Blackness

Okay. You all remember Fionn's sad day of being turned away at the Oregon Caves National Monument. If you haven't read it, it is the posting previous to this one and is worth a quick read so you understand where we are all coming from.

When you love your kids, you hurt with them and share their joy just as much as they do. I HAD to find Fionn a cave. I HAD TO! I was delighted to find that more caves were along the route and these sounded even BETTER!

A million or so years ago, a volcano erupted and sent off lava shoots through the earth which left huge tunnels in its place. The caves were a result of where LAVA actually flowed through at tremendous SPEED! Okay. So we have a "cool" factor, we have our cave, and we have an all ages welcome sign!

Today was our lucky day. We were all going cave exploring. We pulled up in our happy van and camper, got on our jackets, grabbed our flashlights, I got on my baby Ergo Carrier and we headed towards the ticket counter. A forest ranger saw our national pass and let us through and asked if we wanted to rent a lantern. I smiled and waved my Barbie flashlight at her and said smoothly, "No thank you, we've got it covered."

The day was warm and sunny. The path leading down to the earth was dry and paved. Fionn danced as he held his flashlight in one hand and his dad's hand in the other. He was going to see a cave! The earth started to descend and a very cold mist began to blow into our faces. How exciting! We turned the path's corner and there stood a magnificent cave entrance. Wide for a full view of steps leading downward and people coming in and out, some with small children, some with babies and grandparents.

I shouted up to Fionn, "Are you excited, Fionn?"
His little feet jumped down the stairs happily.
"YES!" he shouted back. His flashlight was turned on and he waved it all around, enjoying the beam of light with the sunlit cave mouth at his back. The path narrowed and metal steps continued on down a path that darkened quickly. No interior lights aided our descent.

"Okay, everyone, turn on your flashlights and watch your step!" I called out.

Within a moment, it was really dark. The path was made up of a real fine black powder. Jagged molten rocks were populated in various ascents and descents of the cave which made the path treacherous at times.

"How much were they charging for those lanterns?" I called to Sean.
"I think $3 dollars," he shouted back.
"How about I go back to the camper and get ours?" I yelled again.
"Sure, but we can see fine without them," he answered, keeping a steady pace into the pitch black cave.
"Well hold on then, I'll go fast! I can't see a thing! I'll be right back!" and off I sped, turning around while trying not to crash into anything.

Within a few minutes I reached the mouth of the cave with Keegan on my back and my trusty Barbie flashlight, which already was loosing its battery life. I waved at the forest ranger and motioned I'd be right back. I ran through the parking lot, found our camper, grabbed two lanterns, locked it back up, ran back through the lot, weaved through the tourists and was happy to feel the cold cave air as I had worked up a sweat trying to get back to my family left in the black cave with no light.

The sun shone on my back as I descended, following the friendly path with tourists hugging each other for family photos. I trotted quickly along the metal grates that provided level walking, up the stairs, down the stairs into the waiting darkness, where I had left my family ten minutes ago. I turned on the lanterns so that my family could see that I was coming for them and then they could rid of their silly flashlights that provided them with but a sliver of light.

It was pitch black now and I called for them. Nothing. I stopped wondering if they had decided to turn back and go out of the cave. It was only 40 degrees. I held my lantern in front of my face and watched my breath evaporate into blackness. Keegan was asleep on my back; we shared warmth between us and so I decided to pursue the path a little further. I feared they had gone further in and were still waiting for me with needed light.

I walked for a long time and listened for voices. I could hear children ahead and the path widened and was easier with now only a black powder. I could see about 5-6 feet around me, which was amazing how the darkness seemed to extinguish the light from these two lanterns. I called for them, "Sean! Riley! Liam!" but there was no answer. The voices grew louder, but sadly I could tell it was not my family.

A dim light grew from deep within the cave. Upon approaching I became relieved to finally see the people.

"Hi!" I said happily, "Have you seen a man with dark hair with a bunch of blond little kids?"

The people glowed in my light, "Yes, we saw them about a mile ago."
"A MILE?" I gasped?
"Yeah, little kids, right? I thought they were crazy, but they were making pretty good time," one of the men said.
"Well I hope it's them because if I walk all this way in this pitch black cave and find out it is not them... I'm going to be pissed!" and I smiled a scared smile and began walking again through the ancient lava-shoot cave.

I checked on Keegan's feet dangling from the carrier. They were cold. I put my palms around them and held the lantern handles in my fingertips and then slid them into my pockets of my jacket. "A mile?" I thought to myself, "Why wouldn't he wait for me?"

I walked for over 15 minutes, going deeper and deeper into the cave. I felt panic growing inside of me. The darkness was so thick, so black, it felt like death. I held the lantern up so see if I could get a look at the ceiling. White streaks along the walls of some kind of sediment covered everything. Drops of water landed here and there into the black powder. I could hear no one. I started to loose my courage. I thought of little Fionn. His first cave and he's over a mile deep into this hellhole with a puny flashlight. I started to doubt that Sean would have brought them into this place and each step I pushed forward I began to feel I was making a mistake.

I then heard voices ahead again. Not a few, but many! I pushed forward as fast as I could, made a bend and there were suddenly lanterns lit with people talking with one another. I approached an older couple in their 60s.

"You've got a real little one with you!" the wife said with surprise.
"Yes, unfortunately, I am looking for the rest of my family. Have you seen a man with black hair with four little blond kids with him?"
"Oh my God, yes! Oh, he's way up ahead! We told him that he was crazy and that he should turn back but he was on the go, that's for sure!" and she shook her head and gave me a smile.
"That's what I get for marrying a mountain man," I explained, "They never stop until they've reached the top. When I catch up to him...I'm going to let him know that I am SOOOO writing about this in my blog!"

The couple laughed hysterically and wished me well.
"By the way," I added, "were any of the kids crying?"
"No, but he was holding one of them. He looked cold."
"Thanks," I said, and I was recharged with a quest to save my children.

Again, I walked briskly, with barely enough light to cast a safe path. I no longer held the lantern upwards to view the cave. It was frightening and rather grotesque. I was angry and that was good. It gave me enough nerve to continue on. All I could think of was my poor young ones and what they must be going through in near complete darkness for almost an hour.

It had been a long time since I had seen anyone or heard anything. I began to fear the unknown again. Just when I would feel panic crawl through me, a faint glow or voice would let me know that there were other insane families with children in this cave, underground, miles deep.

"What in the hell is wrong with these people," I kept asking myself, "It all looks the same! Why keep going?"

I received more confirmations that my family was still ahead of me, without injury, and still traveling further in. Finally, a man informed me that the cave did indeed end and that they would eventually have to turn around the way they got in.

"Thank God!" I thanked him, "Let's hope he doesn't find a shovel and start digging!"

I hated this damn cave and I wanted my kids to know I was calmly coming for them so I sang Minuet in G in soprano. I sang it over and over and over until I finally heard my son, Liam, speaking loudly to his sister. They were on their return.

"Mommy!" Riley shouted, "Hi Mom!"
"Hello, sweethearts!" I hugged them all and handed them a lantern, "How were you able to see where you were going?"
"They held onto my shirt!" Sean beamed while holding Bono in his arms.

Bono was cold and Liam was wearing his dad's jacket. Riley's and Liam's flashlights were dead and they stood happily in the light of the lantern.

"Why didn't you wait for me!" I exclaimed.
"What?! Wait for you?!" Sean laughed, "You thought we would just stand there?"
"How could you see anything? And -- Why would you go so far in! The kids must have been scared!" I snapped.
"They were FIIIINE," he said annoyingly, "Now let's go!"

On the way back the kids told me the scary jokes their dad teased them with while he denied it all and laughed the whole incident off like it a day at the park.

I asked Fionn if he was scared at all.
"A little bit," he answered, "Were you?"
"You bet! But not anymore--now that I found my family!" and with that, I took his little, cold hand in mine and sang children's songs with him the whole way back until the blackness ended and the light was found, and the kids ran happily ahead of us without a worry or a care.

Back at the camper, we put our jackets and flashlights away. Sean, satisfied with meeting the end of the cave shouted, "Now wasn't that FUN!?"
"NOOOOOO!" all the children shouted back.

And that's what I get for marrying a mountain man...as the song goes, "to see what he could see." (With a stupid flashlight and four freezing kids, at the end of a three-mile lava cave.)

It Sucks To Be Short

So the long-awaited drive up the mountain nearly wiped out our toddler and about made our pre-schooler curse.

An old hotel had been restored into a gorgeous inn and the entrance to the cave was beautiful with layered rocks, ponds and waterfalls. Being a National Monument, having a season pass to all the national parks gave us free admittance. We were all in line to join the tour when bad news arrived from a Happy Forest Ranger that small children were not allowed under five years of age due to steep stairs and tight crawl spaces.

Now Fionn, being a small kid but smart enough to understand the concept of a cave and its "cool factor", was gently told that he couldn't enter. The disappointment was so great and the rejection was so heartfelt, he held his head upward to not let the tears fall from his eyes. He turned his face away to hide the humiliation. With that, they offered us to join the group for the first 50 feet to see the entrance but then we were turned out afterward.

Fionn's head hung low and I tried to comfort him, but it was no use. I took him and Bono to the restaurant at the Inn and ordered them each a tall milkshake with the works. Fionn ate it slowly and quietly. His disappointment lingered. It downright sucked big time.

About an hour and a half later, the family returned from their tour, all fired up and excited from their journey. They were hungry and Fionn smiled and said, "I had a giant milkshake!"

"What!" the older kids said, "NOT FAIR!"
Fionn beamed with pride, "Uh huh! And it had whip cream and chocolate and stuff and it was THIS BIG!" and he held out his hands smiling with delight.

So, the older kids went for a milkshake with dad and I took the younger three for a walk along the paths along side the cave, peering through the mouths, but never going in. My Fionn needed an adventure. Dammit, it sucks to be short.

The Way to Oregon Caves

After romping in the forest a few days, it was time to head back north through Oregon but to new destinations. I picked out the Oregon Caves National Monument just west of Junction City, which is off Highway 199. The drive became more prairie-like, a much dryer climate with sparse vegetation and tumble weeds. Dusty gas stations stood along the small town road with locals fueling up with gas and cigarettes. The earth and nicatine drank years from their skin. This place felt untouched from the world around them and I wondered how they survived in a town without a pulse.

"Junction City!" my man announced, "Want to stop for anything?"
"Naw, I want to find a place to camp before it gets dark. I hate parking in the dark," I replied.

We arrived at a state park seven miles from the caves. It was near dusk and the camp hosts quickly welcomed us in. Overly thin, neither husband or wife had enough combined teeth to eat a cob of corn. They smiled broadly as they asked us what our needs were for the evening.

"Just running water will be enough," my husband inquired, "We can make way without sewer or electric hookups for the night."

"I'm sorry, man," said the man, "but lets ask our neighbor if he's got a hose."

An older, shirtless man came scurring through the dry dirt pulling a hose to our camper as we idled in the check in lane. I felt a little embarrassed. I was afraid to look at his teeth, or lack thereof. A circus of help and soon our camper had water.

That night the children waded in a creek, built a campfire, enjoyed a rustic dinner followed by gooey smores afterward. There was no sound or site of traffic for many miles. We were at the base of the mountains. Home of critters, crawlers and mountain folk.

The next morning we unhitched the trailer for the seven mile drive up the mountain to visit the Oregon Caves. It was a gorgeous morning, sunny and 70 degrees. A light breeze stirred the tall canopy of conifer trees. All the children were excited to see their first cave. Bono sat in his car seat next to Keegan in the first row. I sat with them to monitor Bono's activities with the baby...Bono, our two year old, is known for slugging, biting, kicking and being a terror to the other children.

The road turned and twisted in and out of every part of the mountain. Sean was anxious to get to the top so he drove at a quicker speed. Bono was quiet. Very quiet. I watched ahead to the road so not to get dizzy as my head was already pounding for the day. I could hear some strange noises from Bono, kind of like he had too much spit in his mouth and was trying to swallow it.

Now I don't know what it is about that kid, but the few times in the past when he had the stomach flu, he would refuse to throw up. If he did, he wouldn't open his mouth. He would swallow it back down through locked jaw. This half hour trip up the mountain felt like an eternity of nautious hell. Bono's face was gray. His eyes rolled around and his head drooped from one side to the other.

When we arrived, all the other kids jumped out with a big, "Hooray!" while Bono oozed out of the van and held onto the door while he upchucked into his stubborn cheeks.

"Oh my god, Bono! Are you okay?" I held him and rubbed his back. He was too young for words but he looked up through his sour face and swallowed hard some more.

The breeze set him straight in a fast moment and with that, he marched forward to claim his walking stick that his brother held for him. We were off to find ourselves a cave!

Malibu Barbie and the Redwoods

I perhaps have not mentioned the constant headaches of which I suffer. I live on pain killers and am sometimes disabled by them. Much of it is contributed to hormones and some to stress, but Migrain Excedrin is always part of my morning ritual.

So I was laid out in the second row watching the sand dunes and the new appearance of Crescent City. The ocean mist was heavy and the fog shorted the coastal views. For August, it felt like November. My head lay sideways bumping along the backseat while my eyes peered open now and then to take a glimpse of scenery.

I felt my body sit up when I captured a glittering female's ass riding past my window with the words, "Malibu Barbie" sparkling as she and her colleague road their bikes along Highway 101 toward California.

"Did you see that?" I laughed up front to my husband.
"Yeah!" he turned and gave me a smile.
"Drive up along side of them! I want a better look!"

I had to see what a female bicycling tour team looked like. I had secretly wanted to do the exact thing, but never had a female partner.

We pulled up along side and I watched their cadence and inspected their level of fitness. These girls were made up of granola and unshaven legs. I frowned with puzzlement wondering why the claimed name of Malibu Barbie with glitter. These girls resembled Ken dolls more than Barbie. I shrugged and laughed it off.

"Good for them!" I said after a moment, "Glad to see their freedom and humorous outlook."

We saw them many times throughout the day. It was impressive how much distance they were able to cover, still laughing and talking with each other, eating snacks and sipping from a water bottle as they rode.

We came along the Redwoods and pulled off to the side. They were within inches of the highway and their girth was impossible to measure. We took some nearby paths and walked along the understory of native ferns and brush. The filtered sunlight through the moist coastal air gave the forest a mysterious and surreal appearance.

We spent two days camping and hiking through the Redwoods. The native Indians thought of the place as haunted. I thought it simply beautiful beyond description.
Take time with someone special and get out for a walk in the woods. Find some glitter and write your name. Wear it on your ass, if so inclined. Everyone needs to feel a little special now and then!

A Last Hurrah

We signed the 12-month lease to our apartment and moved what little we had into it. Air mattresses flooded the bedroom floors and clothes were stacked into closets along with cherished toys that made the trip west. The living room and dining room were bare, only paper plates and plastic spoons filled the kitchen cabinets.

"Don't unpack anything more," Sean said, "We're blowing this joint as soon as we find a house."

"Great," I answered back, "I've been living out of a box for the last three months and now you are telling me I can't unpack?"

"Yes! Don't get all comfortable and attached to this place! We're not staying here long!" and off he went carrying boxes to a corner that would remain closed.

Sometimes you have to trust your spouse with things that are really touchy. This was touchy. I missed home and even though I really loved everything I was finding about Washington, the attachment to our home was still very strong, if not too strong.

So, we sat around on the empty living room floor and took a good look at each other. Within an hour we were in the van and heading to the rv storage to pick up our trailer. We were hitting the road.

"We have two more weeks until school starts," I began, "Let's go see the Redwoods!"

We drove through Washington down to Oregon. We were kind of gitty with feeling like we were escaping the pressures and schedules of life again. Watching the open road for hours is oddly theraputic. Just like life, nothing stays the same--no matter how you try to keep it so. The miles pass and with it bring new soil, foliage, air and micro cultures.

I called my brother who lives in Corvallis, Oregon. He was camping along the sand dunes with his wife and kids and riding his off-road dirt bike for the weekend. We had already passed that area and were south of him. The sand dunes run along the coast from mid Oregon all the way to the border to northern California. We were on Hwy 101 and there were areas where the sand blew into the road, making sand drifts of tan/pink crystals.

"Too cool!" I yelled up front, "Let me see if I can find a place to camp out around here for the night!"

I called ahead to a few places but everything was booked. After I had given up hope, Sean found a place and pulled us in for the night. Sand dunes were everywhere and the night was cold. We grabbed the children and gave them their headlamps.

Out above us a spectacular night sky. The big dipper so simple to view. The children gazed and observed the clusters, so full and bright. We turned off our lamps and we could see nothing, not even our hand in front of our face. A sound of moving brush sent us quickly back to the camper. Snuggled in our sleeping bags, our children slept a deep sleep, safe and free amongst the dunes.

Where You Belong

Rarely does one live in a place by choice; most of us live in a place by default, a place where our family grew up or where there was a job available. Many of us have a dream place tucked away that never becomes a reality. Pulling the plug on a life that was working in chase for something better... grander, even, well--that's just suicide.

So, here we are driving around Washington looking for that place in our minds, a place where we belong, and after town after town, I kept bringing up that damn grocery store in Olympia.

"Sure would like to stock up on some of that produce at that Top Foods in Olympia...remember that place?"
"Yep," Sean quietly drove looking at the farmland and day dreaming of owning one.
"Well, you want to start heading back that way? It was really nice there..." I trailed off thinking of the exotic plums and nectorines.

We drove south I-5 hitting every town that was recommended and wondered why anyone would recommend it in the first place. Sure they were nice places, but they were either too far from SEA/TAC or had no shopping/downtown area or had no views of the mountians, etc. We had kids with many needs of good schools, sports, dance, bike paths, nature at their fingertips, and I needed to be near business so I could resume some line of work once the economy picks up. We wanted to be around people like us, outdoor enthusiasts and into healthy living.

We headed back to Olympia and stayed at a campground in Tumwater, WA--a suburb of Olympia that took us in for three weeks at a good rate. We belonged there. The people, the views, the lifestyles, and nature galore. We found an apartment complex high on the hill overlooking the Olympic Mountains, Puget Sound, the State Capitol, and Mt. Rainer--all in one sweeping look out our belcony. It wouldn't be ready for another few weeks for us to move in, so we hit the road and headed to Long Beach, WA. Twenty-eight miles of unobstructed beach just north of the Columbia River outlet into the Pacific.

A beautiful place to rest and explore for the week!

Stuck

There we were, on top of this steep, stupid hill with no turn around. The incline grade was more than 10% and it was impossible to go back down in reverse. Sean got out and looked around. Imagine a huge steak on a small plate. That was our van and camper on top of this big hill.

To the left, the metal gate lead to a grassy area near some kind of city power structure. Sean swung it open and I felt my heart leap with hope. Ah! If we could somehow go in reverse about 20 feet and then drive into it, we could then attempt to turn this thing around.

Problem was, the top of the asphalt was chopped up; bits and pieces were missing and deep grooves in the exposed dirt were where we needed to back up the camper. It was a no go. We would bottom out. I suggested we drive it into the bushes and then reverse it in a small clearing to turn it around. Sean disagreed.

Acting like it was no big deal, "Okay, just bring it over there through the gate and then back it up over there," he said matter-of-fact.

"'Just,'" I muttered, "Whenever you say 'just' I know you are trying to minimize something. Turning it into there will get you stuck." I was pissed but couldn't be. We had to work together and doing the blame game wouldn't get us out of this mess.

"I would turn it into there," I said pointing, with the same chipper voice like he used.

"No, that's no good."
"Yes, it is...you'll need to jack knife it real hard though."
"Driving through the gate will be easier. I'll guide you," he persisted.
"Fine."

I hopped in and the kids were quiet. I explained what we were going to do and that I would need it real quiet so I could think. The kids didn't make a sound.

I backed up the camper straight about 20 feet to pull forward so I could pull in through the gate. The weight from the trailer pulled the van back and my wheels started slipping. We went sliding down the hill a couple feet and I locked the breaks. We still slid.

Growing up in Minnesota gave me some advantage: I knew how to drive on slippery roads.

I put it into first gear and held my position. The wheels caught traction and slowly we heaved up to the top again and made the turn. My heart was pounding and my legs were shaking. I pulled into the grass and hopped out to look at what we had to maneuver next.

A chain link fence ran along the right-hand side of the van. Straight back was a big dip and then further back a deep ditch. If I could go part way out and then jack knife it to the right, drive the camper into the bushes, we could clear the gate and the other ditch and make it down the hill.

Sean hopped in. It was his turn to give it a go. He carefully began to back it up but then began some weird turning that made the camper nearly hit the fence.

"STOP! STOP!" I yelled, waiving my arms, "You have to turn it the other way!"

He pulled it back forward to give it another try. This time he made it through the gate but then went into the deep dip. The bike trailer in the back of the camper dug down into the dirt and then hit the asphalt lip bending the frame and making a loud scraping sound.

"STOP! STOP!" I screamed up to him, "DO NOT MOVE!" Sean jumped out to inspect what was going on.

"The dip is too big. You drive it and I will try to lift the bike trailer to clear the lip," he said.

I watched in the rear-view mirrors as he tried to lift the 200lb bike trailer and four bikes up as I backed up. It was no good. We were now stuck further on this damn hill. I started muttering to myself all the things I had to get out like, "If you see a big hill and you think that it looks too steep, STOP DRIVING!"

Over and over we tried to back up. Two hours went by and we were still stuck. The children still silent with fright. Finally, I said,"Sean, let me go back down the way I got in here, I'll pull forward again where I wanted to, and then I'll jackknife it into the bushes."

We cleared the asphalt with a different angle and slid down the hill a few feet until I finally regained some footing. Pulled it up into the bushes, jackknifed it into the bushes while scraping the paint through the wild blackberries and through a few more forward and reverse maneuvers we were facing the right way: looking down the narrow street in front of us.

I jumped over to my seat and looked at Sean as he climbed in. We did it. He slowly made the descent. He made a few chuckles of relief then said, "Now! Let's go look at that house!" I looked at him perplexed how he could be so flippant. I watched the road finally level out. "Okay...but park here. Don't drive up the street."