cat tales

Follow The Egg...

2011-12-14T15:21:00.000-07:00

If you haven't noticed The Egg, your time has come!

Miss Meagan Murtagh featured *me* on The Egg Out West, her colorful blog that is all about our glorious life in Jackson Hole. It was quite fun snapping photos in the Tetons with one of my best friends, double fisting wine spritzers and toting props found in my car.

Please give it a gander, and check out her latest edition of Jackson folk {meet, Cat}. With love, I present to you the site + the unedited interview, below.

The Egg: What brought you to the Wild West?

Cat: My journey west began long ago, when I was just a young cowgirl at heart riding ponies and playing Tiger Lily in a big city. We would make frequent trips down "South" to my mama's hometown in the country. It was there in Bainbridge, Georgia at Grandma and Papa's house that my 3 brothers and I were set lose to roam. We spent all day fishing with our cane poles and beamed with pride when our day's catch was served at the supper table. We climbed magnolia and oak trees and paddled forth onto Lake Douglas in search of gators. We idolized our slow-talking, camo-wearing cousins who taught us how to shoot a shotgun and play snooker. Mud wrestling, hog calling, and tee-pee camping were encouraged. The sky never seemed to have more stars.

At 16, I was introduced to the Rockies for the first time by my Uncle Ben and Aunt Jennifer. They took me skiing in a tiny town called Crested Butte, Colorado. Ben and Jennifer later brought me to their home in Big Mountain, Montana. It was the summer before I started college. I learned to fly-fish, developed a taste for microbrews, fell in love with bluegrass music, and discovered Glacier National Park. It was only a matter of timing before I would live amongst the strange wildflowers and big, chilly rivers.

Jackson Hole popped up on my radar while attending the University of Georgia. The very sound of its name evoked magic. Something resonated deep within my soul. Years went by. I found myself in Los Angeles pouring my heart into TOMS Shoes, a start-up company that would change the world. I soon came to another crossroad in my life. I knew it was finally time to answer Jackson’s call. On September 4th, 2007, I moved sight-unseen to the last of the Wild West.

The Egg: How many times have you left and returned?

Cat: Five.

I spent my first summer guiding teenagers through Costa Rica for Wilderness Ventures, a Jackson-based company.

Later that year, I took off on an open-ended fly fishing roadtrip throughout the West, British Colombia, and the Pacific Northwest.

The following Spring, I was skiing in Telluride when my Uncle Pierre and Aunt Kim invited me to sail with them for a passage of their voyage around the world. Within 3 days, I uprooted my life in Jackson. I said my goodbyes, fit everything I owned in my car, drove across the country, and caught a flight to Panama. With plans to sail for a month and then relocate to Asheville, North Carolina, I didn’t look back. I did sail, but I never moved to Asheville. I literally gave up everything in my life- love, job, family, security- for the sake of following my heart. Let’s just say that I jumped on a motorcycle, and went on the ride of my life through the Andes. I found paradise on a macadamia farm in Colombia, backpacked through Ecuador, and blazed a trail through Peru. I didn’t know how long I would need to satisfy this hunger, but fate would have me soon hiking on the Teton Crest Trail, navigating through snow, and sharing my passion for this glorious place with eager, young students.

The next time I left Jackson, it wasn’t by choice. I was shocked and then scared to hear that I had three compression fractures in my Thorascic spine. I flew home immediately to be cared for my specialists and go through months of physical therepy. I felt vulnerable, my mind clouded and my wings clipped. My family and friends nurtured me. I bought a one-way ticket back to Jackson for a wedding. I guess I outsmarted myself.

The last time I left Jackson was to take a long walk on the Appalachian Trail with my beautiful cousin, Anne-Marie. We made a deal to devote at least 1 month a year to having an adventure together. Then I went to Italy. I guess what ultimately brought me back to Jackson this last time was to fly fish and drink Moscow Mules with my “gnomies” in Montana. That’s another annual tradition. I guess you could say that I am a nut for tradition. I like to keep the streak going.

The Egg: Think you'll stay here for good?

Cat: If I can learn anything from my past, it’s that Jackson is definitely in my future. I lead with my heart. But I think my dream is to explore the world and always call Jackson home.

The Egg: How many jobs have you had here?

Cat: I’m pretty familiar with the Jackson Shuffle. To answer your question, I counted at least 25 different jobs in the past 4 years. I have waited tables, cooked, even washed dishes, modeled for world class artists, styled mansions, assisted photo shoots, personal assisted, dog sat, house sat, baby sat, written for the local paper, sold paintings, taught children how to ski, and guided tours at the Jackson Hole Mountain Resort, you name it. However, the one job that I want to be remembered for that has always been my proudest since the very beginning, is Teacher. I began my teaching career here when I was 23 at the Jackson Hole Community School. I taught highschool Spanish which led me into experiential education with Wilderness Ventures. I lucked out and was able to teach at the Journeys School of Teton Science Schools and am now teaching lower-elementary school students at Jackson Elementary.

The Egg: Biggest thrill in Jackson?

Cat: We have Yellowstone and Teton National Park in our backyard. Plus there are a lot of fearless inhabitants always encouraging another journey. From learning to play in powder to doing wing overs and touch-and-gos over the Tetons in a Cesna 182 and everything in between, Jackson thrills are big and small, daily, and endless.

The Egg: Craziest memory in Jhole?

Cat: Spontaneously driving to the Winter Olympic Games in Vancuver 2010. We got to see the US Men take Gold in the Bobsled. Or the 1st ever 80’s Ladies Ski Ballet that you organized. Another tough call. I like to have my cake and eat it, too.

The Egg: On average, how much money have you spent at the Jackson Hole Browse-n-Buy?

Cat: Our relationship was tested last month when half of my belongings were accidentally donated to the Browser, our local thrift store. It still remains one of my favorite places to shop in the world. For a gal who can’t get enough vintage and what I like to call treasures, especially for a good bargain, it can’t be beat. There’s no telling how much I’ve spent.

The Egg: Where is Boo?

Cat: Call dispatch! Kidding- He is coiled up in a little ball on the couch across from me wondering when we are going to go play in the snow!

Miracles happen

2011-11-25T13:25:00.000-07:00

My favorite fellas on the way to the Jackson AirportJackson, Wyoming > Denver, ColoradoDenver, Colorado > Frankfurt, GermanyFrankfurt, Germany > Barcelona, SpainWhen will backs up the mind, miracles happen.

Hello, MOVEMBER!

2011-11-01T16:23:00.000-06:00

Cheers, Runners!

2011-09-26T08:54:00.000-06:00


happy cat

*we did it*

The Egg and I raising a bottle of champagne to celebrate an amazing race! We got by with a little help from our friends.

With visions of the Tetons, a rolling fog, the sunrise, onlooking horses, soaring bald eagles, spiraling parachutes, cheering families in costumes, a running Elvis, sneaky pit stops in the tall grass, illuminate golden cottonwoods, and an ever steady, beautiful scape that I may call home,

Cat

Jackson Hole Marathon 2011

2011-09-23T15:15:00.000-06:00

After 4 years of dreaming about it, Jackson finally kicks off its inaugural 26.2 mi event. I couldn't be more excited!

In lieu of the race tomorrow, I present you with a few words from Steve Prefontaine, running legend and one of my all-time personal heroes.

"Some people create with words or with music or with a brush and paints. I like to make something beautiful when I run. I like to make people stop and say, 'I've never seen anyone run like that before.' It's more than just a race, it's a style. It's doing something better than anyone else. It's being creative."

"To give anything less than your best is to sacrifice the gift."

"A lot of people run a race to see who is fastest. I run to see who has the most guts, who can punish himself into exhausting pace, and then at the end, punish himself even more."

"I don't just go out there and run. I like to give people watching something exciting."

"Something inside of me just said, 'Hey, wait a minute, I want to beat him,' and I just took off."

"Success isn't how far you got, but the distance you traveled from where you started."

"Don't be afraid to give up the good to go for the great."

"How does a kid from Coos Bay, with one leg longer than the other win races? All my life people have been telling me, 'You're too small Pre', 'You're not fast enough Pre', 'Give up your foolish dream Steve'. But they forgot something, I HAVE TO WIN."

"What I want is to be number one."

"Somebody may beat me, but they are going to have to bleed to do it."

"Nobody is going to win a 5,000 meter race after running an easy two miles. Not with me. If I lose forcing the pace all the way, well, at least I can live with myself."

"I'm going to work so that it's a pure guts race at the end, and if it is, I am the only one who can win it."

Godspeed, and this one is mostly for you, Rob!

Cat

Why we travel, by Pico Iyer

2011-07-27T20:10:00.000-06:00

Call me copycat, but this article featured on salon.com- way back when- is worth sharing! I discovered it tucked away for safekeeping in the pages of Ashley's book.

Why we travel
It whirls you around, turns you upside down and stands everything you took for granted on its head.

BY PICO IYER
SATURDAY, MAR 18, 2000

(work in progress! with lots of spelling errors!)

We travel, initially, to lose ourselves; and we travel, next, to find ourselves. We travel to open our hearts and eyes and learn ore about the world than our newspapers will accommodate. We travel to bring what little we can, in our ignorance and knowledge, to those parts of the globe whose riches are differently dispersed. And we travel, in essence to become young fools again -- to slow tie down and get taken in, and fall in love once more. The beauty of this whole process was best described, perhaps, before people even took to frequent flying, by George Santayana in his lapidary essay, "The Philosophy of Travel." We "need sometimes," the Harvard philosopher wrote, "to escape into open solitudes, into aimlessness, into the moral holiday of running some pure hazard, in order to sharpen the edge of life, to taste hardship, and to be compelled to work desperately for a moment at no matter what."

I like that stress on work, since never more than on the road are we shown how proportional our blessings are to the difficulty that precedes them; and I like the stress on a holiday that's "moral" since we fall into our ethical habits as easily as into our beds at night. Few of us ever forget the connection between "travel" and "travail," and I know that I travel in large part in search of hardship -- both my own, which I want to feel, and others;, which I need to see. Travel in that sense guides us toward a better balance of wisdom and compassion -- of seeing the world clearly, and yet feeling it truly. For seeing without feeling can obviously be uncaring; while feeling without seeing can be blind.

Yet for me the first great joy of traveling is simply the luxury of leaving all my beliefs and certainties at home, and seeing everything I thought I knew in a different light, and from a crooked angle. In that regard, even a Kentucky Fried Chicken outlet (in Beijing) or a scratchy revival showing of "Wild Orchids" (on the Champs-Elysees) can be both novelty and revelation: In China, after all, people will pay a whole week's wages to eat with Colonel Sanders, and in Paris, Mickey Rourke is regarded as the greatest actor since Jerry Lewis.

If a Mongolian restaurant seesm exotic to us in Evanston, Ill., it only follows that a McDonald's would seem equally exotic in Ulan Bator -- or, at least, equally far from everything expected. Though it's fashionable nowadays to draw a distinction between the "tourist" and the "traveler," perhaps the real distinction lies between those who leave their assuptions at home, and those who don't: Aong those who don't, a tourist is just someone who coplains, "Nothing here is the way it is at home," while a traveler is one who grumbles, " Everything here is the same as it is in Cairo -- or Cuzco or KAthandu." It's all very uch the same.

But for the rest of us, the sovreign freedom of traveling comes from the fact that it whirls you around and turns you upside down, and stands everything you took for granted on its head. If a diploma can famously be a passport (to a journey through hard realis), a passport can be a diploma (for a crash course in cultural relativism). And the first lesson we learn on the road, whether we like it or not, is how provisional and provincial are the things we imagine to be universal. When you go to North Korea, for example, you really do feel as if you've landed on a different planet -- and the North Koreans doubtless feel that they're being visited by an extra-terrestrial, too (or else they simply assume that you, as they do, have loudspeakers in your bedroom broadcasting propaganda every orning at dawn, and you, as they do, have your radios fixed so as to receive only a single channel).

We travel, then, in part just to shake up our complacencies by seeing all the moral and political urgencies, the life-and-death dilemas, that we seldom have to face at home. And we travel to fill in the gaps left by tomorrow's headlines: When you drive down the streets of Port-au-Prince, for example, where there is almost no paving and women relieve themselves next to mountains of trash, your notions of the Internet and a "one world order" grow usefully revised. Travel is the best way we have of recuing the huanity of places, and saving them from abstraction and ideology.

And in the process, we also get saved from abstraction ourselves, and come to see how much we can bring to the places we visit, and how much we can become a kind of carrier pigeon -- an anti-Federal Express, and if you like -- in transporting back and forth what every culture needs. I find that I always take Michael Jordan posters to Kyoto, and bring woven ikebana baskets back to California; I invariably travel to Cuba wi ha suitcase piled high wit bottles of Tylenol and bars of soap, and come back with one piled high with salsa tapes, and hopes, and letters to long-lost brothers.

But more significantly, we carry values and beliefs and news to the places we go, and in any parts of the world, we becoem

By now all of us have heard (too often) the old Proust line about how the real voyage of discovery consists not in seeing new places but in seeing with new eyes. Yet one of the subtler beauties of travel is that it enables you to bring new eyes to the people you encounter. Thus even as holidays help you appreciate your own home more -- not least by seeing it through a distant admirer's eyes -- they help you ring newly appreciative -- distant -- eyes to the places you visit. You can teach the what they have to celebrate as much as you celebrate what they have to teach. This, I think, is how tourism, which so obviously destroys cultures, can also resuscitate or revive them, how it has created new "traditional" dances in Bali, and caused craftsmen in India to pay new attention to their works. If the first thing we can bring the Cubans is a real and balances sense of what conteporary America is like, the second -- and perhaps more important -- thing we can bring them is a fresh and renewed sense of how special are the warmth and beauty of their country, for those who can compare it with other places around the globe.

Thus travel spins us round in two ways at once: It shows us the sights and values and issues that we might ordinarily ignore; but it also, and more deeply, shows us all the parts of ourselves that might otherwise grow rusty. For in traveling to a truly foreign place, we inevitably travel to moods and states of mind and hidden inward passages that we'd otherwise seldom have come visit.

On the most basic level, when I'm in Thailand, though a teetotaler who usually goes to bed at 9 p.m., I stay up till dawn in the local bars; and in Tibet, though not a real Buddhist, I spend days on end in temples, listening to the chants of sutras. I go to Iceland to visit the lunar spaces wihin e, and, in the uncanny quietude and emptiness of the vast and treeless world, to tap parts of myself generally obscured by chatter and routine.

We travel, then, in search of both self and anonymity -- and, of course, in finding the one we apprehend the other. Abroad, we are wonderfully free of caste and job and standing; we are, as Hazlitt puts it, just the "gentlemen in the parlour," and people cannot put a name or tag to us. And precisely because we are clarified in this way, and freed of inessential labels, we have the opportunity to come into contact with ore essential parts of ourselves (which may begin to explain why we may feel most alive when far from home).

Abroad is the place where we stay up late, follow impulse and find ourselves as wide open as when we are in love. We live without a past or future, for a moment at least, and are ourselves up for grabs and open to interpretation. We even may become mysterious -- to others, at first, and sometimes to ourselves -- and, as no less a dignitary than Oliver Cromwell once noted, "A man never goes so far as when he doesn't know where he is going."

There are, of course, great dangers to this, and to every kind of freedom, but the great promise of it is that, traveling, we are born again, and able to return at moments to a younger and a more open kind of self. Traveling is a way to reverse time, to a small extent, and make a day last a year -- or at least 45 hours -- and traveling is an easy way of surrounding ourselves, as in childhood, with what we cannot understand. Language facilitates this cracking open, for when we go to France, we often migrate to French, and the more childlike self, simple and polite, that speaking a foreign language educes. Even when I'm not speaking pidgin English in Hanoi, I'm simplified in a positive way, and concerned not with expressing myself, but simply making sense.

So travel, for many of us, is a quest for not just the unknown, but the unknowing; I, at least, travel in search of an innocent eye that can return me to a more innocent self. I tend to believe more abroad than I do at home (which, though treacherous again, can at least help me to extend my vision), and I tend to be more easily excited abroad, and even kinder. And since no one I meet can "place" me -- no one can fix me in my risumi -- I can remake myself for better, as well as, of course, for worse (if travel is notoriously a cradle for false identities, it can also, at its best, be a crucible for truer ones). In this way, travel can be a kind of monasticism on the move: On the road, we often live more simply (even when staying in a luxury hotel), with no more possessions than we can carry, and surrendering ourselves to chance.

This is what Camus meant when he said that "what gives value to travel is fear" -- disruption, in other words, (or emancipation) from circumstance, and all the habits behind which we hide. And that is why many of us travel not in search of answers, but of better questions. I, life many people, tend to ask questions of the places I visit, and relish most the ones that ask the most searching questions back of me: In Paraguay, for example, where one car in every two is stolen, and two-thirds of the goods on sale are smuggled, I have to rethink my every Californian assumption. And in Thailand, where many young women give up their bodies in order to protect their families -- to become better Buddhists -- I have to question y own too-ready judgements. "The ideal travel book," Christopher Isherwood once said, "should be perhaps a little like a crime story in which you're in search of something." And it's the best kind of something, I would add, if it's one that you can never quite find.

I remember, in fact, after my first trips to Southeast Asia, more than a decade ago, how I would come back to my apartment in New York, and lie in my bed, kept up by something more than jet lag, playing back, in my memory, over and over, all that I had experienced, and paging wistfully through y photographs and reading and re-reading my diaries, as if to extract some mystery fro them. Anyone witnessing this strange scene would have drawn the right conclusion: I was in love.

For if every true love affair can feel like a journey to a foreign country, where you can't quite speak the language, and you don't know where you're going, and you're pulled ever deeper into the inviting darkness, every trip to a foreign country can be a love affair, where you're left puzzling over who you are and whom you've fallen in love with. All the great travel books are love stories, by some reckoning -- from the Odyssey and the Aeneid to the Divine Comedy and the New Testament -- and all good trips are, like love, about being carried out of yourself and deposited in the midst of terror and wonder.

And what this metaphor also brings home to us is that all travel is a two-way transaction, as we too easily forge, and if warfare is one model of the meeting of nations, romance is another. For what we all too often ignore when we go abroad is that we are objects of scrutiny as much as the people we scrutinize and we are being consumed by the cultures we consume, as much on the road as when we are at home. At the very least, we are objects of speculation (and even desire) who can seem as exotic to the people around us as they do to us.

We are the comic props in Japanese home-movies, the oddities in aliese anecdotes and the fall-guys in Chinese jokes; we are the moving postcards or bizarre objects trouves that villagers in Peru will later tell their friends about. If travel is about the meeting of realities, it is no less about the mating of illusions: You give me my dreamed-of vision of Tibet, and I'll give you your wished-for California. And in truth, many of us, even (or especially) the ones who are fleeing America abroad, will get taken, willy-nily, as symbols of the American Dream.

That, in fact, is perhaps the most central and most wrenching of the questions travel proposes to us: how to respond to the dream that people tender to you? Do you encourage their notions of a Land of Milk and Honey across the horizon, even if it is the same and you've abandoned? Or do you try to dampen their enthusiasm for a place that exists only in the mind? To quicken their dreams may, after all, be to match-make them with an illusion; yet to dash them may be to strip them of the one possession that sustains them in adversity.

That whole complex interaction -- not unlike the dilemmas we face with those we love (how do we balance truthfulness and tact?) -- is partly the reason why so many of the great travel writers, by nature, are enthusiasts: not just Pierre Loti, who famously, infamously, fell in love wherever he alighted (an archetypal sailor leaving offspring in the form of Madame Butterfly myths), but also Henry Miller, D.H. Lawrence or Graham Greene, all of whom bore out the hidden truth that we are optimists abroad as readily as pessimists at home. None of them was by any means blind to the deficiencies of the places around the, but all, having chosen to go there, chose to find something to admire.

All, in that sense, believed in "being moved" as one of the points of taking trips, and "being transported" by private as well as public means; al saw that "ecstasy" ("ex-stasis") tells us that our highest moments come when we're not stationary, and that epiphany can follow movement as much as it precipitates it. I remember once asking the great travel writer Norman Lewis if he'd ever be interested in writing an apartheid South Africa. He looked at me astonished. "To write well about a thing," he said, "I've got to like it!"

At the same tie, as all this is intrinsic to travel, from Ovid to O'Rourke, travel itself is changing as the world does, and with it, the mandate of the travel writer. It's not enough to go to the ends of the earth these days (not least because the ends of the earth are often coming to you); and where a writer like Jan Morris could, a few years ago, achieve something miraculous simply by voyaging to all the great cities of the globe, now anyone with a Visa card can do that. So where Morris, in effect, was chronicling the last days of the Empire, a younger travel writer is in a better position to chart the first days of a new Empire, a post-national, global mobile and yet as diligent as the Raj in transporting its props and its values around the world.

In the mid-19th century, the British famously sent the Bible and Shakespeare and cricket round the world; now a more international kind of Empire is sending Madonna and the Simpsons and Brad Pitt. And the way in which each culture takes in this coon pool of references tells you as much about them as their indigenous products might. Madonna in an Islamic country, after all, sounds radically different from Madonna in a Confucian one, and neither begins to mean the same as Madonna on East 14th Street. When you go to a McDonald's outlet in Kyoto, you will find Teriyaki McBurgers and Bacon Potato Pies. The placemats offer maps of the great temples of the city, and the posters all around broadcast the wonders of t San Francisco. And -- ost crucial of all -- the young people eating their Big Macs, with baseball caps worn backwards, and tight 501 jeans, are still utterly and inalienably Japanese on the way they move, they nod, they sip their Oolong teas -- and never to be mistaken for the patrons of a McDonald's outlet in Rio, Morocco or Managua. These days a whole new realm of exotica arises out of the way one culture colors and appropriates the products of another.

The other factor complicating and exciting all of this is people, who are, more and more, themselves as any-tongued and mongrel as cities like Sydney or Toronto or Hong Kong. I am, in many ways, an increasingly typical specimen, if only because I was born, as the son of Indian parents, in England, moved to America at 7 and cannot really call myself an Indian, an American or an Englishman. I was, in short, a traveler at birth, for whom even a visit to the candy store was a trip through a foreign world where no one I saw quite matched y parents' inheritance, or my own. And though some of this is involuntary and tragic -- the number of refugees in the world, which came to just 2.5 million in 1970, is now at least 27.4 million -- it does involve, for some of us, the chance to be transnational in a happier sense, able to adapt anywhere, used to being outsiders everywhere and forced to fashion our own rigorous sense of home. (And if nowhere is quite home, we an be optimists everywhere.)

Besides, even those who don't move around the world find the world moving more and ore around the . Walk just six blocks, in Queens or Berkeley, and you're traveling through several cultures in as many inutes; get into a cab outside the White House, and you're often in a piece of Addis Ababa. And technology, too,

Horses for Orphans

2011-07-22T22:15:00.000-06:00

You must meet Richard and Ingela Larsson Smith.

For now, simply visit Ingela's sites:

http://www.ingelalarsson.com/About.htm

http://www.lostchildrenoftheearth.com/

http://www.kingdomhorse.com/

I am hoping that she will change your life and open your eyes as she has mine this eve upon meeting her at the Jackson Hole Campground. She and her husband are getting some rest on their journey as they travel south by motorcycle from northern British Colombia to photograph wild horses.

Be in touch- Cheers!

Live today for Rob

2011-07-20T13:42:00.001-06:00

This post is dedicated to the one and only, Rob THE McLendon, who is fighting for his life right now! This iron man, world traveler, lover of life, and best friend needs our support... Please give him your thoughts, your prayers, your energy, and all your good vibrations in whatever way that you do. I know he can feel our presence and our love as he pushes through the greatest journey yet. Rob was recently forced into oncoming traffic while riding a moped on the Isle of Ibiza off of the coast of Spain. He's in critical condition and we are keeping up with his progress on an awesome website, the caring bridge (search robmclendon). I have complete faith that Rob will win this race... but he needs us! Thank you, thank you, thank you- Spread the word! And don't for a second take this beautiful, wild life for granted. Live today for Rob!!

PS. Just got this stellar update from Jackson, Rob's brother via the caring bridge- Very encouraging! Pearly whites, no paralysis, gently shaven, oh my! Read on...

Today was a stable day for Rob.

We met with the doctor as usual after our 1:00 PM appointment, and she confirmed that after review, the fractures he had in his vertebrae were not indicative of paralysis. While we did believe this was the case, it was nonetheless soothing to hear out loud.

We had further discussion of the potential tracheotomy, and if events continue along their expected path, the operation will occur early next week. Once again this is a practical measure, and it would reduce the likelihood of bacterial infection.

On the cosmetic side, Rob had his teeth brushed, and his pearly whites are visible for all to see. He also had a gentle shave, and is quite handsome even from my point of view.

Mom and I are holding up well, and the encouragement we have received from all of you has been enormously helpful in maintaining our spirit. Each and every email and comment is appreciated.

Thank you, and we will update again soon.

Mom wanted to add that her email is smclendon7@gmail.com and that she enjoys reading each message sent to her.

Random acts of kindness

2011-07-10T18:32:00.000-06:00

Random acts of kindness... they still exist! A perfect stranger got me today. This sweet paper package tied up with string awaited me at the campground where I'm helping out for the month of July. Carefully tucked inside, I discovered this handmade Labradorite bracelet and a handwritten thank-you note. The delicately braided leather cord flashing glimmers of blue, green, and yellow fits just right around my dainty wrists. The thoughtful culprit was equally observant. So, what kind of random acts do you notice in your daily life? Let us grow increasingly creative and spontaneous in our efforts to spread good cheer.

All the way from Moose-Wilson Rd,

Catail

2011-06-10T14:49:00.000-06:00

DO NOT GO WHERE THE PATH MAY LEAD. GO INSTEAD WHERE THERE IS NO PATH AND LEAVE A TRAIL.

RALPH WALDO EMERSON

2011-06-09T08:30:00.000-06:00

No one comes from the earth like grass

we come like trees

we all have

ROOTS

-Maya Angelou

Wishing you a glorious day from the Tetons.

2011-06-01T08:58:00.000-06:00

If home is where the heart is, then my heart is down the fairway, pitter-patter-ing atop the soft green grass, casting a shadow in the setting sunlight, moving toward the gently bubbling creek, and splashing around with the bursting minnows and darting tadpoles.

My heart is plunging into an emerald green lagoon, dancing to a Brazilian pulse on a speedboat, riding Wayah road where no worries follow...

[To be continued...]

Thank you, home for embracing me with your loving arms. My heart beats strong within, so travel with me back to Jackson this afternoon.

May I ask, where is your heart? Where is your home?

Blessings,
Catail

Jackson Hole Half Marathon

2011-05-06T10:11:00.002-06:00

If you're a dreamer, come on
If you're a dreamer, a runner, a skipper, a frolick-er, a dash-er, a magic sage jumper...
If you're a cowgirl, come fly by my mountains
For we have some flax-golden trails to spin.

Come on!
Come on!

That was fun trying my darndest not to butcher Shel Silverstein's classic poem while at the same time giving it some new color for an amazing race coming up... THE JACKSON HOLE HALF MARATHON! The event takes place on Saturday, June 18th at 8 AM along our precious bike path from Teton Village all the way to town. Click on the image below to register online. There is still plenty of time to train for all those doubters, so get up, get out, and get running! Perfect destination race and perfect excuse to come visit your ole' friend, Cat. Happy day!

2011-04-29T11:39:00.000-06:00

Haven't blawged in a while, but I've certainly had a lot to write about. Been fittin' in a lot of livin' in the last few months and learning so many lessons along the way. Some of them have not been fun lessons to say the least, but that's what the journeys all about. Enjoying the journey... that is a grand mystery of highs and lows, joys and blows, choosing to learn from all life experiences in order to bring wisdom into the next chapter. And there's always a next chapter. Photo journal on the way. With love

Just another day in paradise

2011-02-23T14:25:00.002-07:00

letting the georgia boys unload the sleds at the trailhead

10 mile ride through winter paradise to Granite Hot Springs

ray & me all soaked out and ready for more powder

From my kiddos

2011-02-16T17:00:00.002-07:00

Don’t let go of your friends, even if they are animals. Go with the flow. Let life take you where it wants to. It’s important to have fun with friends. The bird has many colors. Try new things. You can be anything you want to be. Don't give the bears food. The falcon represents strength and speed. I think its good to be fast and strong altogether. Everyone is their own person. No matter how alike they appear to be. Time spent with my family on vacation is magic. Don’t be afraid to save nature even if it might hurt you. Be careful. You never know what could be waiting on the other side. Don’t be afraid to take risks. The sun brings life. Sometimes opposites collide in a beautiful way. Don’t be afraid. Never look just at the ground. Recognize the small things in life. Don’t be shy. Life isn’t always fair. There are deer going through a lake. The path wasn’t easy. Life isn’t a clear path. Friends stay together even in the darkest times. Even the strangest creatures can be friends. ¡Las ballenas están muriendo porque de la contaminación! ¡Ayudales por favor! One thing on its own can be beautiful. Peace is key.

La bamba

2011-02-07T07:45:00.000-07:00

No soy marinero, soy capitan.

I am no sailor, I am the captain.

Take the helm, baby! It's a new week and a new chinese year.

Brandi Carlile- Dying Day

2011-02-04T18:35:00.002-07:00

If it were easy, they would call it skiing.

Here's to love!

Proud mama

2011-02-01T20:27:00.003-07:00

Uncle Ben suggested that my bird dog get a proper education. So when I hit the trail last August, young Boo set off on his own adventure. He has been hard charging and happy hunting in the beautiful South ever since.

Thank you, Ben for giving my pup a love for a sport that our family may enjoy together. Thank you, Greg Oyer for your enthusiasm and expertise at Pinpoint Kennel. And thank you, Mark L. Atwater for your images.

Now go get some quail, and hurry home to mama!

2011-01-30T20:22:00.001-07:00

Be happy. It's one way to be wise.

Tomorrow is a big day... I'm going back to school!

2011-01-22T17:21:00.002-07:00

Adventure is good for the soul.

Skiing thigh deep powder in the Crags.
Soaking in huckleberry hot springs.
Chasing wild geese in Kansas for the weekend.

Shake it up! What kind of adventure are you on right now?

2011-01-20T17:09:00.062-07:00

Every girl deserves a fling with an old truck! I've been grateful for these wheels in the absence of Nova.

I fly to Kansas this weekend to pick the bad girl up. After out-running tornados on day 2 of our trek cross-country, she decided to break down on me on New Years eve. The guys at Aristocrat Motors were kind enough to open shop for me. 5 days, 2 flights, 4 feature films, and 100 phone calls from loved ones later, I arrived in Jackson. To a feast fit for a queen, mind you.

When the road is bleak, the love is strong.

Enjoy the journey, my friends!

She & Him

2010-12-24T11:16:00.001-07:00

She & Him make music for eternal springtime... even on a white Christmas! I loved their show at the Atlanta Botanical Garden a few months ago. Wishing y'all a merry and bright holiday season.

With tambourines and true grit,
Catail

Montucky 2010

2010-11-17T18:01:00.000-07:00

Italy's Prosecco Region

2010-09-16T14:07:00.002-06:00

Cin Cin

The Whites, Presidentials and beyond

2010-08-17T10:50:00.004-06:00

Trying to get y'all a sneak peak into our journey on the AT. We are in North Conway, New Hampshire at the cozy abode of M&M, former thruhiker GA-ME 2007. Last night she hosted 15 of us stinky hikers ranging in age from 19 to 72 and hailing from Orlando, Florida to Anchorage, Alaska. It's been a perfect "zero" day where we've been pampered with showers, hearty meals, movies, beer and fascinating company. Only thing is, we gotta get out of here before we get too fat and happy. We've still got the "100 mile wilderness" and climb up Katahdin, the great, holy mountain of the Native Americans before us. With only 1 month on the trail, we seek the most rugged and remote sections. The Whites sent us soaring, especially the heavenly traverses along the Presidential ridge line.

Sneak peak video to come! Thanks for all of the support along the way :)

Lakes of the clouds, steam powered trains and legions of cairns,
Cora & Salta

From Leogane, Haiti to the Pacific Crest Trail

2010-07-24T21:22:00.001-06:00

I've innumerable loved ones out there who are doing incredibly cool, challenging, and inspiring things. Take the time to get to know Rachel Shaver, partner with Hands on Disaster Response in Haiti and Lauren Moran, partner with the Samaritan House of Atlanta Inc.

You will thank me- These women rock!

THE WHITE MOUNTIANS

2010-07-21T07:55:00.001-06:00

Go out in the woods,
go out.

If you don't go out
in the woods-
nothing will ever happen,
and your life will never begin.

This quote caught my eye in a funky, favorite shop of mine yesterday as it was scribbled down a handmade bookmark. I thought it quite relative to my upcoming adventure on the Appalachian Trail. Anne-Marie and I hope to embark on our drive up to New Hampshire on the 30th and start walking into the glorious woods by the 1st of August. By inquiry of certain Trail experts, we discovered that this particular 161 mile section of the A.T. boasts the beautiful and rugged White Mountains. With elevation ranges of 400-6,288 feet, we expect the challenge of steep accents and the reward of dramatic views from a trail predominately above timberline. I anticipate all but gracefully dancing along the traverses, I imagine the weight of my heavy pack suddenly lifted by the mountain high and I predict the laughter that will flutter along with us like the tail of a kite through those lush, green valleys.

Go out in the woods, yes. Ever more importantly...

WHEREVER YOU GO, GO WITH ALL YOUR HEART. CONFUCIUS

Appalachian Trail 2010

2010-06-28T09:54:00.033-06:00

Anne-Marie and I are taking a walk on the Appalachian Trail this August. We're going outside for a month. We're taking a walk. We may need a ride. Simple as that. This will be our first time on the AT, so if you have any insight, we're listening. Pass on your tales, your memories, your favorite sections, your advice on shuttling, your ideas on anything from safety to packing to rendezvousing with friends. We're leaning towards hiking "GAME" (Northbound, GA to ME). With thanks and love,

I'm taking a walk

I'm going outside

I'm taking a walk

I don't need a ride

I'm watching the birds

Flying so high

John Prine

2010-06-27T23:27:00.002-06:00

Promise yourself-

to be so strong that nothing can disturb your peace of mind. to talk health, happiness and prosperity to every person you meet. to look at the sunnyside of everything and make your optimism come true. to think only best, to work only for the best and to expect only the best. to forget mistakes of the past and press on to greater achievements in the future. to be too large for worry, too noble for anger, too strong for fear, and too happy to permit the presence of trouble.

Home sweet home after a long and glorious weekend of the Russell Family Reunion and a last-minute trip to Nashville for Megan and Drew's wedding! It's true, banana puddin', lasagna supper, The Varsity, front porch sittin', catching up with family from all over the world, deciding to hike the Appalachian Trail for the month of August with Anne-Marie, gallivanting to Clemson, Athens, swimming pool, Pink Radio Cake, dance offs, flood, rainbow, old friends and spontaneous, [affectionately] dysfunctional family dinner and a movie night fit into 72 hours. Love this quote that the Pickren girls found in their grandmother's attic. So, promise yourself- and sweetest dreams,

Yours

Your heart's on the lose...

2010-06-23T16:05:00.001-06:00

And this ain’t no place for the weary kind
And this ain’t no place to lose your mind
And this ain’t no place to fall behind
Pick up your crazy heart and give it one more try

Ryan Bingham's, The Weary Kind

2010-06-13T08:19:00.001-06:00

Youth is the time to go flashing from one end of the world to the other... to try the manners of different nations; to hear the chimes at midnight; to see the sunrise in town and country; to be converted at a revival; to circumnavigate the metaphysics, write haulting verses, run a mile to see a fire, and wait all day long in the theatre to applaud Hernani.

(1850-95) Scottish

Robert Louis Stevenson

Bainbridge, Georgia

2010-06-03T20:56:00.000-06:00

I go to bed laughin' and I wake up smilin'.

2010-06-01T22:58:00.001-06:00

Sail me on a silver sun

where I know that I am free,

show me that I'm everywhere

and get me home for tea.

Begin

2010-05-28T14:23:00.001-06:00

She's turning her life into something sacred:

Each breath a new birth.

Each moment, a new chance.

She bows her head,

gathers her dreams

from a pure, deep stream and

stretches her arms towards the sky.

Monticello Wine Trail

2010-05-26T06:15:00.011-06:00

Why save "happy" for an hour?

Barboursville.
Keswick.

Congrats to Sutton, my nerdiest brother and UVA's finest law graduate. I owe our little vinyard hop to you!

Pick me, squeeze me and make me wine,
Cat

This girl could live on a dime...

2010-05-04T20:46:00.000-06:00

renegade.
goosebumbs.
romance.

Darcy Carol, my new beautiful friend and Los Angeles designer paints me in a light that I love. Just as easily as I can "live on a dime", she reminds me that life can change on a dime, too.

Thanks for the juicy apples, the Estancia cabernet sauvignon, the laughter and teaching Judd Grosman and I the meaning of a "Mister Brady Moment". Thank you also for giving me time to absorb the wisdom of a modest and delightful artist.

Cat

Wanderers, Dreamers and Lovers

2010-04-27T12:49:00.000-06:00

"Some people do not have to search, for they find their niche easily in life and rest there seemingly contented and resigned. At times I envy them, but usually I do not understand... and seldom do they understand me. I am one of the searchers. There are, I believe, millions of us. We are not unhappy, but neither are we completely content. We continue to explore life, hoping to uncover its ultimate secret. We continue to explore ourselves hoping to understand. We like to walk along the beach, we are drawn by the ocean, taken by its power and unceasing motion, its mystery and unspeakable beauty. We like forests, mountains, deserts, hidden rivers and lovely cities as well. Our sadness is as much a part of our lives as our laughter; to share our sadness with the ones we love is perhaps as great a joy as we know. Unless it is to share our laughter. We searchers are ambitious, Only for life itself and anything beautiful it can provide. Most of all, we want to love and be loved, to live in a relationship that will not impede our wanderings and prevail our search. We do not want to prove ourselves to others or compete for love. This passage is for wanderers, dreamers, and lovers who dare to ask of life, everything which is good and beautiful."

~Found in the door of a deserted store in Colorado

This is my tribute to our wandering, dreaming and loving days in Costa Rica. These photos feature a natural island we discovered in our 3-day sea kayaking fare around the Gulfo Dulce in the Osa Penisula. Our crew ventured into the thick, monkey enchanted forest to gather fresh water mud for an organic skin treatment. We ran like wild natives along the desert coast before dipping into the sweet water to rinse.

Pura Vida,
Cat

WE are just soooo busy, dah-ln'!

2010-04-05T14:57:00.002-06:00

Vancouver 2010

2010-03-02T12:48:00.001-07:00

Once upon a time, 2 Jackson Hole Mountain hosts had a dream to go to the Winter Olympics....

They didn't realize they'd be trading in Boo for Gabrielle Kouchakji an hour before take-off, breaking down at a scenic lookout point outside of Vantage, Washington, catching the USA take the Gold Metal in bobsleighing, skiing "mashed potatoes" in Whistler, living on a floating house on Granville Island in Vancouver, or holding down the luxurious "servants quarters" in the Shaeffer-Bailey Mansion in Seattle.

This spontaneous, unplanned adventure has fallen into place day after day, show after show, friend after friend. Thank you to everyone along the way who has shown us such generous hospitality. We've loved your rocking theaters, homemade quiche, pull-out sofas, loony parks, South African accents, casino excursions, obnoxious Canadian pride and "millionaire rows".

Thank you also to loving family along the way for cheering us on. We will be posting photos soon! Much love from the green and lovely Seattle.

Sending Spring, the "Flex" and glowing hearts, eh?
Gabby, Sam & Kitty

I gotsta run...

2010-02-02T11:51:00.000-07:00

I'm goin' surfin!

Scotty Hughs left me smiling, holding on to the other end of the phone line. Just as quickly and mysteriously as he arrived, he was gone again, into his world of kite surfing and giggling marlins. He told me I'd missed out on one of the best trips, and I'd have to agree. And disagree all the same. I've not missed out at all because his journey is mine, his joy is mine and are not all of our journies shared? Especially those of our loved ones?

True, tis easy to slap my thin, sun thirsty wrists and question my decision to forgoe our epic trip south through our nations national parks and into Mexico, the Baja penensula and the Americas beyond. Scott followed through with his plans in his RV with motorcycle in tow and oh how they've unfolded so beautifully. He's sky-dived and sea kayaked with Danielle and Owen, his kids, scuba-dived with whale sharks and worshiped the wind with his kite and board for 50 days now in La Ventana. In our 5 minute chat, I stomached news of his mountain biking outings and how he traces his course on his motorcycle afterwards just for good measure.
He won't be coming home to Jackson any time soon and he urges me to give into my tempations to jump on a plane and visit.

I told him how life here in the States makes it an interesting challenge to live so simply as he. Quite contrary to thought that life would slow down when you settle, it actually speeds up and gets more cluttered. With no desire to ellaborate, I will commend the rolling, happy stones and their decent wants.

Now I gotsta run... I'm goin' skiin'!

Bluebird day

2009-12-28T18:23:00.001-07:00

Stay in the sunshine.
-Einstein

I read this quote at a favorite restaurant last night and it really resonated with my smile today as I skied my way around our mountain. The sky was crystal clear, not even the glittery sparks that made the air twinkle this morning were present. Just the piercing blue blanket with a visable, nearly full moon set high over our jagged, white ranges. The ridgelines shown prominently as the sun outlined them with heavenly light. The trees gave the blue and white hints of green. The exposed needles and even the exposed rocks poking through to scar my skis pleased me. Maybe because I know it's brief and will soon be hidden with fresh snow. There is something magical about catching every day of the fast changing seasons. We ache to hurry the transformation of our hill so that we can ski and not skate or slide down. Nevertheless, pleasure resides high and in the sunshine. Peace resides there. Sneakiness too. A few of us hosts snuck around today to get a few laps in this charming afternoon. We had to stop and pause to take in the glory of our home. The reality of our lives and how beauty spoils us at every blasting corner. We've only to look up and out and breathe it in. A moment of silence speaks volumes and goes a long way.

So, without asking too much of you, I challenge you to slow down. Inhale what you like and get rid of the rest.. Litterally breathe good into your being and release the weariness and negativity that is weighing you down.

Sending long walks with puppy, twilight in the valley and sunshine of course,
Cat

Merrrrrry Christmas

2009-12-24T21:25:00.001-07:00

Twas a beautiful night and morning and eve. I'm still at the Village Cafe, my home away from home sitting on a bar stool after 8 hours on my feet. I'm graced with the company of an easilly motivated crew. Together we marched across the way to serenade Julia, my roommate with Egg Nogg White Russian induced Christmas carols.

This Christmas is different. It's Golden. It's conversations with Grandma and Papa and Santa's sleigh stopping on Broadway to deliever kindness that I couldn't dream of in a million lifetimes. I hardly believed my eyes this morning when I cut open my Christmas packages. There burnt a hint of the usual overflowing Kirbo room and a powerful, family tradition of holiday joy... at times packaged like maddness. Indescribable, beautiful madness.

Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night.

Eat sunshine for breakfast...

2009-12-18T11:07:00.000-07:00

and smile all damn day!

Thanks, Joel... never heard it put just that way.

Y'all have a good one. Much love from me and my velveteen rabbit (Boo).

The most important person in the world...

2009-12-06T01:36:00.000-07:00

is whoever you are with.

Be present. Give all of your attention. Gather your scattered mind and hone in on the only person(s) you really have. Relish in their company, hear them, open your heart. There are no accidents.

After an early bird ride on the Start Bus from town to the Village, a full day of learning and serving at the most incredible spot on the mountain, playing mommy to my little teacup and spoiling him with cinnimon milk before bed, acompanying a friend to the first Christmas party of the season, and sharing yet one more precious midnight conversation with my roommate, I'm tuckered out.

Wishing you a taste of today's bloody mary or homemade cinnamon roll and adrenoline from tomorrow's day volunteering on Apres Vous,
Cat

By all means keep movin

2009-11-30T10:21:00.000-07:00

To be truly challenging, a voyage, like a life, must rest on a firm foundation of financial unrest. Otherwise you are doomed to a routine traverse, the kind known to yachtsmen who play with their boats at sea- "cruising," it is called. Voyaging belongs to seamen, and to the wanderers of the world who cannot, or will not, fit in. If you are contemplating a voyage and you have the means, abandon the venture until your fortunes change. Only then will you know what the sea is all about.

-Sterling Hayden
The Beautiful Blonde Viking God (Paramount studio publicity)

Pierre, tickled and somewhat mischievous, eagerly passed on this "curly blonde hunk's" passage to me, his attentive and curious niece. We huddled down below at the sat dock and from the gleam in his eyes I anticipated a valuable delivery- like the impromptu charting lessons with the compass rose or wild-eyed tales about Emily, his big sister and my grandmother.

Last night at my own "galley" table, I kept the company of Alex St. Claire, snow-making and trail extraordinaire and respected friend. Over Coors and my perfect, slumbering Boo, we listened to the hysterical stories of Utah Phillips resonating with the strums of Ani Difranco and sat smug in our gratitude for how stinking lucky we truly are. For our town, our families, our hope for building our own cabins and meeting the loves of our lives; for our wealth of freedom and simple joys, our freedom to give up the world in the palm of our hands for the benefit of someone out there who is sure, and our capacity to ask why, like Socrates and inevitably receive peace of mind.

In the midst of a charmed evening, Pierre's reference came to mind and I excavated it from the mystical caverns of my travel diaries. I hope you enjoy and that you take a moment to know really know how lucky you are today.

Catail

I am thankful

2009-11-27T19:01:00.001-07:00

From the land of bourbon pumpkin pie, indian princess headdresses, snowy runs along the Snake, home fires, woolen boots, sleeping pups, fast friends, neighborly baking, trumpeter swans, drip dropping icicles, ski legs, mountain top jazz and christmas lights,

I give thanks for you! Tis the season, so be merry and be wild. Here's to starting out today with Enya and a song I remember hearing over the open water.

Wild Child

Ever close your eyes
ever stop and listen
ever feel alive
and you've nothing missing
you don't need a reason
let the day go on and on

Let the rain fall down
everywhere around you
give into it now
let the day surround you
you don't need a reason
let the rain go on and on

What a day
what a day to take to
what a way
what a way
to make it through
what a day
what a day to take to
a wild child

Only take the time
from the helter skelter
every day you find
everything's in kilter
you don't need a reason
let the day go on and on

Every summer sun
every winter evening
every spring to come
every autumn leaving
you don't need a reason
let it all go on and on

What a day
what a day to take to
what a way
what a way
to make it through
what a day
what a day to take to
a wild child
What a day
what a day to take to
What a way
what a way
to make it through
What a day
what a day to take to
a wild child
What a day
what a day to take to
what a way
what a way
to make it through
what a day
what a day to take to
Da-da-da
Da-da-da-da-da-da
what a way
what a way
to make it through
Da-da-da
Da-da-da-da-da-da
Da-da-da
Da-da-da-da-da-da
What a way
what a way
to make it through
what a day
what a day to take to
a wild child
what a day
what a day to take to
a wild child

Firsts

2009-11-17T15:38:00.000-07:00

Firsts have got my fancy.

You know...

First time using a jackhammer while volunteering for Habitat for Humanity
First time jumping off of a mountain and letting a giant parachute carry me away
First time smoking tobacco from the jungle of Colombia
First time turning my body into a playground for a monkey in Costa Rica
First time making my own, savory Tuna Melt (last night!)

These are a few that came to mind although there are many, many shocking more! We must remember that firsts are a big deal. We are all students of the world and in the words of Mark Twain, school must not get in the way of our education. So heed not to whirlwinds of "real" life matter that test our peace, our sanity or the foundation of our dreams. Financial burdens and relational stresses will knock and without being caddy or rude, we can send them away.

I am aware of outside pressure. I shall feed my inner harmony. The Earth spins round and not any of these "things" that cloud our mind and temp us to feel small really matter... at the end of the day or ever. So weed your brain and your heart of unwanted villains, and relish in a first!

Boo and I are going to stroll along the Snake River. His first time ever and my first time sharing the heavenly walk with him.

I fancy hearing of your firsts...
From the lover of all things foreign

Don't work your ass off...

2009-11-13T23:40:00.001-07:00

You've got a nice ass!

Try that neighborly advice over morning coffee, porridge and puppy dogs.

Puppy Love

2009-11-10T18:57:00.002-07:00

I'm a mama! On Halloween, the puppy stork delivered an irresistible green eyed, German shorthair pointer. Baby "Boo" instantly built his home in my heart, and life's rolled on to a different drum ever since. Can't wait to share pictures from today's field trip to Aunt Rachel's country house.

Since my 4 days of no eating (Sarah & I definitely made a dint but so far no "master" in the cleanse), the season's turned round, ever so gently revealing glimmers of a fruitful harvest. For the first time in 9 months, I have a long-term home-sweet-home. Moving into the "Fluff" with Julia, a best friend is a natural transition. All of a sudden I am a bird, busy creating the perfect nest for Winter.

I have started "working", although I've found that after traveling, a peacefulness has settled into me that needs not count hours. I'm swept away assisting Betsy style dazzling photo shoots or teaching eager, precious Preschoolers. Spanish tutoring has also kicked off. Slowly but surely opportunities arise and I'm thankful to seize them.

Here's to new beginnings and our eyes of the world,
Cat

Eyes of The World

Right outside this lazy summer home
You ain’t got time to call your soul a critic no.
Right outside the lazy gate of winter’s summer home,
Wond’rin’ where the nut-thatch winters,
Wings a mile long just carried the bird away.

Wake up to find out that you are the eyes of the world,
The heart has its beaches, its homeland and thoughts of its own.
Wake now, discover that you are the song that the mornin’ brings,
But the heart has its seasons, its evenin’s and songs of its own.

There comes a redeemer, and he slowly too fades away,
And there follows his wagon behind him that’s loaded with clay.
And the seeds that were silent all burst into bloom, and decay,
And night comes so quiet, it’s close on the heels of the day.

Wake up to find out that you are the eyes of the world,
The heart has its beaches, its homeland and thoughts of its own.
Wake now, discover that you are the song that the mornin’ brings,
But the heart has its seasons, its evenin’s and songs of its own.

Sometimes we live no particular way but our own,
And sometimes we visit your country and live in your home,
Sometimes we ride on your horses, sometimes we walk alone,
Sometimes the songs that we hear are just songs of our own.

Wake up to find out that you are the eyes of the world,
The heart has its beaches, its homeland and thoughts of its own.
Wake now, discover that you are the song that the mornin’ brings,
But the heart has its seasons, its evenin’s and songs of its own.

Good Morning Jackson

2009-10-25T08:49:00.000-06:00

Tis early. Tis easy. Tis Sunday morning. The sky is clear and the bright white cover turns blue like the minute hand on a clock. Yellow still graces the branches of the Cyprus tree. White, salty snow sticks to the leaves covering the chilled earth and spreads over every inch of our pic-nic table and bench. Still the bluebird day rolls closer and the sun reasons for warmth over Cache.

October, I still love you and we have one last week! Today I will begin a new journey without any wheels or wings. I will let this sleepy, quiet town restore me as I start, for the very first time, the Master Cleanse. Sarah, my shooting meteor and I embark on this quest for health together. She tells me it will be a trip like I've never known. The off-season presents favorable timing with Halloween as our sole distraction to break code. This journey yeilds purification of the body and I'm hoping clarity of mind will echo.

Leaving you with love, a light heart and an empty suitcase.

Catail

Blog for Hogge

2009-10-01T19:11:00.002-06:00

Luminous. Radiant. Aglow. All adjectives I use to describe my soul in this sinful moment in time. Sinful as the new snow-dusted mountains amid the changing leaves and busy sky, the decadent Cardamon Chocolate Puddin I savored layer by layer over a travel memoir and steamed, cinnamon milk, a morning at the shop with the most beautiful angler I know, 3 ravenous appetites at the Moose, an afternoon of long anticipated therapeutic massage, the startling touch of my sexy, shaven legs and a girls night at Hogge's with her world famous goat cheese quesadillas and a menagerie of Malbecs.

This perfect day's not through. May our lives behold 1 more rain shower, 1 last humbling circumstance, an infinity pool of confidence & a Hoot intwined with purpose. Perpetual.

Welcome, October!

Photos compliment of Scotty "Mother F'n" Hughes

Kelly, Wyoming on the Gros Ventre

2009-09-29T09:52:00.000-06:00

Indian Summer

2009-09-14T15:00:00.097-06:00

I guess I am "addicted" like dad says. Again I have traveled back to Jackson Hole, WY, my "home base" of the past 2 years with hopes to recover in the heights of its mountains, heal in the calm of its waters and reach clarity in the refuge of its purple and golden valleys.

The chilly winds begin to blow here but the hot sun faithfully warms our spirits as we all wish for an Indian Summer. No ceremonial snow dances around the fire yet as we hint to the weather gods for just a little more time to run barefoot, float Flat Creek, hike the Middle Teton, mountain bike the Old Teton Pass or rope the night away at the rodeo grounds in Wilson.

The 3 month anniversary of my legendary fall in Cuzco is right around the bend. On July 1st, I suffered compression fractures to my thoracic spine at T4, T5 and T6. On that morning, as my feet kicked up and I was suspended over an ancient Inca stairway, I surrendered my fate and knew that this is it. Breaking my back was a defining moment of my life.

I was not able to call out for help, the wind had been knocked out of me and I was in more excruciating pain than I'd ever known. It was just me and my guardian angels until my cousin Anne-Marie ran to my rescue. Together we both witnessed the wiggling of my fingers and toes and instantly the worst day of my life became the best. I knew that when I was ready, I would rise and walk and hug and run again and make love, too. You know, all of the big things us healthy people take for granted every single day.

Halfway into my predicted recovery time, it is easy to see that the single ice cream bar I was given to ice my back (only in Peru) in many ways foreshadowed the unpredictable humor and unprecedented joy that would follow this injury. When life hands you an ice cream bar, you better bet I'm going to take a bite! So there was my best friend and me, making light of my pitiful state before shoving the sacrificial treat under my back to counter the inflammation.

Then to my delight arrived Bruno and Andrea with all 10 of their musical instruments. I met this dashing couple from Brazil and Austria weeks before at one of Andrea's hang shows and had been their most resilient fan ever since. Their songs rescued my shocked body and troubled mind for hours as all 4 of us laughed and took long deep breaths and gave thanks for saving grace and friends. Thank God I was not alone. Perhaps this music also foreshadowed the music to come...

Days and weeks and months have passed since that last day in Cuzco. I have pushed the limits of my body and mind like never before and accomplished seemingly impossible things for a gal with a broken back. This has been a season of transitions. A transition home after sailing, my pilgrimage through South America and back country explorations, a transition towards health through discipline and therapy after brokenness, a transition of my heart into life as a single woman after an incredible relationship's end.

I am so thankful for all of the love and support in my life. Tis overflowing and given me reason for my positive outlook and undaunted courage to push through even when I don't know exactly where I'm headed.

More to come on this beautiful hand I've been dealt and the way I go about playing it.

Sending visions of yellow cottonwoods by the river, paths covered with fallen aspen leaves, and stick shift driving lessons in an old civilian jeep through the national park,

Catherine

Watercolor

2009-09-14T09:02:00.003-06:00

WaterColor, what a dream land. This welcoming beach community is named ever so perfectly with the hues of the sea and the sky changing like a living water color painting. It's been over a year since I have ventured down to this ocean paradise along the Gulf of Mexico in Santa Rosa Beach, Florida. And how I was amazed. I could travel the whole world round and not see sand so soft and white like sugar, water so turquoise and clear as a newly drawn bath, and skies so gracefully boasting both sunrise and sunset over the ocean.

My "Queen" Christen invited me down to her family's happy abode for a relaxing Labor Day gettaway. There were 6 of us in all, including Hartford who decided to come down last minute. My brother and I were the first to arrive on Friday afternoon and lost no time plunging into the cool, salty wave pool and hitting the local Publix supermarket for mostly booze and a little grub to get us through the weekend. Seaside's live music in the grass lawn blooming with dozens of families flirted with our desire for a pic-nic on the beach at sunset. I was eager to teach Hart the right way to watch the sun go down: On the beach, with a celebratory drink, shared with another, over good conversation... and laughing is sure to follow.

Before we knew it we were marveling over the full, orange harvest moon rising ever so slyly in the twinkling sky. We watched stars bursting through the heavens and satelites steadily creeping ore the vast space evoking memories, stories, philosophy and an urgency to call just about every one we knew to share the beauty of our all but simple, all but free, perfect bliss. We tried our darndest to stay up for the arrival of the troops: 1 Ironman, 1 fashionista, 1 trial lawyer and 1 groovy sweetheart. But after making some noise with the guitar and jembe drums on the front porch, sharing an awful cigarette and improvising some obnoxiously pleasing song, we retired to bed with teeth stained red and dreams of bicycles, spider man goggles, YOLO paddling, roof top margaritas and jiving old men at Bud and Alley's.

I loved practicing the art of eating in, front-porch sittin, crawling in and out of the window like a ninja, answering the call of the sea a dozen times a day, rising early to paint watercolors on the beach amid the puppy dogs and fishermen and most of all getting this quality time with those I adore. Thank y'all for filling me up with more happiness deemed sane. I love you Hart, Christen, Morgan, Clint, Don and Miss Dawn and Mister Draper.

Knot at work

2009-08-31T22:22:00.000-06:00

This weekend my brother Thomas and his girlfriend Callaway had all of us up to Charleston for a deep sea fishing extravaganza. It was the first time all 3 brothers of mine and I have been together since... Christmas? With life taking us all down such different avenues, days together ring more precious and rare. A perfect day on the blue, clear waters under the wide open sky and in the warmth of the sun reminded us all of the importance of family and letting lose with the ones who've helped to shape our lives the most. We danced, we drank, we marveled at the marsh and the open water, we sang, we swam, we got sunburned and we even caught some fish!

What's the point of life?

2009-08-27T06:55:00.000-06:00

My brother Hartford has created a website to get to the point... and in reading the various points so far, I've come to my own conclusion. This search is the point, this shared journey towards truth is the point, all of this helping one another to see and smile and shine is the point of life!

I've been down lately. I must have cried a thousand tears yesterday. My heart remained intact and has grown just a little bigger and brighter after reading my brother's straight-forward entries stricken with passion. He desires a dialogue where we are all participants. So go to his website and begin your thinking. Then listen in your life... with all of your senses... and with your mind and heart... for meaning and purpose.

The answers are out there.

That's one hell of a point, Hartford. I love you!

Hartford and his beautiful love, Rachel.

Nan Naw Knows Best

2009-08-26T09:02:00.000-06:00

Blake Mycoskie, Chief Shoe Giver and friend gives tribute to Nan Naw, his grandmother who passed away last week at the ripe age of 89. Blake shares the talk he read at her funeral with hopes to spread her love and passion to live your best life TODAY. Thank you, Nan Naw for your life and colorful legacy. *I've highlighted my favorite lessons below and wish you the best day of your life!

Lessons Learned from Char Baby #1

Yesterday I spent the morning going through picture albums and writing out my favorite memories with Nan Naw.  In almost every picture, 2 things were absolutely consistent:

She had the biggest smile (which was always a little mischievous). And without a doubt, she had on the brightest clothes in the group.

Having a reputation for a permanent smile and an affinity for crazy pants myself, I began to realize that me and Nan Naw had a lot more in common than one might think.

With further introspection and journaling, I began to understand that the reason we had so much in common was because many of the principles that I have built my life on were in fact, lessons that Nan Naw taught me. Why this had never dawned on me was simple. Nan Naw did not teach verbally, but through her actions. Instead of telling me what to do or advising us grandchildren with caution, she simply lived her life unapologetically, and doing so with such vitality and joy, it is not a surprise at all that I began mirroring her ways.

First lets start with fashion. Nan Naw loved color, rhinestones, sequins, and bold prints.  Anything that would demand attention or had a story associated with it.  They say that the Peacock that attracts the most mates, also has the brightest feathers.  Nan Naw understood this theory all too well, often meeting the most people and new friends as a result of her bright clothes at any event or party.  What many of you all might not know, about 8 years ago I began collecting madras, paisley, and other crazy pants and almost without fail, I wear a pair every time I have an event to go to, and every time it leads to more interesting conversations, introductions, and when single, dates.  So Nan Naw, thank you for teaching me this valuable lesson and as a tribute today, I have worn this pair with a golf ball and tee print, which brings me to the next lesson I learned through observing your life.

Nan Naw showed us all that life is not a spectator sport, and those who enjoy it the most are also the most active and engaged. When nearly all of my friends speak of their grandmothers, especially those in their 80’s, they do not talk of competitive golf games, high stakes poker, slot machine tournaments in vegas, and bloody marys, so you can imagine the pride I used to take 10 years ago showing pictures of Nan Naw playing in the Halloween golf tournament dressed as Cindy Lauper or at the card table surrounded by men half her age. These pictures and stories made Nan Naw a living legend among my friends, especially those who got to meet her when I was a student at SMU. I will never forget the night that she closed down the Green Elephant bar with the Theta Sorority Girls while takings shots of tequila with me and my pledge brothers, might I add, long after my parents went home tired. That night I tucked her in on a friends couch, but found her the next morning as enthusiastic as ever when I picked her up to go to the football game. Today I thank God for these memories.

Last and by far the most important lesson Nan Naw taught me was to be positive. Up until the last time I saw her 2 weeks ago, she was the most positive, grateful, and optimistic person I ever met. She worked hard to make people laugh and she really did not care if they were laughing with her or at her, for the end result of them being happy was all that mattered. Besides encouraging us through laughter, she instilled a confidence in us kids that has affected our lives greatly. No matter what we were trying to do, she insisted that it was great idea and destined for success. Of course every grandma is proud of her grand kids and showers them with love, but Nan Naw’s enthusiasm and encouragement was different because it extended to everyone that she met. Whether it was one of my friend’s careers or a stranger she met at a Ranger game, Nan Naw would listen with great intensity and typically reply with a “that’s so cool” or “you are awesome”.  I guess the lesson here is being positive not only encourages those around you, but it attracts new friends and a family that adores you.  There is no doubt that most of you here know the details of every accomplishment Paige, Tyler, and Me have had the past 20 years, for Nan Naw’s favorite topic to talk about was us kids. She was one of the most proud human beings I ever met, but let me tell you this, each of our accomplishments she bragged so much about, was as much her success as ours, for there is no possible way that we would have set out to take risks, try new hobbies, or set such large goals if it had not been for her continuous words of encouragement and positive attitude.

In closing, I ask each of you to remember this positive attitude for the rest of your lives as I will remember it for mine. Next time you are having a tough week, facing a difficult decision, or questioning whether you are going to get through the day, I ask you to simply close your eyes and imagine Nan Naw giving you the thumbs up and simply saying “U Bet”.

I love you Nan Naw

Every day is new

2009-08-10T06:11:00.002-06:00

Fan your flame. Don't let your fire burn out. Stay passionate about your life. Stay enthusiastic about your dreams.

I'm declaring this week quote week. My brother Hart read this one to Christen over $1 fish tacos and PBRs at Hand in Hand last night and I dug it.

Love you all, make it count!

Words of the Wise

2009-07-30T18:42:00.003-06:00

Love removes properly whatever is offensive.

Warrior princess

2009-07-13T01:41:00.004-06:00

Even when I can see the shadow of my greasy hair standing straight up on the trail beneath me. A trail lined with lush green and laughter of indigo and yellow flowers. There are snow mounds and still lakes and white, snowy water. In the chilly heights there are perfect white wild flowers smiling up at me, perched safe in the grounded earth above the deep sinking, dark muddy trenches.

My head pounds. It is late. I rose this morning in a tent on a grassy field in the hills of the Alaska Basin. The sun shown down warm upon me begging to break my sweet, late slumber. I heard my calling but I didn't quite know that I would be hiking one of my stellar kids 7 miles out of the wilderness to seek help for his head trauma. We both rose to the occasion. With so much snow still on the ground we lost our trail early on and with persistence found it again to walk out of the woods within 3 or so hours.

1 ambulance ride, 2 hospitals and a big, lifted white old man's van later, we are both safe and sound in Idaho Falls. My boy is fine and still shaking off the effects of a concussion. The rest of Team Paco is still in the Park and we will reunite with them on the 15th, maybe sooner.

This time in the back country has been so precious. So extreme. So untamed. We ran into so much snow on the first 2 days that we went off trail into lands so overgrown and treacherous that the kids called it Vietnam. We camped on a ridge they referred to as Narnia. We have found many a smooth rock to call Kitchen and built fires to rival any of Jack London's.

The sparks are flying. The legs are carrying. For now the dirt is washed away and I will welcome what surprises tomorrow brings. God bless the wild lands and the rugged hands.

Brandi Carlile, one of my favorite artists is worth listening to. Her song, Have You Ever goes something like this, but the hum is even better:

Have you ever wandered lonely through the woods?
And everything there feels just as it should
You're part of the life there
You're part of something good
If you've ever wandered lonely through the woods
If you've ever wandered lonely through the woods

Have you ever stared into a starry sky?
Lying on your back you're asking why
What's the purpose I wonder who am I
If you've ever stared into a starry sky
Have you ever stared into a starry sky

Have you ever been out walking in the snow?
Tried to get back to where you were before
You always end up not knowing where to go
If you've ever been out walking in the snow
If you'd ever been out walking you would know

Blackout Billie

2009-07-04T00:29:00.003-06:00

Ah, she is no longer the girl she once was on that crazy freshman year of college. Or our 1st Fall in Jackson Hole, Wyoming. My Blackout, amazing girlfriend is now a woman intrigued by healthfoods, vampires and snow lepoards. She glows, habla espanol and sleeps in a silky kimono. She is right next to me and giving me rest in her warm, loving home before I rise in the morning to mother 6 incredibly lucky children for 16 days in the greater Yellowstone wilderness.

I am so overwhelmed with love upon return to my green, happy town. I long to embrace my community and reconnect with friends, but I will have to wait 2 weeks. This Teton Crest wilderness expedition sends shivers through my bones! It is a chance to share my passion for wildlife, natural beauty, simple living, community living with youth. It is an opportunity to unveil the secrets of the Earth and ourselves on trails overgrown with wildflowers, rivers spilling over with new rain and mountains breathing through the melted snow. I give thanks to Wilderness Ventures for calling me home to lead this trip. To share this blessed land I love and see it for the first time through new, twinkling eyes of our future. I cannot wait to meet the 6 highschool freshmen flying in tomorrow for backcountry, boating and belaying. The trip entails trailers, rations, latrine shovels and travelers checks- artistic* flare that the International trips lack and that I have lost no time celebrating.

As I drift fast away, I recal the Apurimac river. Watching burning meteors stream across the night sky, nesting upon the highest rock towering above the white water below and in the court of a jagged, mountain skyline. Eating "potatoes of the earth" on a golden, mountainside meadow before hanging from a parachute looping figure eights through the heavens of the Sacred Valley. I recal El Arbol and a seasoned fleet of diverse musicians creating song, one after the other, passing the limelight from guitar to drums to flutes to hangs and then relishing in free cake and chai tea. I remember the toothless smiles and cannot believe that in a blink of an eye I am in another world, only to carry the vigor and vivacity that is Peru wherever I go.

I remember Machu Picchu, dancing, learning hebrew (sababba) and strange fruits at market. I smile for those that will see these things in me and believe in local clinics, cafes that change lives, angels breaking falls because there I have had surgery, there I have seen the children and by their watch I have walked away... with renewed love for life.

Feeling exceptionally delirious and wishing all a Happy 4th of July!!! Write soon from the Tetons in a couple of weeks. K.I.S.S.

*Aaron "Blackass" Black, my co/leader asks, What is art? and Who is your favorite artist?
I told him, quite frankly, My mother.

Aqui Aqui

2009-06-25T18:26:00.003-06:00

Makes me giggle picturing Anne-Marie and I bouncing up and down among the hundreds of thousands of people gathering in the Plaza de Armas for the Inti Raymi celebration. We were raising our arms and barely managing our plee for fresh bread through our laughter. Indian dancers clad in colorful clothing launched the fluffy, fresh discos into the crowds as they danced through the streets in the parade. Anne-Marie managed a save- she claims the loaf didnt touch the ground, just a few hands! I said we Campbells have done a lot for food, but never have we ever jumped like that! I caught a flying, hand-made straw hat with a bright green ribbon that I presented to Mother Teresa (Aunt T). We passed it on to a little Peruvian girl who blushed as she placed it on her head and instantly became the envy of her rosy-cheeked, dusty-haired brother.

6-25

Spent today flying high in the Sacred Valley! Paragliding was heaven... more to come- mucho AMOR from Cata

Festival of the Sun

2009-06-21T11:46:00.005-06:00

Life doesn't get any brighter than this sol crazed city in the weeks leading up to the winter solstice in the Southern Hemisphere! Inti Raymi, Quechua for Sun Party, is Cuzco's most celebrated festival. Our timing couldn't be more brilliant. We are here for the music, the parades, the elaborate floats and the costumes and the dancing that never ceases.

Under the Cuzco sky, there is a warmth permeating the cobblestone streets and the hundreds of people who dance on them from the rising of the sun until its setting. In the days and nights proceeding June 24th, people come from far and wide to gather and make merry. This morning as I sat in the bright light on an indigo blue balcony overlooking the Plaza de Armas, I couldn't have prayed for a prettier sight. All colors of the rainbow, just as the Inca bandera (flag), glistened. There were elements of stone and fortified structures like the great Cathedral and its mighty bells as well as natural elements such as the rich green grass and perky yellow blooms living there in the center of the square. A pair of Quechua women carried infants on their back and cradled baby goats in their arms. I smiled upon one lucky young boy, no older than 4 leading a procession of middle-aged dancers through the streets, twirling and stepping and waving his whip like the most valiant of Andean men. I saw whole families and the whole world seemed to be enjoying the journey in unison. I watched as a lame man crawled across the street beneath me, carrying the weight of his crippled legs swiftly. There were the rich and the poor, the weak and the strong, the old and the new being in perfect harmony. But the lovliest colors of all, turning in this real-life kaleidoscope, were Dad and Carmen sitting at the table next to me. Our shared joy tickles me to tears!

Dad and Carmen have abandoned me in the city for their adventure to Machu Picchu. It'll only be a mere 24 hrs solita (alone) before Anne-Marie arrives, but these days with family have spoiled me rotten and I have nearly forgotten what it is like to be in my own company, to let the wind fill my soul and explore with abandon. This has been a sacred journey, traveling solita as well as with my loved ones. I swear it is a constant evolution. I glimpse at a photograph from yesterday and it seems like a whole year has passed. I am rediscovering myself with every passing magical second in time.

For example, riding horseback with my Dad and Carmen through the hills to ancient Inca ruins. Leaving our saddles to hike to what many believe could be the Fountain of Youth and splashing handfuls of the cold rushing water all over my face with hopes to be forever young. Walking through Eucalyptus forests and stopping to chat with native farmers who are gathering and sorting their yellow and red skinned potatoes (known as the Peruvian potato because of its natural, national colors). Resting with my daddy on a bench made of soft green grass and carved into the mountainside like one of the niches (where mummies were stowed) in the Inca temples. Climbing atop the Inca throne and taking a moment to think in this seat where wisemen and kings once meditated. Going inside a cave representing a divine womb and coming out of it to be reborn as many have before me. Rushing with Carmen up to a stage where we danced traditional Andean steps for the whole dining room and returning breathless to sweet dad and Doug (my friend from Vilcabamba- crazy how he and other fellow travelers I have met keep showing up!) for more delighting in a show of traditional song and dance. We were almost the last to leave and we almost succeeded in having the lights dimmed to our liking. The reward for our endurance was a final, soulful Creole band- music from the Peruvian coast with mestizo roots- Carmen's favorite! We cast our shadows in the Saqsayhuaman (phonetically sexy woman) courtyard and Dad nearly had a heart attack when I insisted on going down the smooth (and steep) volcanic born slides. We are eating tons of fresh trucha (trout) whether on islands afloat on Lake Titicaca, the market at Matty's Restaurant in Barranco or from the mountain lagoon outside of Cuzco. I am still wearing a braided wreath around my head- the one the precious children from Lake Titicaca crowned on me as we sat on the shining golden reeds, playing and laughing in front of their tiny schoolhouse. Having to part with Dad and Carmen as they boarded their plane to Cuzco from Puno and then reuniting with them in a city that could not have ever been more sweet.

I had to take a wild ride with a woman I will fondly refer to as Carmen del Virgen and a daring driver I have dubbed San Juan (Johnny) who transported us safely by an alternative highway route in the midst of street protesters and civil conflict. It was a risk worth taking through the Cirquito de Cuatro Lagunas (circuit of 4 lagoons) where we wound in and out of the most breathtaking paisaje (landscape), occasionally going around blockades of stone, broken glass and tree trunks. After 6 hours in the green station wagon, still sparkling after kicking up clouds of pink dust, we were met with a fila (line) of cars that absolutely could not pass any more. Protesters destroyed the bridge and the only way to continue our journey was by foot. We walked about a kilometer- balancing across a plank high above the flowing river- to the other side where a bus had arranged to carry us the rest of the way.

The highway protest surrounding Cuzco has been ongoing for 1 month now. It is not a violent protest, but people have died. Jungle natives want their voices heard and sadly this protest is the means to their justice- defying the government who...

to be continued! Girls gotta party! Love and miss you friends- and- for a Fathers Day surprise, I may be returning to the States soon!!! Much sunshine- and soulshine (planetshine for Hart) on this glorious day.

I love you, Dad, Gene & Papa!

When was the last time you...

2009-06-15T16:13:00.008-06:00

were serenaded by 12 men and proposed to?

ate alfalfa out of a llama´s mouth?

dined (desert first- cake baked by nuns) in a convent?

juice-hopped in the Arequipa market?

Life is a journey! There is beauty to be found and someone near to share it with. So keep your eyes and heart open. Funny how in times of stress or uncertainty, even the most extraordinary of events can go unnoticed, uncelebrated!

Dad, Carmen and I just arrived in Puno, a city on the famed Lake Titicaca after a long journey- busting at the seams with golden hills, volcanoes, llamas and rocky rivers- from Arequipa. We are all feeling a little under the weather, worn from the road and our bodies acclimating to the heightened altitude. Nothing that a steaming hot round of mate de coco could not cure. The chilly winds are blowing. I have a sneaky feeling that before it is all over, our trio will be dressed in complementing, brightly colored and brilliantly patterned, hand-woven wool ponchos from the native Aymara and Quechua people.

Much love and remember, it´s always a time to dance (Ecclesiastes 3:4)!

Llamas & yurts

2009-06-12T08:30:00.004-06:00

Good morning beautiful friends! Doing great... In Barranco, a colonial suberb of Lima, Peru with my Dad and Carmen. I rose early this morning and slowly but surely my greatest travel companions of all time are catching up with me and almost ready to hit the history laden streets for some cafe con leche and an invigorating ocean breeze. As I write, Carmen is sweet talking Bingo, the resident hostal labrador that reminds me so much of Oscar, my own handsome black puppy dog. I will take all credit, the good and the bad, for introducing my Dad and Carmen to hostal life and overnight busses. Our first road trip is this afternoon to Arequipa, another colonial city south of here where Carmen actually spent most of her adolescense (she was born in Lima bus lived in Atlanta for the last 40 years). I am excited about them experiencing the best seats in the house with panoramic views and knowing all of my poor girl bliss on this epic journey through a wild and magnificant continent.

We are all well and I will be in touch with tales of the glorious town of Huaraz soon. Remembering the golden mountain sides speckled with llamas and dotted with yurts is all I can do to keep my sanity in this dense yet somehow endearing city. I am surprised at how much Lima is growing on me. I am in good company and with you in song and spirit!

Catherine the Cheap (Sol savvy)

Miel

2009-06-05T20:07:00.007-06:00

Not quite the same as that miel (honey) Jorge and El Negro had on Betica, their farm in the ever enchanting land of Quindio, Colombia, but the bottle of honey Meli and I picked up at the market in Mancora sure did do the trick!

As my gorgeous, vibrant friend and I floated through the covered market lined with row after row of tables bearing bright fruits and vegetables, herbs and- say it ain't so, honey- we looked for just the perfect ingredients for a refreshing, fruit salad. We bargained for bananas and sniffed at least half a dozen pineapples. We gripped the oranges and pursed our lips as the apples were weighed. We couldn't believe it when the young handsome man bearing the real goods, the miel let us take our prize on a promise to return when we had enough monedas (coins). That trusting gesture was a glimpse at the goodlife. The simple life where there is faith in the word of 2 complete strangers.

Mancora was lovely. The sun was hot indeed. I enjoyed strolling around like a gypsy and slurping up fresh pipa (coconut juice) streetside. Only to wait for the gentleman with the machete to finish the deed by carving out all of the white, nutrient rich meat for me. It's fascinating how 1 coconut has everything one could ever need, so pure and satisfying. Mother Earth provides. The water was much cooler than in Ecuador and the current was fierce. Carelessly yet perhaps intentionally, I allowed the waves to sweep over me and I'd tumble like the brilliant, green seaweed that I found amongst the rocks. Exhilarating.

There were kite surfers, surfers, runners and lovers. There were lots of travelers, lots of people playing paddle ball and children making their own little "swimming pools" in the sand- holding their breath as the water ran in to their castle walls and laughing as it transformed into foam. There was an old cowboy named Jose who had 2 spirited, saddled horses. I rode "Caramelo" (Caramel), a stubborn Chestnut at sunset along the water.

I spoiled myself with tuna steak and lots of coffee. I dabbled in watercolors and one night even cut my hair! As we all know, living and being in the moment is my creed. And in a moment under the growing moon, I let go of any fears I'd been carrying and prayed for renewed strength, renewed faith. Shedding my locks was a transformation of sorts, symbolic of this unpredictable rebirth.

After one last sensational, seaside sunset in Mancora with 4 lovely ladies (2 from Colorado and 2 from New Zealand) over rum, bright ideas and a waterfall of laughter, I jumped on an overnight bus to Trujillo, a colonial city on the coast. I slept through the night with earplugs (Jorge, if you're reading this- thank you- they spared me the snores of the man in asiento 21) and by 9 AM this morning was rolling into Huanchaco, Trujillo's neighboring fishing village and surf haven renowned mostly for the nearby City of Chan Chan: the largest pre-Colombian city in South America built by the Chimu in 850 AD and conquered by the Inca Empire in 1470 AD.

Chan Chan was surreal. It was another world entirely and the bright, overcast skies added to its mystique. I wound around countless adobe walls and walked down seemingly endless hallways. There were narrow passage ways and ramps. I delighted in the carvings, the careful handiwork of our ancestors still intact. I imagined the estimated 30,000 people who used to live, work and play in Chan Chan. I marveled at the ceremonial pool still filled with water, lily pads even and dunking ducks. I marveled at the tombs and perhaps the living spaces. It's one thing to read about history. It was entirely another thing to witness it. To see the evidence. To be in that space was sacred.

1 more dawn and dusk in Huanchaco before I venture to Huaraz in the Cordillera Blanca (a town at the foot of the White Mountain Range) on another night bus taking off tomorrow evening. I intend on getting a good dose of seafood before landing along the snowy peaks that draw adventurers from all over the world. It will be a quick trip as I've got my eyes set on Lima, where my Dad and Carmen (his Peruvian girlfriend) will join me in a few days. I couldn't be more thankful for their much anticipated presence. As well as that of Anne-Marie, my beautiful cousin who flies south on the 20th.

Now before I sleep, I'm going to have some honey. What taste would you rather have lingering on your tongue and what I ask could bring sweeter dreams?

Miel.

Organized Chaos

2009-06-03T11:53:00.001-06:00

Unpredictable. That´s what I love most about South America. Its ¨organized chaos¨, agreed 2 British globetrotting guys with whom I shared another surreal day in this wild continent.

Yesterday´s journey to Máncora, Peru was a total out-of-body experience. It was as if I was looking upon my colorful, crazy self instead of looking out of it.

I saw myself in the early morning piled into the back of a white pick-up truck, wrapped in an orange sarong trying to keep warm and squinting my eyes to see the morning light flood the velvety green sea of mountains. I sat completely calm and mesmerized as the racing truck kicked up dust. It whirled past tiny villages awakening with uniformed, hand-holding and school-bound children and barely missed taking out grazing cows planted along the road´s edge.

I saw myself on a bus. I was hanging out of the window and snapping pictures of the bright white clouds filling the mountain valley like beer froth consuming and spilling over a generous mug. I heard myself squeal with terror with 2 guys from Manchester as the rickety wheels tightly hugged the mountain turns with no room for error in our decent into the thick fog. We had long since surrendered our fate to the driver (and our guardian angels) and were enjoying the ride for all its worth.

In a flash there I was walking over the Río Machala, feeling the weight of a dusty pack on my shoulders and reading a sign welcoming me to Peru.

I saw myself hopping into a small white and unmarked ¨taxi¨. Me and my 2 new mates packed like sardines in the backseat, slowly making ground through the desert and in route towards Sullana, where another terminal terrestre (bus station) awaited. Up front there was a woman shielding her head from the sun with an old newspaper and a driver who, much to her discomfort, kept picking up hitchhikers for a stretch or 2. There must have been 10 strange men who scooted into her lap. The dance went on as such and I sat giggling, glad that it was her and not me.

There was a whirlwind of more mountains and more plains, tall palm trees and rice patties. I saw myself on another bus stretching my neck to smile at the massive, magenta sun burning in a peach horizon. I sensed the sea was near. Then I was jumping into a moto, chariot-like taxi and ringing the bell of La Posada, on a lone stoop in the moonlight, hoping for a refuge.

Dreams of the beach lulled me to sleep and there I´d had another unpredictable, full day from mountains to desert to coast.

From truck bed to bus to car to bus to moto.
From Ecuador to Peru.
From old to brand new.

Off to soak up the heat of the day. I may even try my luck at kite surfing. I urge you to do something crazy today, something utterly unpredictable in my honor :)

Much love!

Vilcabamba vertigo

2009-06-01T16:58:00.006-06:00

Life is beautiful. I could have a thousand splendid suns (ode to my current read, The Kite Runner) in this mountain paradise that is legendary for its residents having the longest lifespan of anywhere in the world! Vilcabamba is a sweet, perfectly set town in the foothills of majestic, green carpeted mountains. I´m mesmerized by the ridges and the folds of the incredible, shooting landscape. Looking out into the royal abyss from atop the 2 highest peaks of Mandango this morning, I felt lifted and perfectly suited for the warm light that drenched the living, natural sanctuaries and my salty, seed covered body. Millions of tall reeds swayed on the mountainside with fuzzy, purple tips. Families of brilliant yellow and black butterflies seemed to always be floating along, upwards and across the worn ridgelines spanning dropping cliffs on both sides. The hike will never elude my memory, I´m sure. I was happy to have the company of Douglas from Canada who I met on the bus here from Cuenca. Bearded and merry, he´s been a perfect travel companion with lots of common ground to speak of.

I´m looking over my shoulder now to catch the cheerful plaza in the setting sunlight. There sits Augustine who is 85 years old and who offered me a promise ring to return to him in Vilcabamba one day. This afternoon, a passing bunch of jovial elderly folks paused to join us at our bench and chat. There stood a jolly fellow boasting 100 years of age! One of the ¨old¨ women plainly stated that age is a matter of the heart. That my friend Augustine indeed was as young as me where it counted, inside his soul. Yes, all is well on this Día del niño (Children´s Day, celebrating the little ones).

The starry skies, mountain highs and human touch (yes today I indulged in a heavenly full body massage and facial by the lovely Piedad) have given me all I need to catch my early bird, 4:45 AM bus tomorrow. I´m border bound and cannot wait to set foot in PERU! My heart is set on Máncora, a sexy surf town on the northern coast, but you never can tell when you´re at the mercy of the wind. Speaking of, I found the following excerpt from my diary last night:
It´s really hard for me to fathom being- here- in this moment- moving on from a dream realized and being so much better for it. I thank my lucky shooting stars that I came- that I didn´t wait- that I took the wheel and went against the current to find a wind that has filled and carried my soul.

I encourage all who are reading this to reevaluate your living. It is always a good time to reinvent yourself and do what you always wished you had. I am your biggest fan.

Sending a guitar strummin´ hippie named Tom, a chilled fat-boy Pilsner and a Quechwa blessing from Delphina!

Liquid sunshine

2009-05-29T18:17:00.003-06:00

As I once again climbed the Andes mountains on my big blue bus in route to Cuenca, I slipped out of my dreams to catch the liquid sunshine on the other side of my window. Yes, there was the light peeping through the thick white clouds now engulfing us. I had to chuckle when all of a sudden I thought of Mama Bear, my late grandmother telling me the history of such peculiar weather. When the sun shines and rain falls at once, the Devil is beating his wife.

I left Machala this morning after a sweet interlude with Alexia, a mutual friend from Bahia de Caraquez and her family. What a difference it made to be in a home- I slept so sound after a tipico dinner around the table and an evening listening to her tweenage daughter play the piano. I don´t think they realized what a treat the music was for me- and the company. One day I´m going to focus all of my energy on playing those ivory keys. And painting. The thought wraps me in joy! Only good things happen around a piano.

I arrived in Cuenca this afternoon around 4 pm and lit up when I saw the heavenly white and blue towers of the Catedral Inmaculada that is frequently pictured in magazines and tourist books. They gleamed against the muted, grey sky. After securing the best deal on a room I´ve seen yet, I hit the ground running. Literally. My legs felt good after resting too long at bay with my foot injury. I could hardly distinguish my sweat from the refreshing rain drops cleansing my face. Ah, the good ole days are back. I´m anxious to run a marathon while in South America and be kind to my body that needs physical challenges, daily. Although Patricia and I love to don our Save the World tees, scouted at the neighborhood Tia supermarket in Bahia, and joke that our relaxed, low impact ways on the beach are good for our planet, I know that I need to be moving. I need to be strong in mind, in body and in spirit.

Running is a clever way to get to know a new city. Especially when it is getting dark and you are geographically impaired. I tromped through the enchanting city until I reached its center that was declared a World Heritage Trust Site by UNESCO and that can trace its roots back to 500 AD. I was sure that if I listen and look hard enough I could hear and see its stories in the ancient streets and walls. I creeped in on a couple misas (catholic masses), breathed in the rich aroma of a dozen flower stands lining the sidewalk, and savored a perfect scoop of homemade pistachio helado.

The liquid sunshine has given way to a brilliant night sky. I am off for a romantic night in a foreign town full of possibility. It´s Friday- I am all smiles and

I love y´all.
Catail of Cuenca

Hip Hop in Jipijapa

2009-05-27T09:47:00.004-06:00

What an appropriate name for a town I had to go through in route to Montañita, this colorful and ever so funky surf town. I have taken a trip back in time to the 70s where this groovy village was a hippy paradise. The roads are dirt, the feet are bare, the beaches are alive! The Ecuadorian coast line is stunning. As I wound around the Ruta del Sol (route of the sun) I absorbed the rocky, winding cliffs and the blue, sparkling water below. There are islands and unique rock formations giving every beach its own, distinct landmark.

I have found a sweet little beach front hotel on the main drag to call home and even have my own balcony where I can watch all of the action from above. It reminds me of my balcony in Valencia but perhaps more primitive and unconventional. Conveniently it is next door to the Machu Picchu Restaurant where I have made fast friends with 4 Dominican Republicans who run the place. Last night I was a guest at their special birthday party for the owners mother. There we represented Lithuania, Russia, Dominican Republic, Sweedan, Spain and the United States. It is truly amazing how traveling brings together cultures. Sharing a couple of days in an exotic place sparks friendships trancending age, origen, language, skin color.

There is a big gathering today for the futbol game between Manchester United and Barcelona. I think I am going to stick around until Friday. Sunkissed and sandy, I am delighted by the artesanias, salsa dancing, fruit stands and firey, ocean sunsets.

Sending so much love and wish you all were here to share it with me!

Maracuya y triciclos

2009-05-22T17:50:00.002-06:00

Quito is for lovers

2009-05-18T11:26:00.006-06:00

What I remember most about Quito is the sheer immensity of it. Looking out from the mountain-side balcony of Cafe Mosaic into the shining, night city, burning with a million golden lights, I had an overpowering sense of being so small with a whole world before me to explore. I graciously accepted that I could never know it all, not even in a lifetime of devotion, and in a heartbeat, it was settled: Quito was mine for 2 days and I'd use every minute.

At once, I was in the thick of the rolling streets, the lively, ancient plazas and the curious city parks. I roamed in and out of The Old City with no map nor guide book, entrusting the days' surprises to my own instincts. Climbing the steep avenues at an elevation of 9252 feet led me to playfully mock my pitiful altitude-shocked body and work for every worthy discovery.

On my first day, I must have gone to church at least a dozen times by noon. The colonial iglesias and monasteries were like pillars on a cobbled foundation. Ancient plazas spread around them as open grounds for activity in the midst of narrow and otherwise crowded city spaces. The ever present indigenous people inhabiting Quito added to its magic. My eyes constantly rolled round, catching sights like a woman leading a lamb across the street to Plaza San Francisco and a little boy skipping in a superman costume along Plaza Santo Domingo. My eyes settled on beautifully restored architecture and the arches of Calle Morales, one of Quito's oldest streets. I gleefully picked up fresh churros and other decadent goodies from a local bakery and refueled on juicy, 25 cent pineapple from a jolly and beckoning vendor on the corner.

Sometimes the best way to know a foreign place is to willingly lose yourself in it.

Running into 3 crazy Australian backpackers put the cream cheese icing on the cake- or rather the meat in the Stroganoff (our dish of choice with 2 chefs in the bunch). The Quito I know is much kinder for my time shared with Claire, Alice and Michael. Together we became giggling spectators of old men playing competitive games of Coco with silver balls in the park, children singing their hearts out for monedas in the efficient if not roomy city trolleys and the changing light over the snow-capped Cayambe peak from our roof-top balcony at Casa Bambu. 2 days on the road, bussing it to Quito from Armenia wore on me and clever, carefree company was just what I needed.

My Aussie companions hailing from the "country town" of Adelaide were in their 14th month of traveling in South America. They readily passed on wild stories, advice and favorites from their adventures. I was constantly humored with talk of "fairy floss" and "g-strings". They began their journey in Brazil so our opposite routes made room for speculation. I did my best to prepare them for Colombia and they confirmed my already strong desire to visit Inti Wara Yasi Park in Bolivia- Ironically, they'd spent 6 weeks at this animal sanctuary I'd been told of where volunteers care for pumas and monkeys.

Quito was like a confluence of many rivers creating an oasis of opportunity. With city perks and wilderness escapes, one really doesn't have to choose. You'll find a little bit of everything in the mosaic of pleasant contrast.

I:

2009-05-14T13:49:00.003-06:00

would love to see my family again. i would love to race into the unknown on the back of wild stallion and scream. i would love to feel the chill of the cold on a snowey mountain peak before making my first, exhilerating turn through fresh powder on two skis. i would love to know another passionate kiss. i would love to hold my own, healthy baby in my arms one day.

but really i would just love to wear this silly, stupid grin on my face forever. i'm so happy!!!

Thank you Ashely for inspiring today's creative entry. I loved the exercise.

Thinking about my loved ones gathering for Thomas' graduation in Spartenburg, South Carolina tomorrow. As the big Sis of 4, it's hard to believe another baby brother is old enough to be out of college. I'm there in Spirit and will be that unmistakable energy pulling you down to boogie low on the dance floor.

Sending all my love after a day of Crazy 8s, walking to the panaderia for Bahia's best banana bread, reading Hugh Thomson's passionate travel account, The White Rock: An Exploration of the Inca Heartland and rich conversation with fellow adventurers.

Today I came across what I think could be another intricate piece of my destiny. It feels so good to get a peek no matter how brisk or uncertain.

Thank you for nurturing my free spirit and God bless,
Catherine

Canoa, Ecuador

2009-05-12T12:50:00.008-06:00

Canoa.

The name itself evokes discovery and all of the splendor that freedom is made of. Here are some photos from my luna de miel on this enchanted coast. Greg, my strapping, Southern friend living in Canoa invited me to his hotel on a whim and was instantly a new pupil of sheer spontaneity. 5 minutes of packing, 30 centavos for the ferry taxi and 1 bumpy ride in the only Ford F-150-playing-Dixie-in-Ecuador later, I found myself in the Wild West version of Heaven on Earth.

Imagine having nothing to do except to suit up for morning swims in the ocean or walk for miles aknowledging the beauty of creation. Imagine going out to sea with fishermen to lay their nets or hiking through green highlands in search of the infamous "love cave." Imagine having only to make a bed in the sand to sit all day writing and reading and listening to the wind and seeing the changes of one setting unfold. Imagine punctuality pertaining only to sunsets on the beach with a glass of red wine or a frozen Banana Colada. Imagine singing along to evening jams with serendipidous friends, all strumming guitars or picking a mandolin. Imagine massages, mango mornings and learning the art of cooking Plantains. Imagine a land with only dirt roads for barefeet and horses, surfboards to carry and ceviche for lunch. Imagine the unexpected gift of aprize lobster. Imagine a frozen icecream on your lips after enduring a hard run on the endless coastline. Imagine being in a perfect place at precicely the perfect time with the perfect people.

Yesterday Greg referred to our time shared in Canoa as a Midsummer Night's Dream. He invited me back to paint a mural in 2 of his new habitaciones in return for a month's stay. This girl can't resist days full of painting and playing in the sea. I'll let you know how it goes.

Al Son Que Me Tocan Bailo

2009-05-11T07:48:00.003-06:00

"I'll dance to whatever rhythm you play me", goes this sweet little saying in English. 3 Alveros and 1 Jorge taught me this line one sensational night in the small Paisa (referring to the Quindio region) town of Filandia. I've been able to squeeze in the clever "dicho" to just about every conversation thereafter. It's always a surprise to my Spanish companions and the implications shall never stale. There at a pub on the edge of Plaza Bolivar (every town and city in Colombia, Venezuela and Ecuador has one named for Simon Bolivar who liberated the territories from Spanish rule), we enjoyed sporadic conversation interjected with boisterous laughter. Rounds of Aguardiente shots were paired with dainty cups (and saucers) of coffee. Bouts of Portuguese filled the air. Sentences were started in Spanish and then completed in English and vice versa. All of us shared at least 2 languages and we never got around to settling on 1 in particular. This traditional Colombian combination of Crystal and black "cafe" seemed contrary to all health precautions, but on we sipped and each duo got smoother. The night continued with a trip to Alvaro's farm perched on the green countryside and a walk through tall grass to his lake. There we stood mesmerized by "cucullos" (lightning bugs that rest on the ground) and the reflection of a twinkling Southern Cross in the still water. Stars shot across the sky. Only after a roaring ride in Jorge's '83, baby blue Mercedes Benz was the night complete. His capacity to turn anything with wheels into a racecar kept me on edge. I'd joke with Alejo, his son and Daniel, his nephew that we were on a "montana russa" (roller coaster) with no tracks and dodgy obstacles.

I'm home (away from home, aboard Victoria) from the farm and I'm so thankful that I went with my gut and accepted Alvaro and Jorge's invitation to travel with them to Colombia. Jumping on the back of a motorcycle with 2 men I barely knew from the Yacht Club is one of the craziest and most fruitful things I've ever done. Living on the Macadamia farm with Jorge and his friend, El Negro shines among the most incredible experiences of my life. I'm certain that our time together could never be repeated although I do hope to return to Finca Betica one day. I'll always cherish our toasts to every drink be it coffee at breakfast, wine at lunch or chocolate milk roaming around the grocery store. I'll remember evening cooking lessons with El Negro and to go easy on the oil (over green beans) and ice (when blending Pisco Sours). I'll recall mornings with Sandra, roasting coffee and helping her with daily Macadamia chores over girl talk. Enchanting butterflies in the Mariposario (butterfly garden) and the setting light from the top of the Torre del Filandia (tower of Filandia) shant escape my memory. Nor will a hike alongside thermal rivers and the bathing pools of Santa Rosa. I'll wish for more runs along the outskirts of the farm, winding through pastures and over dirt garnished with fallen, colorful blooms. I'll forever seek out exotic fruits and look forward to my next ride in a Willy's Jeep (the "workhorse" of Colombia, there are millions dating back to the first farming days). I'll giggle when I think of Pilates with Lissette or my debut on a Scooter through the ancient streets of Salento with Jorge swearing behind me (Papa always said payback is hell!). Planting my own banana tree is in the cards thanks to Cezar's generous tour of his Banana and Coffee Empire.

If I was ever to be "high-maintanance" it would be from the likes of Jorge and El Negro on Betica. Thank you, Colombian friends for treating me as a queen and for teaching me so much while in your kind presence. I felt at home and at ease. I learned that while the world may be in "crisis", we have a choice not to be. I learned that homesickness is easily cured with a slice of home baked bread and a cup of fresh milk (from the neighbor's cow earlier that morning).

More to come of my world beyond Macadamia Heaven.

Buena Vista

2009-05-02T18:34:00.003-06:00

God is so good! I´m in a constant state of awe taking in the perfect details of the master artist and master physician, our creator. The earth is a beautiful place indeed and filled with so many beautiful people. I just recieved word of some horrific news in Athens, Georgia- the heart of so many great memories since I was a little girl bleeding red and black (Go Dawgs!). In these times of crisis, we´re reminded that there is bad in the world with the good. But without a doubt, I´m sure that there is more good than bad. We must hold on to this truth. That very truth brought me here to Colombia and I´ve witnessed so much more good than bad in this country that has an incredible history of pain. But things are getting better. Colombia´s current President Alvaro Uribe is a man of conviction and stands firm in his good values to bring peace to Colombia. He serves his second term now and the magnificant country has already seen great triumphs over FARC as well as spearheaded free trade agreements with other nations. The Colombian citizens that I´ve met support Uribe and the women even wink and tell me he´s handsome (although they conclude not nearly as good looking as our President, Barack Obama).

I´m still loving life and learning more each day. It´s safe to say that I´m head over heals in love with Colombia and am in the best hands possible for this chapter in my South American Education. Best hands, yes. Most tranquil hands, no. My host, Jorge is quite the daredevil himself and every day he´s got something new up his sleeve. Impossible to recall the past 2 weeks in one update, but I will tantalize you with my perfect day in an effort to inspire yours:
I woke up this morning a little late and fuzzy with the perfect, morning light shining through my white curtains. I rolled around all night long with sweet dreams and slept hard to the steady rain. This morning, as every morning at Finca Betica, I close my eyes and try to fine-tune my ears so that I can delight in the birds´early symphony and the mooing from cows in the neighboring pasture.

I remembered the night before and blasting firecrackers towards the Finca (farm) high in the hills where a wedding was taking place (we´d biked through the mountains all day and actually got to see the preparations for this exact affair). We marveled at their fireworks and of course, the men of the [full] house (Jorge, El Negro, Nando- Jorge´s brother, Alejo- Jorge´s son, Daniel- Alejo´s cousin with a little fuzzy mohawk) get the bright idea to send a couple LOUD ones back to them as a commemorating surprise to the celebration. If only we could have seen their faces. The bands stopped playing and I´ve never heard such booms. I don´t think we can buy those kinds legally over the Georgia state line.

Slowly but surely, I rise up and get tickled with one of my favorite morning rituals: pulling back the drapes and swinging open my heavy door to let in the cool mountain air. I continue outside in route to the kitchen making sure to stop and pay tribute to paradise of green. I´m met with a handful of morning greetings (the custom here is to always kiss the right cheek hello and goodbye- a gesture I learned early on from my Mama) and offered Lulo (one of the many strange fruits that I´ve come to know here) and fresh-squeezed orange juice. I take my time taking down my morning Betica coffee (the best in all of Colombia) and using the smallest spoon (so it lasts longer) to eat my morning granola with yogurt and honey (Sandra, one of the gals who works on the farm helped me to make the batch of granola last week and the honey comes from our bees! EVERYTHING has Macadamias).

El Negro lets me know that he´s ready to go whenever I am. We had big plans for our second day on the road as Team Betica´s newest cyclists. All geared up, we loaded our 3 bikes into the wooden bed of Jorge´s white Ford pick-up and El Negro´s daddy drove us to our starting point in the town of Calarca (named for a brave Indian Cheif who resisted the Spaniards and suceeded in retaining a wealth of golden treasures in the mountains for his people). I was so naive and blissful, I hadn´t any clue what we were getting into. El Negro invited us to his hometown of Buena Vista (Good View) set high in the hills of the Central Range and offering a bird´s eye view of all of Quindio. He wished for us to visit his family´s coffee farm that has flourished for over a century and that is the setting of his youth.

It was easy cruising in the beginning. El Negro´s father and friends started showing up along the way with thoughtful concessions (crispy Bull skin- not my favorite and baggies of macadamia nuts). We had our own squad of jolly, old (young at heart!) male cheerleaders flashing photos and reaching out for high fives. Little did I know that they came along for a reason. We were in for a marathon. UPHILL!!!!! I love biking but never have I ever known the strenuous plight of a cyclist until this very afternoon. We climbed and we climbed and we climbed and we climbed some more. We rounded steep bends in the road that got us closer, meter by meter to the top. I applied the zig-zag tactic that I sometimes use in hiking to alleviate the strain on my muscles and lesson the incline. Somehow it worked. Merrilly we rolled along, up up up. Motorcycles and cars zoomed past us. Somehow this always invigorated me. I knew we were taking the most challenging route, and somewhere in my sick mind this comforted me. I consciously breathed slow, inhaling and exhaling, managing to take some photos (my waterproof camera nestled conveniently in my sportsbra now drenched with sweat) and revel in the buena vista that got more magestic with every push and pull on the pedels.

Every now and then, Jorge´s truck would appear and our support group would hoop and hollar and whistle and call my name, Cah-

tah-reen-ay. It reminded me a lot of my mom who did the same for me when I ran my first marathon. I just smiled, raising my arms and egging them on, posing for pictures on my slow horse (compared to the motorcycle). At one point I even hitched a few seconds, holding onto the rear of their trailer with one arm and balancing my bike with the other (I need to practice this practical art that I´ve seen many Colombians successfully accomplish on uphil highways). I´m certain I was a novice in the eyes of onlookers- Typically Colombian women are not seen on the futbol field or on a bike on the side of a mountian- and this too energized me. I hoped this crazy sight may give the women and little girls a confidence to push their own limits of physical fitness.

A few hours since our blast off (I have no concept of time- it probobly seemed longer than it was), Buena Vista was in view. And my have I never been rewarded with such a pleasing sight. Who knows, maybe the buena vista wouldn´t have been as buena if we weren´t completing a vigerous day´s joy. The small town snug in the mountain top was bustling with color and at least a quarter of its 2,o00 residents. We rounded the plaza and peddled stupid with amazement that we´d reached our goal! It didn´t take us long to park underneath a colored umbrella and raise glasses spilling over with refajo (beer mixed with Colombiana- their orange version of creame soda) to an emphatic, ¨¡SALUD!¨.

Our perfect day was born. We peddled even higher as if taking our victory lap and at last we laid eyes on a 100 year-old home that belonged to El Negro´s family. As if testing my imagination and stretching the limits of my idea of a perfect farm, a tiny white labrador puppy appeared at my feet. Here we stood 1,560 ft above sea level looking out at all of Quindio and beyond and all the while I had a sweet puppy dog cradled in my arms. Winding around porches beaten with time and etched with character, I felt as high as the 200 year-old Caucho tree perched to my right and as light as a feat

her. Naturally we made our way into the home and sat around a table strewn with cigars, shots of aguardiente (fire water! Colombia´s version of pisco in a Peruvian Pisco Sour), cups filled with hot, smoothe home-grown coffee (with saucers!) and mounds of more strange fruits (one of which is near extinction- so the farm has lots of trees and Jorge and El Negro packed some seeds to plant at Betica). Now I was in the company of 6 ¨Paisas¨, or typical Colombians reigning from this specific region of the country. I had to laugh because it seems I´m always with a bunch of men! They told stories and we all chuckled deep from our bellies. Were all days this good in Buena Vista?

If I had to chose a favorite of the lads, which would not be fair one bit, I´d have to say Antonio. He wore my favorite of the typical Colombian hats- white with a black ribbon and molded perfect to his head, it was worn and rugged. I didn´t know until after we dropped him off at his house that he kept a large pistol (loaded with precisely 18 shells) named ¨Niña¨ in his pocket at all times. This detail confirmed my adoration for a happy, army vet who´d called me brava (brave), linda (pretty), amable (friendly) and natural (natural- this is what we Spanish teachers call a direct cognate). Every woman needs at least one man like Antonio in her life (I think of my sweet Papa!).

On we went even further up into the hills to another gorgeous home (belonging to El Negro´s cousins) structured and stiled in ¨typical¨ Quindio fashion. Bright colors, detailed wood work and endless, outdoor covered hallways enchanted us. Every room had windows swinging open to the mountain side. The long house sat amongst steep patches of healthy, green coffee trees and high above the clouds. The fog now far below seemed to dance as it made its way across the valley. Hanging flower pots, blooms of red ¨novios¨ (boyfriends- the name of the flower), fountains and antique light fixtures caught my eye. We were served delicious, hot tapas and sweet guava juice. All I could do was sit back, relax and bathe in the splendor and circumstance. How on earth did I get to this hidden paradise with these incredibly generous, compassionate and colorful people?
I learned that this particular coffee farm is acclaimed to grow the best coffee in all of Colombia (National champion for 5 years straight- although my loyalty is with Betica). You must remember that Colombia has the ¨best¨ coffee in the world and this coffee that touched my very lips is the cream of the crop. Its named San Antonio, and its beans are selected 5 times over throughout process to ensure that they provide coffee of the best quality. The beans that San Antonio doesn´t use are sold at premium rates to coffee buyers around the world. These guys are in the process of building a coffee shop on their land where tourists can come and enjoy their coffee while learning about the art of coffee growing. This is a fabulous idea considering I´ve been inquiring about a coffee ¨tasting¨ (kind of like wine ¨tastings¨ and enjoying a visit to a vinyard) ever since I arrived in Colombia. Millions of people must desire to learn about this world-cultural phenomena, but very few coffee farms offer venues to share and sell the fruit of its labor. The San Antonio Cafe will be ready in 2 short months, so coffee lovers take note and make your way to Buena Vista, Quindio, Colombia.

Dare I write more. I love you all SO VERY MUCH. Thank you for inspiring me to be here and to follow my heart.

Catherine

Chevere y divino

2009-04-22T15:16:00.003-06:00

Good afternoon my sweet loves. I´mreporting from La Mona´s Casa Jardin Zen (House and Garden of Zen), curled up like a lucky kitty on a big, white sofa on her backdoor, open patio. I´m beneath a tall overhang that meets the green valley beneath like a Cathedral. The house is built 100% of Guadua (bamboo) and the beams to my left are dressed in vines as natural, stunning drapes pulled back to frame an infinitely open window. We are just on the edge of the city of Armenia in the state of Quindio, perched on a plot of land that has been in Jorge´s family for nearly half a century. It used to be a coffee farm, but Martha Isabel (Jorge´s sister known as ¨La Mona¨) realized her vision of a house ¨about balance and harmony with nature.¨She built and now runs this boutique hotel who´s constant flow seeks equilibrium. And that it does! The house truly is a sactuary- with big, stone halls, wooden stairways supported by a tree trunk,, natural wood beams, and sunlight filling every inch. There are so many windows and glass walls that it´s impossible to distinguish outside from in. Completely, divinely organic. The house immulates serenity and allows both mind and spirit to rest. The gardins within and around the home have no apparant beginning nor end. The soft, green grass carpets stairways and winding paths all the way down the valley. Carefully tended plants sprinkle the edges of paths calling me to follow them. Endless cross-roads that promise surpirse: A grand forest of yellow bamboo, a spider web I must carefully step over, radient heliconias, or a pond emerging from the arms of smoothe, piled rocks. Everything in and of this breathtaking fortress is art. It´s as timelss as the Andes at arms´ reach and just as sturdy.Last night La Mona hosted a dinner party for Nanda, their family friend who just returned home from a 5 week stay in South Africa. The wine flowed, the bonfire sparked, the good cheer kept pace with the relay of tangy, spinach and cilantro soup, chicken salad, and ¨tres leches¨keylime-macadamia pie. The bread and smooth, yellow butter came to supper- and to breakfast with a perfect pancake, boutiful honey and fruit.La Mona gave me the best room in the house for a couple of days leave from the Finca (farm). A band of croaking frogs lulled me into a deep sleep and a symphany of birds brought me into a new day. My room is on the top level with 2 glass walls creating a corner. French doors swing out to a balcony, allowing the wind to kiss skin not wrapped in silky down covers. It´s like sleeping in a giant, luxurious treehouse in the middle of the jungle (with a steamy hot shower!). I´m thankful for this honeymoon with my soul, for the kindness that constantly refills my cup, and for this storybook romance with Colombia. ÇEvery day is better than the last. Every day is the best day ofmy life (a mantra I try to live by seems effortless here)!

Day 3 of our motorcycle journey from Ecuador was a success! 10.5 hours on the road for our final stretch with a total of 1280 kilometers covered. The sun shown down on us as we cruised through the valley. The heavens welcomed us into Armennia. Blues and violets, magentas and golds as wthe sun set behind us and painted the sky in front of us like the horse of many colors (The Wizard of Oz). The clouds gave way to ¨el nevado de Tullima¨ (a snow-capped peak in the neighboring ¨departamento¨ that is rarely uncovered) and we even had to stop to watch the hot pink rain fall from the heavens in the distance. Silloettes of tall palm trees and sugar cane fields gave a delicious foreground to our buena vista. I could hardly stand it we were so close to the farm. Any minute now, we´d turn off of the main avenue onto a dirt, bumby path and follow signs to ¨Betica¨. Just as the clouds parted for the snowey peak and the pink rain, the caretaker met us at the entrance gate with a smile and it seemed all doors were open.
Betica Farm is divine. I´ve spent this week getting aquainted with Macadamia trees, coffee beans, strange fruits, honey bees and flocks of ¨loros¨(parrots) amongst other singing companions. The sky is big and the space is vast. We are living pretty ¨green¨with our own water well and rain reserve, our own coffee (the best I´ve ever had), our own honey (from the macadamia flower), mountains and mountains of macadamia nuts (producing maca

damia butter, granola, pesto, icecream and more), fresh eggs and a generator in case the city lights go out. It´s simple living at its finest. When I´m not getting stung trying to steal the honey or taking down a spoonful of honey and cinnamon, I´m learning the secrets of farming and getting the crop ready for selling or giving :) I´ve aquired some books in Spanish and am constantly learning new vocabulary. I listen carefully because Colombian Spanish is the easiest onthe ear. I´m learning to walk slower, to eat slower, to take in the simplest of beauty around me.
This morning I had the great pleasure of speaking to an English class at the Armenia State University. I was asked to share my ¨story¨ of my Spanish language education, teaching Spanish, studying and traveling abroad, sailing as well as my plans after Colombia. The students ranging from 17-20 years old were beautiful and attentive. They smiled and were curious, asking questions and speaking clearly and confidently in English. At the end of my talk, I was asked to share my dream. I did. And then I got to ask them theirs. As they went around the room, one-by-one sharing where they wanted to travel and what they wanted to see, their eyes grew bright with promise.

I can´t wait to tell you more of this exchange but for now I´m off to pilates and a night at Vivero Bar.

EVOL

¡Hola Colombia!

2009-04-17T21:06:00.010-06:00

Day 1, and I´m in love! Colombia is crazy beautiful. I´ve never seen any land so rich, fertile, colorful and green! My smile´s bigger than a bright orange, harvest moon as I try my best to give you an update. My hands are dancing across the keyboard as I jitter with excitement. There just doesn´t seem to be any chance that I could squeeze in all the details of this journey into one, teensy tiny sitting. A lot of time has lapsed since my last post. I haven´t even written about Canoa, a perfect surf town on the Ecuadorian coast that I recently found myself "stuck" in. I went for the day and stayed for 10. That´s to be continued. For now, here is the skinny on the life of your Pacific Princess:
I´m on a motorcycle tour traveling from Ecuador to Colombia with 2 friends from the yacht club, Jorge and Alvaro. Upòn discovery of my desire to travel throughout South America, they offered to take me with them on their bikes from Bahia de Caraquez (where Jorge´s Catamaran as well as Victoria are anchored) to their hometown of Armenia which is nestled in the central branch of the Andes mountains. They knew that if I headed south towards Peru, I would never get to see their beautiful country that so many overlook. I slept on the idea for a couple weeks, gathering both facts and opinions on the safety of the adventure, and ultimately knew it was for me, my only way. Before I knew it, I was traveling "home" from Canoa to Bahia in order to take off with the guys the following morning. All of a sudden, I was the new kid at school with butterflies in my tummy and excitement in my bones. With only a few short cruises on my dad´s Harley and a couple test runs with Jorge under my belt, this was unknown territory.
Our 7 am rendezvous on Thursday morning came quick with Kim and Pierre, the boys and I all hustling in the boat to get ready for our big day. They boys were back to SCHOOL and in full uniform after a long holiday weekend in Baños and I was following through with a crazy yet all together perfectly reasonable plan. By this time in the game, Kim and Pierre were both wishing they could come and Thomas and Patrick were grinning big (we´d spent many a´day on deck brainstorming the infinite possibilities of travel). This wasn´t exactly catching a wild horse, taming it and riding it across China, but nevertheless they were proud of their older cousin. I only wish I could´ve seen their faces when Pierre and Kim recalled the get-up Jorge and Alvaro presented me for the ride: black, padded pants, big black jacket, goggles, HELMOT (purchased the day before and only a southern belle gets away with sporting a ¨maple camo¨, silver crome-detailed ¨cosco¨), and ¨guantes¨(gloves). At least half of our Puerto Amistad community was there to see me off, feeling like I was going onto the set of a movie. Hello Lara Croft :) We snapped some photos, hugged goodbye and sped away. We were doing it. I was there. There was no looking back. In Pierre´s words, and I concur, this trip would be life defining. In many ways, the possibility of traveling with Jorge and Alvaro across Ecuador and into the mysterious Colombia stirred my courage. Some family and friends cheered and others worried, but spinning away with Jorge and Alvaro on that promising morning was a decision all my own. It came mostly from my wild heart and fearless spirit.
I never even knew fear until yesterday. It feels like it´s been ages since I was huffing and puffing as a woman in labor and SCARED SHITLESS (ear muffs). Surely I´d never be scared of anything if I got off of this really fast horse alive. I´ll spare details for now- but the day did get better when I broke out Coldplay on my ipod and started to look around at the spectacular scene. The juicy ¨oro miel¨ (gold honey) pinapples and sweet bananas in my stomach from a roadside market gave me a 2nd wind that carried us up into the coulds as we climbed the Andes. Through the mist, I caught a glimpse of a giant face sculpted into the side of a rocky cliff. Waterfalls poured before me and deep, green canyons whirled around me as if in a dream. We finally reached Ibarra, Ecuador after about 400 km along our route where we discovered our night´s delight: Hacienda Chorlavi. Again like a child, I was awestruck by this old, perfect farm converted into a hotel. It once was even a monestary. The grounds were stunning, with secret-garden like plazas surrounding. Overgrown paths, brilliant flowers, hammocks, covered bridges, lanterns, ceramic tiled roofs and big shady trees gave us a grand palace to call home. Inside we found tables set, the fire blazing, an open terrace and rooms and rooms filled with gorgeous antiques just waiting for our presence! Very Spanish. We were treated as royalty. Breakfast was even finer than supper and Grandma would´ve been proud of the setting. The sun-lit table overflowed with watermelon, guayaba, eggs, homemade bread, yogurt, juices and coffee. While the boys secured our bags on the motos, I made my way one last time through the grounds, capturing every last ounce of beauty that I could on my camara so that I can share it with you soon.
So this romance continued into a successful, amazing Day 2 of 3 on the road in route to Jorge´s ¨finca¨ (farm). I´m so much more relaxed and comfortable now. I´m actually beginning to love the curves and the bends in and out of the Andes. The joking is endless regarding this transition. Today we finally reached the Ecuador-Colombia border. We celebrated as we made the rounds to the Immigration offices on either side to get all stamped and official. Jorge and Alvaro were finally in their homeland and I was finally going to touch this much anticipated soil. I was truly amazed as we rolled under the welcome sign ¨Bienvenidos a Colombia¨. The land just kept getting greener and the mountains more grand and vast. Surprises were endless. All was foreign. All was familiar.

Twas on this leg today that my eyes filled up with the most glorious sight! Perhaps the most beautiful lands of my life along this rich and dynamic valley. It struck like the ¨Going-to-the-Sun¨ Road in Glacier National Park, but it never ended. Unlike our protected park, this sacred space was inhabited with people, laced with neatly drawn out farmlands and bustling with animals. There were waterfalls shooting out of every rocky wall and a big, white river flowing far beneath. I couldn´t help but to kick myself for not having packed my fly rod and wondering what kind of ¨trucha¨ (trout) swam below. Within the valley, sharp mountain peaks stood tall to greet us and bright flowers of all shades met us, too. There were horsies and big cows, pigs and lots of puppy dogs. Families walked together, farmers worked the land and Indians dressed in their colorful, traditional clothes took be back in time.

I´m far too spent to write, but enjoy the highlights of Day 2:

-Stopping to see the famous Lajas Sanctuary
-Sitting atop a perfectly soft and white, fluffy llama that was dressed in colorful, traditional garb and even wearing a sombrero
-Taking in the magestic wilderness
-Eating guinea pig for lunch or ¨Cuy¨, Alvaro´s favorite... A traditional and precious dish of the Indians in southern region Colombia
-Rolling through a typical, colorful Colombian town where all of the houses were painted bright with

detailed patterns and designs

-Seeing a huge crowd of people in black walking towards me and then realizing we were right in the middle of a funeral gathering. The men of the family carried the coffon up high a few feet away from us as they marched towards the church. There was something very sacred about witnessing this. People wept. I could identify with death. I decided right then and there that I don´t want anyone wearing black at my funeral. Bright Colors, por fa!
-Giving thanks for the opportunity to travel with Jorge and Alvaro, 2 very fine gentlemen who are taking great care of me! I affectionately refer to them as my angels!

-Noting that this route is normal for my friends, but exotic for me or anyone not from Colombia to experience. Jorge and Alvaro reminding me that it is extremely rare for a foreigner to be on this spectacular route of the

Panamerican Highway- especially on a motorcycle because for many years it has been unsafe due to guerillas. I know I´m lucky and truly living with every last bit of wind upon my back.
-Celebrating my brother Hartford´s birthday! I gave ém one to be proud of and wish him love!
-Sleeping like a baby after these long days full of adventure!

Sending love along with Aguardiente Nariño (after dinner drink), Macadamias (we´ll reach Jorge´s Macadamia farm tomorrow) and Champu (a tasty smoothie with a corn base made with fruit native to this region of Colombia),

Catherine

Tin Fiddles and Mexican Trains

2009-04-05T10:04:00.003-06:00

Buenos Dias mis amores! It's another beautiful day in Bahia. A little overcast this morning as the sun hasn't quite broken through in all its glory. We're blessed with a little shade on these "winter", warm days. This morning we rose early just like every morning but with a specific task at hand! Kim and I spent all of yesterday afternoon taping edges, romoving hardware, sanding wood and wiping down the boat in preparation for varnishing. Today we got started with the brushes, feathering back on every stroke to make the golden wood glow. Bikini clad with KT Tunsall's voice pouring through the speakers, I enjoyed getting my hands dirty and adding my unique touch to Victoria. After all, I have to earn my keep!

As the birds chirp and sing around me in this open space, I reflect on the past few days as well as those to come.

-The boy's first soccer match! It was on Saturday and held at the "Estadio grade". The boys were jumping with excitement and the whole family piled in a taxi to take us to this historic event! All of their miniature teammates were so precious in their white t-shirts and cleats. No shin guards necessary. Kim and I warmed up with them before the coach and the other team arrived (90 kids drove 4 hours from the coastal town of Esmeraldas to play). We sat way up high in the professional venue to get the best shade and the best view. Lush, green mountains and a big, Carolina blue sky cradled the field below. The coach let Thomas and Patrick start! Kim and Pierre were initially horified. The last time they saw the boys practice, they spent their time on the field catching bugs and twirling their hair, completely oblivious to the game. I assured them that their boys were fine and kept emphasizing the importance of having fun. To our delight, Patrick and Thomas got a few touches on the ball, hustled and held their own as first-time defenders. I smiled on as I observed them dodging that ball right in front of the goal and struggling to understand body language in a foreign world. They were so brave out there getting their first taste of fierce competition and using hand signals to break through the Spanish barrier. At times it was as if I was looking upon myself and my own growth as an athlete, a bilingual gal and a student of life!

-Getting to know my Colombian friends Alvero and Jorge and seriously considering riding with them to Colombia on the back of a motorcycle. The thought of entering such a mystical country that most travelers never see on the back of a bike steals my heart! Our very own "Diarios de la motocicleta" (Che Guevara) with two trusty, personal guides. We would cruise through the Andean countryside, stopping at historical sites and make our way to Armenia, thier quaint Mountain town where Jorge has a "Finca" (farm) growing everything from Macademia trees to coffee plants. Colombia calls me to know its riches and its people. The lingering risks to the country's unstable political state and corruption gives me reason to meditate on the decision. It may be life defining and inevitably one confronting fear. The guys are currently sailing in Salinas, an island off of the Ecuadorian coast for another week so I have time to gather my heart's desires before they return. I'm open to your advice. We took the "motos" out for a test run a few nights ago. Riding into the sunset, I knew that it was a part of my destiny. I'll continue to fantasize about getting my own bike one day making tracks down wild city streets as well as overgrown, lost paths. Any takers?

-My first dance lesson with "China", my best local girlfriend who tends the bar at the yacht club. We crossed the river to get to San Vicente where we found a lone and lively, cabana discotec resounding in Salsa and techno beats with a group of equally ambitious patrons. Alvero and Jorge joined us beneath the multi-colored disco balls in our all too hillarious attempt to feel the music and let it seep through our bones. I needed some time to acclemate to the fluidity and sensuality of the culture. China and I went back and forth as I mimicked her movement and grew more confident with every song and every chilled sip of Pilsner cerveza. As we walked into the cool night breeze, Alvaro told me that most Americans move stiff but that I was like a snake. I'm 100% sure that he was dilusional. But I smiled nevertheless, satisfied with the lights of Bahia getting closer with the extended hum of our midnight ferry.

-Stopping by the Colegio Immaculada (the Catholic school) to meet Thomas and Patrick's new teachers and class and get them their books and uniforms. The whole school was like walking into a giant atrium. Flora and fauna entertwined with concrete paths with benches, a rose garden and a big blacktop for recess. Kim, Pierre and I beamed as Sunny, the boy's 5th grade teacher took them in her arms and presented them to the entire, giggling and curious class. The girls wore white, nautical dresses like little sailers and the boys donned white short-sleeved oxford shirts with a little patch on the front pocket. This too summoned feelings of pride and nostalgia. I've been in their shoes and couldn't be more excited for their upcoming adventure and special first day, TOMORROW! Best of all, while at the school I had the great honor of meeting Mother Superior. The Nun in charge of it all. She had an aura of holiness and the most gentle and knowing smile I've ever seen. I wasn't the only one who felt this. Pierre exclaimed, she's like out of a movie! Kim and I are already talking about inviting her over to the boat for cocktails.

-Fruity indulgences on every corner. The hot days are broken up with ice-cold banana smoothies for only 75 cents. Sometimes I have to get 2. I enjoy every sip, strolling as slowly as possible along the oceanfront sidewalk, stopping to enhale and exhale with the waves. I'll then find a bench for reading and writing in my journal. A minute may pass before I'm greated with a curious passerby and lost in conversation. I have to watch out for the old men. They always try to sneak kisses on the lips when greating and departing. It's impossible to avoid and always leaves me blushing.

More to come! I'm off for a lunch date!

Tennis for the lady

2009-04-02T11:21:00.003-06:00

Good morning! How art thou? I´m glowing with salty sweat and the remnants of black goo from Pierre´s racket grip. I guess I´m just so hot I made it melt. We started off this glorious day with a round of doubles: Kim and I paired up with local pros, Maria Helena and Don Julio. It was awesome, getting lose and bouncing on my toes in the tropical scene. We were hardly into the first set when I noticed my hands, chest and face were covered with dark traces of war. After our match, Maria Helena toured us around the cape. We learned of the local surf, abundance of fresh shrimp and ceviche and were led to the Bahia Tennis Club.

Some big decisions have been made and there´s excitement in the air. Pierre and Kim have decided to live here and put the boys in school so that they can learn Spanish. The first day of classes is this Monday, so we haven´t any time to loose! We´re always out and about exploring and getting a better feel for the daily life. We are all so happy here and there is such an amazing vibe in the fresh air. The boys are thrilled to put homeschooling on hold and start making friends. They have their second futbol practice this afternoon at 3 and are begging to please not go to the Catholic school where nuns will snap their fingers with rulers. We´re all giddy and with their decision, I´ve been carefully unfolding a wild one of my own.

Calling the big, mean Oso now to share my news and will let you know what we decide. Sending sunshine and huge bicepts.

Fiesta on the Equator!

2009-04-01T18:50:00.004-06:00

Reporting live from the breezy yacht club of Puerto Amistad. It's wednesday "movie night" and much to my dismay, the majority chose to watch The Bourne Identity. My heart was set on Camino Revolucionario, the new feature starring Kate Winslet and the all too dreamy Leonardo Dicaprio. I'm a Titanic fan and so very romantic, so go figure. Letting my shoulders drop and breathing deeply, I feel good! After all, I have been delighting in the house sangria and speaking in Spanish all evening to a jolly old fellow from the South of France. This open aired gathering place set on the sea feels like home in just 3 days. Everything about it is merry and welcoming, easy and oso tranquilo. There are hammock swings and casual dining tables, a garden and small dance floor and a full, gorgeous bar built of bamboo and natural stones. The staff and cruisers make one big, eclectic familia. There's instant acceptance and camaraderie as well as an abundance of fascinating stories and wild ideas.

Before giving away all my Bahia secrets, I wish to give you a little more insight as to our passage. I've saved the best for last: our epic celebration on the EQUATOR! For days we anticipated the party. Tio Pierre, our salty Captain taught me that sailing is a world full of superstitions as well as traditions that may bring good or bad luck at sea. You should never change a boats name, for example. However no one could recall the exact protocol for passing over the equator. We were left to our own devices and with two little boys in charge, we couldn't have been in better hands. Patrick and Thomas decided we should all transform into greek gods and goddesses. Thomas was Zeus, Patrick became Apollo, Kim assumed the powers of Athena, Pierre inevitably was King Neptune and I was Aphrodite. We crowned ourselves with aluminum foil and dressed as mythically as our cabins allowed. Kim and I wrapped up in our colorful, Kuna Indian sarongs. Suddenly belt ropes were warrior head dresses and drift wood was the perfect trident for Poseidon. At about 9 AM we were there- at the EqUAtOr and we were ready! I presented necklaces for everyone made with shells, rocks and coral that I'd found in the Perlas. We couldn't believe the water!!! Blue and still as far as the eye could see. We took turns leaping off of the bowsprit and swam in this endless, refreshing pool. We laughed and splashed, snapped pictures and beckoned shy dolphins to come closer. We sat there for hours, basking in silliness. The boys called for everyone to do an act to demonstrate their immortal strengths. The whole thing was sheer madness and belly wrenching giggles. The perfect morning continued with plates overflowing with fluffy, french toast hot off the gimble stove: a breakfast feast fit for Aphrodite herself! Alas while perched on the end of the 6ft bowsprit, I spotted land! South America was in reach and we'd be in Cabo Pasado by dusk.

Fotos from las Perlas

2009-03-31T19:37:00.002-06:00

My Mermaid Complex

2009-03-31T16:25:00.004-06:00

Ah, my loved ones. It's been amazing getting all of your updates and love now that I'm once again connected to you through this ambiguous idea of internet. I made it! Our passage here from the Perlas Islands was smooth as butter and sweet as nutella. I would know. We have a saturday chocolate-chip pancake ritual aboard Victoria and I shant make it through a night "watch" without a spoonful of sugar. Pierre, Kim and the boys attest to the fact that their Lord Nelson 41 has never seen happier days at sea. Or maybe they were the ones so satisfied. The barf bowl stayed in its "locker" and meals were prepared in our cozy galley without any major burns or spills. The tranquil water got more calm as we approached the equator. Gently we rolled through a belt of wind known as the Doldrums. Cruising through mirrors of metallic blues, I now knew an oblivion. And it just kept getting better! Time stopped but we just kept going, sometimes at a record speed of 1- 2 knots. We felt no hurry out there in the middle of Earth with no one else for miles and miles so the motor rested and our sails carried us slowly but surely southward on a course of 180 degrees. Piper sailed in tandem with us the entire passage to Ecuador. The mast light of our friends aglow in the vast darkness at 3 am as well as that faint white speck of sails on the horizon in daylight gave us a sense of comfort and safety. Our rendezvous point with Piper was near the town of Esmeralda in the Perlas. Before I continue, I must tell you of Esmeralda. For that visit, just as most every experience of this trip, changed my life.

When I learned we would be going to a small town in the middle of the Perlas, I was ecstatic. For some reason, I envisioned a Menagio of Lake Como, Italy-- a quaint, old village that would dazzle me with stone paths and an abundance of fresh, colorful produce. I was on Mars and obviously quenching familiar luxuries unbeknownst to a crew of 5 sharing 41 ft of space for weeks. As we got closer, I knew this place was different. From deck I could see people running about on the beach and a lot of sporadic activity on the water. I sensed no trace of order on that enchanted coast laden with wooden fishing boats and dark, energized bodies. Before I could blink, a smiling man was before me, paddling to us in a canoe and offering to assist us with shopping and finding our way around. Translating, I relayed to him that we would meet him on the beach on our own dinghy. He said he would be waiting and there he stood keeping his word with at least a dozen tiny children. Surely we set the world record for the most hands to pull a boat through the sand. An effortless feat over a hungry tide. It's challenging to describe my reaction to this scene. The children were so thin! I was worried but only wanted to convey love and so I did. They were the hosts of their deserted island town and fully present with no ties to our "real world" except for strange visitors like me, fatefully casts on their shore. The kiddies kept close to Kim and I as we meandered through colorful, humble homes. These shacks were the most basic of shelters and all of them filled with people. Children poured out of front doors, women sat at hand-made tables and played cards, and young men trained their cocks for fighting in my midst. I actually saw a cock fight! Just about everyone had a cock on a leash. The markets were more like concession stands on the porch of a few homes. No signs, no police, no worries. They had hardly anything to sell us besides a branch of bright green bananas and a few bite-sized snickers bars. One of the little boys caught wind of our chocolate and with bright eyes started pleading. There's no way I was going to deny a precious child chocolate so I gave them all I had. Kim was horrified because there was no way the chocolate was going to be enough for them all. The urgency gave me a superhuman confidence that they would actually share. After making the rounds out-of-body, we snapped a few photos, gave our kisses goodbye, shook our number 1 buddy's hand and drifted away. Slowly the town became just as it was. Just in sight and like a dream. One powerful thing caught my eye as I made my final strides out of town: A quote painted on the bare wall of a thus brightened abode. It spoke volumes to me and seemed to be the spirit of Esmeralda.

donde hay fe hay amor

donde hay amor hay paz

donde hay paz hay dios

y donde esta Dios no falta nada

where there is faith there is love

where there is love there is peace

where there is peace there is god

and where there is God there is everything

I met a cruiser at the Balboa Yacht Club in Panama who passed on a similar quote to me. One of his children told him this after many years of traveling at a young age:

"Dad, the happiest people in the world that we've ever met are the poorest"

I witnessed this in Esmeralda on that day and in doing so I now more than ever want to pursue simplicity and the most natural of highs.

Our passage to Ecuador was glorious, sublime, heavenly! I was lucky to have every sunset and sunrise watch in 3-hour shifts at the helm with complete responsibility of our boat. At night, everyone else is sound asleep and you have thousands of stars to keep you company. The phosphoresces of the water make patterns and I would always look for large illuminated blankets of what I imagined to indicate sea life. Could it be a whale! A shark! A pod of dolphins! That alone time was so special. All senses enhanced, I've never felt so alive nor so sleepy doing the same task. I listened to podcasts on Kim's ipod (taking a new interest in the Discovery Channel's I Shouldn't Be Alive) and reveled in my music. At times I felt like the queen of the sea, sitting on my thrown with all the world before me. This was a sacred time, too. I felt as if every shooting star was a sign from God and with a smile I'd accept and make a wish! I'd get hungry on these night watches too. With our rations getting low, my go-to was a handful of raisons and a couple [heaping] spoonfuls of nutella and/or peanut butter. When night falls, everything at sea is magnified. The waves crashing, the wind roaring and the creaks of our boat amazed me.

**I just learned a bit o'heritage about our boat! One of my fellow cruisers at the Puerto Amistad Yacht Club of Bahia de Caraquez, Ecuador offered me a little history lesson that I will pass on. It is the origin of Victoria's make: Lord Nelson. Once upon a time, there was a little 10 year-old boy who sat upon a wharf and asked a captain to let him sail. The Captain, fearing for the boys' life on such a perilous voyage, hesitated but ultimately honored the young lad's wishes. The boy survived and in time became the Captain's "lord Nelson" and one of the greatest British Admirals of all time.

Victoria is delightful on the eyes! She came from Taiwan in 1983 (born the same year as your Sirena truly) and is dressed to kill in warm, intricately lain teak from Thailand. She's full of character and her grace is in her age although "practically brand new for a boat", so I've learned. I have an affinity for all things old and striking and she is the most beautiful vessel for the unfolding of my story.

More to come!

Message in a bottle, thatched bamboo roofs and giant tortoises,

Catherine

Cat is alive and well

2009-03-28T10:30:00.002-06:00

Hello to all,
I wanted to do a quick post to let everyone know Catherine's status on her epic voyage. I have heard from her a few times via the emergency internet connection on the boat, she says she really shouldn't be using it- nevertheless she has been emailing me that all is great. They have left the Las Perlas islands (off the coast of Panama) and are heading on a 5-6 day voyage towards Ecuador, she said that this leg of the trip is about 600 miles. I think life on the boat is great and simple, everyone has their own chores and responsibilities to do. She has taken command of the SUNRISE watch shift almost every morning from like 4-6 am and even mastered steering the wheel with her feet!!! Anyway, I am going to let her tell more in detail when they arrive in Ecuador in a few days.
On the flip side, life in Jackson is great. We just had an incredible snow storm blow through much of the west a few days ago, bringing in with it 40 inches of new snow to the Valley. Skiing has once again been sick and my time left here is coming to a close. I plan on leaving this place that I call home on April 7th, and headed towards Fort Smith, Montana for a litle fishing trip of my own before I return to the dirty south. I'll keep yall posted soon. God speed Cat.
k

Keeping Steam

2009-03-20T12:01:00.004-06:00

Still in Isla Contadora and setting sail for another island in Las Perlas this afternoon. Yesterday Kim, Pierre and I, donning our wetsuits, plunged into the dark abyss and cleaned as much of the hull of the boat as we could. Hundreds of barnacles sank before my eyes like brilliant sparks aglow against the deep blue water. It was quite the workout with Kim and I comparing ourselves to Navy Seals (ha!). The current was strong and tossing me around. At times I lost my sense of direction and would flounder until I found the way to oxygen. Patrick and Thomas had fun on the beach and made sand balls that we found intact this morning. The sunsets never fail. Always "marvillosa" with layers of cobalt blue, lavender, scarlet and flamenco pink. I am proud to say that I was a part of a historic day on Victoria. Yesterday Kim settled down with her first frozen drink in the cockpit since departing in February 2008. Strawberry Banana daqueris all around with a strong breeze and blugrass music freeing a space for endless stories told. She reminds me that sailing isn´t all bliss. It takes hard work to have fun. All the sweat makes the downtime sweet as the homemade piña (pineapple) icecream here.

Pacific Princess in Contadora

2009-03-18T19:15:00.002-06:00

Finally made it! Letting the breeze cool me off from the heat of the day perched in the middle of this splendid island of Contadora. Tis the "most developed" of all of the Perlas, yet all that awaited our footprints was the velvety, cream sand followed by a nearly deserted path lined by strange trees draped with vines and a variety of quaint restaurants, all "Romantico". Sailing is heaven. I'm hooked. I share with you savory bites of the voyage so far...

Te Quiero Panama

2009-03-17T06:41:00.002-06:00

AH, the time has come to bid farewell to this beautiful paradise. Its been over a week and just as Im feeling at home its time to kiss and hug goodbye. Im going to miss the Balboa Yacht Club Marina and all of the people that make it a community. Most of my friends here are bronzed men, old and young, with lines engraved into their skin from a life lived at sea and big, bright smiles. Yesterday I took the time to relax on one of their benches beneath the shade of a big, lively tree and watch the sun go down. Slowly the sky turned peachy red and mango yellow. With mountains in the distance, sailboats and cargo ships in the middle ground, and the dark silhouette of branches before me, I meditated on the serene picture. I breathed deeply and thanked God for all of you and all of the good swarming around me.

Here are some memories from Panama in no particular order:

Long runs down the Causeway Amador- lined with palms and created using earth that was excavated during the making of the Panama Canal
Getting my Yellow Fever Vaccination in a local clinic with adorable nurses and Juan my trusty taxi driver accompanying me for moral support
Beers with other cruisers at the Yacht Club- most of them Canadian- and relishing in their tales of foreign lands and of course listening intently to their advice to a young novice
All of our rendezvous with Mike, Nicole and their sons Beau, Lucas and Alex- Locals we befriended and whom with we shared multiple dinner parties, poolside visits and laughter- I know where they live and have already warned them that one of these days Im going to come knocking on their door!
Tour of Cosco Viejo, Panamas Old Town with breaks for fresh Ceviche, Gourmet French Helado (Lavender, Honey, Coconut, Mango-Banana) and chilled cocktails
Every day walking to and fro our floating home down the long pier with enthusiastic greetings all along the way and especially from Angel, the jolly security guard
Happy Saint Patricks Day!!! Getting into mischief late last night with Kim to make our Cabin look like the "Lucky Leprechaun" had been there! Notes scribbled, drawings colored, stuffed animals hanging, string strung and candy scattered throughout. The boys were stoked this morning and everyone is wearing green!
Sleeping in the Cockpit with the boys and wishing on a shooting star
Aweing over fireworks every night! We could see them from our boat- not far away at a seasonal concert series that we attended
Witnessing Sandra Sandoval in the flesh (a Latina legend) who hypnotizes you with the shake of her booty
Using cardboard boxes (as instructed by Beau, Lucas and Alex) to sled down the steep hill in front of the ACP mansion (Panama Canal Administration)
Rising early and waking up slow with my Panama Coffee in hand
Delighting in all of the people and animals taking Siestas- men in hammocks in countless kitty cats lounging about everywhere
Slumbering so deep last night with dreams of my first SAIL

We are finally set to leave Panama City and sail to Las Perlas this morning. I am aglow! Keeping yall close in my heart and present in spirit always! Cheers!

la Osita

amor de Panama

2009-03-12T17:05:00.002-06:00

Hello friends!

I cannot believe how Kinnison and I habitually neglect our wonderful blog. I am accepting this reality and hope that you will bear with us .) I guess El Oso Lindo allows us to share bits and pieces of our wild lives when the timing feels right. May our entries be spontaneous, colorful and constant in their capacity to turn you on and bring you to us wherever we may be anchored.

I am living on a boat in Panama! Life is beautiful! The strong sun melts the days together and the wind breathes life to my soul with every gust and sway of the boat. I finally took the plunge and committed to sailing with my family aboard the lovely Victoria. A life long dream made so easy! All it really took to get me here was saying yes, emphatically! The energy I poured into bidding farewell to my responsibilities and loved ones in Jackson Hole, driving 3 days on end back to Atlanta and packing the night before take-off was small compared to that which swelled me upon realizing I AM HERE... I AM DOING THIS... I AM SO HAPPY! Sometime around 2 AM last Tuesday, tucked into my bunk with the full, bright moon visible from the hutch above me I caught up with time and rested with my reality. The boys fast asleep and our cozy and simple quarters feeling just right, I knew that my life would never be the same.

Kim, Pierre and Patrick and Thomas (my 9 year-old twin cousins) are joyful company. They endlessly fascinate me with their natural grasp on such an unusual lifestyle. Kim and Pierre have been very busy provisioning for our cruise to Las Perlas islands and our upcoming passage to Ecuador as well as tearing apart the boat to make it safe. The boys and I in turn have made a field trip to the zoo, wondered at monsterous cargo ships passing through the Panama Canal at sunset, lounged on the boom in the orange moonlight and survived our first of many Spanish lessons on deck in the noon breeze.

Today I went on my first run up an avenue lined with palms and trees with gorgeous, vibrant blooms of all hues. My favorite tree yet is the Guavacan which bares flowers of the truest yellow! The color is so beautiful that it will change your life with but a catch of the eye! That is just how it draws me in and hold's on my gaze as if I've found heaven itself.

Alas I'm being summoned to authentic simplicity with but blissful dances with the Internet. Sending my love and grace, thankful for your support.

At last!

2009-02-08T20:16:00.003-07:00

Some days you wake up and you know exactly what you need to do. It would not make any sense at all to do anything else! For some reason, the day is special. You feel perfectly comfortable taking the wheel of your fate and being Captain of your destiny. You know you have no time to waste because your heart's desires dance within reach.

Today I awoke and knew I had to fly! And just like that I was jumping off of the mountain and soaring over 1,000 ft above ground to a peaceful, easy feeling. It was one of the most incredible experiences of my life. I was high and light with the wind and my pilot, Scott sailing me through the sky. Paragliding gently removed me from the mix that all of a sudden seemed so fast. The big, powerful mountain that I ski slowly became but a piece of the grand puzzle. Talk about perspective!

At the end of the day, I love delighting in "firsts". I hope that flying today was a first of many!
Thank you God for the kind winds and the Oso ever so lindo.

"Do you meditate?," she asked.

2009-02-03T19:21:00.010-07:00

"I space, you know... zone," was the answer.

Hardly elaborating, my acupuncturist continued, "It's a form of mediation." Giggling to myself, I had to agree. I knew right then that I was dealing with a crazy one, and that's always for the best.

Tonight I had an amazing treatment at the Wilson Acupuncture and Healing Arts Center by Tamara. She was darling. It was the coolest clinic I ever saw! I've seen adds in the paper for the Affordable Community Acupuncture since I moved to Jackson over a year ago, but it's taken my brother, Hartford whispering in my ear all the way from Georgia to get me there. He's in acupuncture school in North Carolina and has motivated me to learn about the body's energy and powerful, natural healing processes. Thank you, brother (and beautiful Rachel, his lady love who is also in school and who has magical, healing hands). You both give me wisdom every day!

Here's a Quote that Hart gave me about a year ago. The grizzly passes it on with a will to strengthen, empower and inspire you.

“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us.
We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually,who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”

little red writings, huh?

2009-02-02T19:42:00.002-07:00

Does that have anything to do with the color of your hair?

A week has gone by! I won't believe it for a second. I don't wear a watch. I don't even know who won the Superbowl last night even though I hosted a Superbowl party. This afternoon, the sweet lady at the bank told me it's Groundhog Day. I got a kick out of that. Really? Living in Winter Wonderland sure has changed my reality. Ha! How I amuse myself. In this moment I'm realizing that the "important things" in life like lOVE, fRiENdShiPS, dANCiNG, ChARiTY, SUPPER ClUb, delectable SUShi and bAkiNG biRthdAY CAkES have ruled my world for 1 whole week! I am living in the present and being present. This is good.

Life is so very kind to me these days. I've been thinking about health. Care. Taking care of my health! For the first time ever, I do not have health insurance. And this can be so terrifying especially when recently I thought something could be wrong. However scared I was, it also brought my wings to rest, my butterflies to sit and revel in the delicacy of our "one, wild and precious life" (Mary Oliver). A couple of times my fear of the unknown summoned foreign and solemn tears. In these moments, it occurred to me that I had the power to choose helplessness or strength. Helplessness in that I had no immediate access to a doctor and strength found in my faith that God is with me, and even if my body should be weak, my spirit would persevere.

Today I discovered that I am okay. I have my health! I have everything. I almost made a mountain out of a mole hill (or turned an ant into an elephant, explains my dear friend Margarita from El Salvador). I know what I'm dealing with and I am so thankful that faith kept me moving. Grace around me in forms of compassionate doctors and nurses and encouraging friends helped me to keep my beat. My heart opens to those who are sick. Those who desire healing. It will come. It is right before you, so reach out and grab it. Hug it and squeeze it. Healing is meant for you and You Deserve Peace.

In my Faith, God says that if you ask for peace, you will get it. If you ask Him for wisdom, he will grant it. Giving thanks now to a God who loves me.

Dialogue of the day:
Do you know how much I love you?
Yes.
How do you know?
I can feel it.

moose and coyotes and bEaRs...

2009-01-19T21:18:00.008-07:00

A dash of photos from New Year's Day 2009...

Wilson, Wyoming
Population 202
Elevation 6160

Feeling so incredibly inspired tonight. and happy! I wanted to share from this heaven on Earth and let the world know of my Joy... growing with every new day and even with my frostbitten toes.

written from Frank's palace truly 1 week ago:

good riddins, it's been forever! tucked into a cozy double bed all to myself with the big bear knocked out across the room and the rest of the full house keeping still, i feel right to blog! it's been 3 weeks back in the "Hole" and it's been a whirlwind of adventure.

highlights coming to mind:
-sharing new years eve with our good buddy, Peter of New Orleans:)
-celebrating new years day with the entire Bullock family
-getting jobs! Kinnison reluctantly returned to the "King", reclaiming his status as best-looking bartender and i discovered a lovely Wilson family to Nanny for
-moving in! Kinnison on the West Bank and me in Wilson... loving the simple life and discovering the luxuries of living outside of "town"
-skiing! reclaiming our ski legs, finally experiencing the TRAM, and once again beckoning the mountain to fill up our senses
-iceskating with the pups
-running along the snowey dyke and dreaming of fishing...
-bidding farewell to Scotty who continues to take such great care of us, he's single, ready to mingle, and is currently galavanting in Switzerland
-getting caught in a blizzard, in a hottub
-returning to Shade's for the best eggs benedict/tomavo,

our time spent in the Southern scapes did us good. well fed, well loved and well traveled, we took the spirit of the grizzly home with us!

Feast on your life!

2008-11-19T09:42:00.004-07:00

I'm at home... sweet home... finally! It's absolutely glorious venturing back to the place of familiarity and yet also ultimate discovery. The kitchen counter tops, library bookshelves and secretary drawers are the forefront of my search, and old photo albums and forgotten diaries are like the back woods for me, a bird dog on a hunt. A detective at heart, home is the perfect mystery, promising to unfold with my growing curiosity. My fingers dance through Thank Yous and invitations, catalogues and receipts, and piece by piece it's as if I'm reading excerpts from my home's memoir. I'm recovering the pages of life lived that were written during my 6 month absence. It's almost as if I never left and that nothing has changed in between the walls of my youth. But I know better. Walking through the back door for the first time since May, I felt as if I'd been handed a prettily wrapped package. So excited at the prospect of the gift, I stutter with hesitation. I want this moment of infinite possibility to last. I'm like this with all presents and eventually force myself to tear off the paper before I change my mind. So inward I stepped into the lights, the smells, the world of memories and makings, my home. I'm a Jack of many trades but an expert in and of my home. I relished in the cornerstones and was aroused by the nuances. The clues would lead me to better understand my family and my self. Fresh pistachios in a bowl, a grown and frisky white Cat named Oliver, and baby box woods in the lawn fed my hunger for answers. Answers to questions that must be spread over time and naturally presented. I've learned over the years of adventures and homecomings that reunions mustn't be forced. They are best extended, enjoyed, savored. Answers are best when they are given not requested. So I would wait, with a smile, for enlightenment.

Likewise, I would not share all of my secrets from my most recent adventures in one sitting. It's virtually impossible and not to mention exhausting to tell every story at once as I'm often urged. But home evokes these stories as an honest space of comparison. Home is a time traveling machine that will take you where you've been and more fully reveal to you where you are. The framed pictures, artwork hanging and labors of love that create a home reintroduce me to the girl I once was and will always be in my forever journey of becoming.

Ironically, I'm reading a book, a delicious book that my brother Hartford passed on that is all about time and travel. Originally this first novel of Audrey Niffenegger, The Time Traveler's Wife, was a gift from Rachel, my sunshine's mujer. It delighted her, confused the hell out of my mama and found its way into my company last night. I met felices suenos with tiny Tutti (a Ragdoll kitten I rescued yesterday from my backyard) tickling my neck with the gentle rumble of her purr thanks to this comforting book.

I leave you with a poem from this love story.

Love After Love

The time will come
when, with elation,
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror,
and each will smile at the other's welcome,

and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you

all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,

the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.

-Derek Walcott

soul food

2008-11-08T22:47:00.004-07:00

soo.... thanks to my lovely friend, Ashely and her plentiful goodness i've completely realized the shortcomings of our blog and the dire necessity for me to keep writing... and keep feeding my soul!

in one of her "interactive" entries last week, she recalled a little something called a "gratitude journal" that i've surely neglected. although i do regularly give thanks and praise, blessings are easily overlooked if not written down. somehow a blessing in its purest and simplest form can get lost and forgotten if not given adequate recognition. it's far easier to concentrate on what's not present rather than what is.

taking as little as a minute each day to jot down the things we are grateful for is a sure way to gain perspective on our lives and our feelings. tonight, this exercise summoned immense thankfulness as well a desire to add to my list. i immediately gained awareness of what i was feeding my soul and those times when i refused to feed it or rather gave it the wrong food.

every day we have choices that impact our soul. choices big and small form habits. what kind of habits are you consciously or unconsciously creating?

singin' that same ole song...

2008-10-25T19:25:00.014-06:00

oh yes we did! this is THE song that carried us through the entire journey... with fiddles, guitars, violins and banjos, these boys swooned us one very special night at Dornan's in Moose, Wyoming last winter. their music stayed with us ever since. somehow or another, this particular tune mustered its way into our hearts, like the good ones do, and succeeded as the perfect compliment to every road, mood, fire, sky or town. i know you'll love it. the lyrics hit home with us in this one especially because they are all about the roots. the roots that ground us, the roots that feed us, the roots that keep us standing tall and strong.

i'm reminded of one memorable night, 2 summers ago while living in Los Angeles and working for TOMS Shoes. this was not the first time that i'd stayed up late into the morning drawing. unbelievably so, all 11 of my amazing roommates were out of sight, fast asleep or out on the town. i found myself sprawled out on our white futon with my sketchpad and colored pencils. and i drew a tree. i can't say why i drew a tree. i drew big, beautiful branches reaching out to the sky and deep, winding roots. the tree had flowers and fruit! this tree became somewhat of a representation of my life. each root was labeled with a virtue or memory that shaped my life, my tree. i dedicated this drawing to my sweet mama, and before shutting my eyes that night, it was sealed with love, addressed and ready for me to mail when i awoke.

roots symbolize where we come from, what we come from, and who we come from. roots grow with time as we live and learn, as we travel, overcome challenges, and develop relationships. roots are ours to make with every decision, every desire, and every dream. we are building upon them with every new day.

on our roadtrip, i sought strength and courage from my roots.

take the rest from here. but don't forget where you come from. don't forget your roots!

from their album

The Big Twang

i share our favorite song by

Ben Winship and Brian Wicklund

diggin' a hole with a long dull spade
i keep comin' across these roots i made

the roots i buried underground

they keep pullin' me back when i turn around

my roots are weathered and my roots are long

tough as leather and twice as strong

they reach for miles and stretch across time

they reel me in with a hook and line

spinnin' my wheels too long

singin' that same old song

i'm tangled from my head down to my toes

these roots of mine won't let me go

so i keep diggin' this hole

breakin' my back in the noonday sun

there's sweat on my brow and my shirts undone

oh i'll keep diggin' if it takes all day

and i'll bury my troubles in the sand and the clay

but i'm dug in deeper than i wanna be

i'm stuck in a rut in the 1st degree

oh won't somebody just throw me a line

and pull me out of this hole of mine

spinnin' my wheels too long

singin' that same ole song

but i'm tangled from my head down to my toes

these roots of mine won't let me go

so i keep diggin' this hole

diggin' a hole with a long dull spade
i keep comin' across these roots i made

these roots of mine they got here first

if i cut 'em now they'll die of thirst

spinnin' my wheels too long

singin' that same ole song

but i'm tangled from my head down to my toes

these roots of mine won't let me go

so i keep diggin' this hole

yeah i keep diggin' this hole

i keep diggin' this hole

diggin' this hole

with love until next time,
catherine

Wholly inspired

2008-10-20T13:13:00.008-06:00

Hello loyal friends who travel this journey with us through the spirit of the beautiful bear (el oso lindo),

I know that we are in big trouble. You've told me. We haven't kept our promise to keep you with us near and far... seeing as Kinnison and I are miles from Vancouver and back in Jackson, with no records celebrating those spectacular occurrences in-between.

I'll try to recollect the events that transpired on the sacred road leading us home--At least enough to get you wholly inspired, as I am now, after reading the travel logs of my fellow adventurer and friend, Kate Stice. Her website, http://www.worldwidekate.com/ is a bold and beautiful testament to imagination and courage. A woman with a vision, getting more vibrant with every purposeful step forward. I'm so proud of you, Kate!

Vancouver sunset from Stanley park, cheers!

2008-09-22T12:37:00.000-06:00

Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry

Tulalip.....

2008-09-22T11:55:00.002-06:00

Go dawgs (I had to)! Get 'em heels (Kinnison made me)!

Greetings after a long respite from our blog. We are so happy to share some of these memories... although it's taken some brain power to recall them given our vortex of adventure. Kinnison and I write from Seattle, Washington where we've never been treated so fine (Compliments of Mr. Bobby, Kinnison's Daddy). It wasn't until we pulled up like the Beverly Hillbillies with 3 bellmen at our service that I realized we were a tad out of place. I'm confident that the Sea-Tac Marriott has never seen such rags and dirt-coated bags. We shamelessly draped our damp and rugged waders over the golden luggage cart and pushed our prided, humble possessions inside. We haven't seen the city yet... the day calls! Until the evening report from Kinnison, relish in the top 20 below!

Top 20 Crazies....
1.) Help prevent the spread of "Eurasian Watermillfoilfowl" (one of the wonders of Canadian jargon)
2.) Sleeping under the Vancouver Bridge (the nicest RV park yet)
3.) Free Canadian firewood (we almost were detained by the US Customs for bringing this through the border)
4.) Catching our first salmon on the Kootenay River (after which we found out this stretch of the river was closed to fishing!!!- no arrests)
5.) Splurging on 15$ meal at Wendy's (you wouldn't believe how expensive Canadian fast food is)
6.) Cheap and fresh sushi in Vancouver
7.) Rocky-Top Quesadillas (I actually dropped the burger meat on the ground and didn't tell Cat until she took a bite of the taco and found rocks!!)
8.) Six Glaciers Tea House, Lake Louise (this tea house actually exists up on the mtns, a reward for a 6 mile hike into the glacier fields!)
9.) Kinnison's First Steelhead Trout on the North Fork Stilliguamish River in Darrington, WA (and Catherine hooking a couple fiesty giants!)
10.) Starting our Washington Wine Tour at 11 am and feeling great all day
11.) Discovering that 90% of the World's tulips are grown in this little region north of Seattle (which is celebrated annually in April)
12.) Kinnison's first 'real' and fresh cherry on the Okanagan farm, BC, Canada
13.) Discovering an entire town in Washington with streets and businesses named "OSO"
14.) Finding 10 Canadian dollars on the ground (a gift we knew had to be from the heavens)
15.) Thanks to Polebridge, Montana for its creepiness (while in Polebridge, "may as well dance")
16.) Almost running out of gas on what we found to be a closed service road in Glacier Natl Park
17.) Picking fresh blackberries EVERYWHERE ripe off the vine
18.) Falling in the hammock from 6 feet after our ropes wouldn't hold (both of our sore bums have recovered!)
19.) Realizing the high demand for Espresso in these foggy, sleepy parts of Washington (there are 5 espresso joints on every corner)
20.) Dad putting us up in the Mariott, Seattle!!!!!!! And treating us to fresh Oysters!!(livin in luxury, thanks Dad)

To the ugliest man I know and his gorgeous wife....

2008-09-18T21:19:00.000-06:00

I am thinking of yall all warmed up by this blazing campfire Kinnison gave life to while I was a walkin and a talkin along the bay... To you, grandma and papa and all the wise ones who've blessed our lives with love, thank you! We'll be in touch, promise, and have gotten all giddy catching up with everyone after a week of no phones in Canada! Love from the road and the Washington shore!
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry