behind the omnipresent clouds lingering from the winter.

It was then that I needed gas, and I pulled over, filled up, got some snacks, and continued. I had half an hour before the light faded away, and I was going to keep searching and finding those spots of sun. It was then that I consulted my map, and found Mossyrock, a small town about 15 minutes to the east. I had enough of the escape by then: I was ready to take pictures.

It was a small town of 700 people, out in the middle of this wide valley. This is the kind of town I hoped to come across in traveling all this way. I drove through the town, saving the sights for when I came back, and I pressed on to Mossyrock Lake.

The drive from there took me to a perfect conclusion for my hour and half adventure from the city:

Behold! A lake beside a lake with an island in the middle! This was obviously the result of a damming of the water and streams, which I found later on. The whole scene, with its blueness, its dark cloudy sunset gave me an appreciation for the rain which haunts this place during the winter.

Driving back, I took some pictures of a smaller lake created by a smaller dam, along with some car shots of the rain.

Finally, I pulled back into the town of Mossyrock, and snapped some photos of old buildings and the town itself again.

I began my journey back, out of the town, and to the highway to conclude my search for the sun. The way back was calm and rainy, and I found myself scrolling through radio stations bouncing to the music as I entered the city lights of Vancouver.

The Uptick

The things that come from the warmth of the spring sun help us crawl out of the darkness and gray of winter. A city that was never frozen begins to thaw, and for the first time in months, the clock's second hand begins to click again. Big city lights give way to long sunny nights, and you can begin to see the green once more.

Who knew the urban landscape, with its ribbons of roads, and its ever moving river of traffic, could look this beautiful.

Constant highway noise becomes regular when you are in the city. Grinding wheels on rough pavement create this low hum that can always be heard.

I can hear it on my front porch. It's always there, humming along, like a gas engines in the very vehicles that travel upon its surface. But this car never stops.

Transition now to the electric rails. The rocking of a car back and forth as it travels its set path. As sheets of rain fall outside, you are just thankful to be in the warm car, only to confront your warm spring inevitability in a couple of minutes. But that makes the rain different; it's a spring rain. It doesn't numb the toes; it cleans the soul.

Once you arrive, you walk around the park. Dance along the ballroom floor. Squeak into the house. Your feet take you where you want to go, where you dare to go, and where you need to see. That is the beautiful thing about travel and experience. Eventually, it all goes back to your feet. To get you out of the car; to hop down from the bus; to get you off of the train; to pedal the bike; to sway with the ship; to stumble in flight. Your feet do all of that for you.

And once the spring comes the switch flicks, and you are now in the uptick. And you dance in the sunshine of the fading day.

Updates from a Brick Fanatic (Part 2)

Last Sunday I had the wonderful opportunity to go to Bricks Cascade, a wonderful Lego show at the Oregon Convention Center in Portland. I had never been in the convention center, so after navigating the MAX line to the center, I came to the massive building with its iconic spires on Martin Luther King Jr. boulevard, bought my ticket, and was greeted with this once in the showroom:

The hustle and bustle of the showroom was amazingly busy: kids, adults, vendors, and builders, all in one place, showing off their creations and creativity. Here are some of the highlights I found as I circled the area:

 

Many of these pictures are pretty self explanatory, but the original brown sky scraper is a Portland landmark, but I'm not exactly sure what it is called. It reminds me that I am still very new to this place, and that I haven't even explored much of the city which is right across the river from me.

There was a micro-scale series, which I really love to look at and see how builders can create understandable scenes with very little, minimalist bricks. Here are some examples of the micro-scale creations.

The micro-scale sets led to some of the oldest Lego pieces I have ever seen. These are some pieces which are from the 1930's, when the idea of the interlocking brick was just beginning to take shape:

Finally, to show the ultimate creativity of the people showing their builds, there were many movie theater creations which actually had either tablets or portable DVD players built into the "screen" part of the theater. I thought this was genius, so I snapped a couple of pictures:

All in all, the Sunday conference started an uptick in my attitude and mental state which has led me into this week feeling some of the best I have felt in a while. A lot of it is probably the new found sunshine, but a lot of it is also the warmth which visits the region during the day, along with the increasing sense that there is more to explore and to discover, especially when it isn't grey and rainy for months. But more on that to come later. For now, enjoy the Lego pictures, and maybe even take out some of your old sets and build some yourself!