The Steady, Dripping Beat of Spring

And now, the rains have come.

Yesterday, I lay out on a snowberm with Mason-dog watching the Canada Geese and Sandhill Cranes passing over head. Hoping to find a path through the cloudy mountain draw and discouraged by the dense, drippy layers, they circled back around several times providing wonderful company.

The jangling-rachety call of cranes to one another, keep their spirits aloft on the long journey while pointing out the sights below. We heard a cheer of appreciation for watching and a call to remember our wonderful time together last autumn. In many cultures, they pack the soul after death so we sent our best thoughts with them.

The hummingbird, who hitches a tail-feather ride with the larger folk, dropped off for it's first sip at my feeder yesterday. Dozens of smaller songbirds appeared by afternoon. We're all gearing up for the maniacal pace of a South East summer. The Hooligan aren't far from the Chilkat inlet and my heart and body are primed!

Looking out at the steady pour this afternoon, I'm reminded of all the wonderful paths Life's offered the last few years; ideas gestating and dreams still waiting to be acted upon. Farmstead, fiber-art, growing older with a fine mate, enjoying the escapades of our children in their adulthood's. I've the finest place on the planet and I'm rooted deeply and glad to be home.

But, there's a trip I'm preparing for ~via~ the Rails to Trails system. I'm wanting to cross the country from Oregon to Michigan, camping, cycling and using Amtrak. My folks had fun with such a trip back in the late forties and I'd love to do a follow up journey.

During such a trek, I'm wanting to spend time with the independent book sellers across the nation. Course, I plan to seek out the community festivals and street dances and enjoy fair season along the way as well.

Maybe I'll coordinate with a show or two of Garrison Keillor's Summer Love Tour on towards mid~August.

Now, I'd love to drive the sporty Ford in the picture from the tour's site, (well, in the right company, of course), but in lieu of such a chariot, I'm looking at a Kona Ute cargo bike. One jumped at me on a Fairhaven, Washington street right near the Village Book Store last month. I took it as a sign.

"A sign of what?"

Don't ask.

Yet.

From An Alaskan Returns from the Hinterlands