Tag Archives: solitude

Return from the heights.

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I don’t think I’ve ever been so sad to leave my High Sierra retreat, to come down from a truly mountaintop experience — and return to too-muchness. It was my longest ever stay up there at our family’s cabin, and no one else with me for any of the ten days, though I did chat with several other owners of cabins in the little community when I met them on my walks. Many of them were  packing up their goods and closing their cabins until next summer.

The solitude was true, in the absence of my usual social interactions via blogging and such; I did without the “news” or even uplifting articles online. Authors of print books I did engage with while I read, and it felt good to sink deeply into those books, and to spend time on other contemplative activities. I liked to sit on the deck to read, with the sun at my back and a blanket on my lap.

There was enough housework to satisfy my love of housekeeping. I always put a lot of thought beforehand into what food to take along, because it needs to last the whole time; if something is missing I’d rather make do without it than drive what would end up being a three-hour round trip to the nearest town.

I knew that the provisions I brought would be more than plenty, but I didn’t try to plan menus beforehand, because when I’m only feeding myself that is too much trouble. Also, I’ve found from experience on camping trips espeically, that when my mind is freed of a hundred distracting bits of business, I like taking time over the Coleman stove or in the cabin kitchen to be creative with the limited ingredients on hand. One thing I made was Greek Roasted Lemon Potatoes.

My last day at the lake, I made a delicious soup to use up bits of vegetables and leftovers, and put most of it into the freezer compartment of our little propane refrigerator. That gave me two more mini-blocks of ice to help keep other perishables cold on the drive home.

I had brought supplies for times when creativity was lacking: like this mix I’d had in my cupboards at home for months, without opening it. In the cabin on a chilly morning, purple yam pancakes turned out to be just what I desired.

Up on the dome, I greeted my favorite familiar trees. I asked them to bless me to return another year to be with them once more. Every time I am up there I think, How can this be, that I am given such a priceless gift, to be in a remote and lofty place, having sweet and solitary fellowship with God and His sublime creatures and vistas? One of these visits will be the last one….

The weather had turned cold the night before my dome walk, with the temps dropping into the 20’s, but the sun broke through the clouds soon enough that I was able to linger a while and eat my lunch, though I wished for a wool layer under my sun hat.

At one steep place, I snugged into the granite slope more closely, and found myself a few inches away from this dense and furry black stuff that I guess is lichen…? Or is it a different thing from the flatter, blacker lichen under it? Maybe my daughter Pippin will jump in here and tell us — likely she already told me, and recently. It had a tiny yellow lichen growing in its middle. Imagine these rocks and lichens and succulents under a thick blanket of snow, all winter long…. but then they will be right there next year when I return, may it please God that I do.

Gumdrop cannot be denied.

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The granite dome behind our cabin, which we  fondly call “Gumdrop” — Mrs. Bread coined its name — was calling me to make a visit this morning, and I wanted to set out early and eat my break-fast on its slopes overlooking the lake. But because it was such a chilly morning (I know it got down to at least 27 in the night), I waited to venture forth until the sun rose well above the trees.

I’ve written about my dome excursions more than once here, and I debated whether even to mention today’s outing, but I’m doing it for my own memory’s sake. And maybe a few other people also enjoy multiple pictures of boulders and scree and rock in the shape of a river. Visits to Gumdrop always feature treats other than the granitic type: sublime views that make you feel you are on the top of the world.

This time I reversed the direction of my loop around the base and shoulders of this exfoliating hunk of rock, and headed east when I got near, then south, counterclockwise. Every few steps I took, the view changed, and the pointy domes across the lake would be hidden behind trees, and then come back into sight.

I would never try climbing to the top of Gumdrop by myself; once my late husband did that, and he fell coming down and got a big gash on his arm. When you fall on a dome, you fall on rock — that’s all there is, and you could easily be knocked unconscious, or worse. But when I walk around the sides of it, I can’t help climbing upward, because it doesn’t have a flat bottom like a gumdrop candy, and around Gumdrop Dome some of its rocky slopes are covered with soil and trees. Today on the side where I first approached, I reached the limit of what felt safe. This next picture I took from that spot.

Majesty is the word that came to mind as I was thrilling over the grand scenes before me, whichever way I looked. As I braced myself on the slant, and looked out across the still lake, I could not even hear rustling of trees, or any hammering from cabins down below. For two seconds, a fly buzzed, and was silent.

Many features of the landscape are physically large, and majestic that way. But the smallest succulent or infant pine tree is huge in its brave clinging to life, on a rock.

I sat with my back against one slab, and ate a protein bar, drank a little water. I was the only human on Gumdrop; a few ants passed by near my boots. The lake glittered down below. All was quiet.

When I got back to the cabin after a couple of hours, I was looking for that Annie Dillard quote about why she likes mountains better than creeks. But I found this one first, which is particularly about the kind of mountain I like:

No matter how sophisticated you may be,
a large granite mountain cannot be denied —
it speaks in silence to the very core of your being.

-Ansel Adams

 

Messiness and happiness in the balance.

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Why am I so happy, suddenly? It’s 4:00 in the afternoon, my kitchen and family room are incredibly messy, it should be depressing. I took a video just now, scanning the room, with dishes sitting in tepid dishwater and empty plastic bags on the counter, bills and book mailers on the smaller table along with the contents of my traveling backpack that I’d dumped there several days ago.

On the big dining table are stacks of papers and magazines and mail waiting to be further sorted, a spray bottle of Mrs. Meyers, and bins from my Big Purge&Sort project; on the sideboard, two handbags in disarray — because I can’t decide which one I’m using from day to day when I do go out; an open planner, more mail and various papers, and stacks of books growing taller every day. Empty cardboard boxes on the floor, and the usual aprons and dishtowels wadded on the counter or slung over backs of chairs…

You know why this isn’t getting me down? It’s the second day in a row that I haven’t had any outside commitments or workers in the house, and I think I am rested from my latest expeditions. I thought I was rested by Tuesday, and today I was bright awake early, but then strangely, fell asleep mid-morning.

I didn’t tell you about my trip home from the East Coast, that involved a twice-delayed flight, the last shuttle bus of the night (2:00 a.m.) not showing up, and me finally taking an Uber all the way from the airport, a one-hour ride. There was so much interesting along that journey, like the red Tesla that brought me home, but I have been too weary to write about it. I got into bed at 5 in the morning. I had written in that planner ahead of time that I should “Stay Home!” all this week, but I’d forgotten about our parish feast day… Anyway, now I have had two good days of solitude, and tomorrow is another one, God willing.

I’ve accomplished so many things in these homey days, slowly and steadily as my wits come around again. When I returned from D.C. there were two large zucchinis waiting to be picked, and three perfect ones, and some rubbery celery in the fridge. This afternoon I cooked up one of the big fruits with the celery. I made appointments (for next week), ordered birthday presents, bought a new lamp online, and took time to read while sitting in my morning room.

And I baked bread! My effort from a few weeks ago was a failure — let’s not talk about that — so I tried a new thing today, and it worked pretty well. I have a small loaf that is just the right size for me, and it didn’t crack on the side very much…

The crack is not big enough that the slice of bread falls apart, and the crumb is nice and  “custardy.” With a little more experimenting, I’m hopeful of developing a recipe that will work with my style of homemaking and cooking, and be somewhat reliable. If it can be sourdough, all the better. And if anyone has a theory about the crack, please let me know. Becoming a professional baker, or adopting a systematic, precise and scientific baking personality — that is not going to happen.

It’s 90 degrees today, which is good for my mood, and for bread baking. If it’s colder than 80, the house stays cold, and I behave like a lizard in winter. If it’s 95 or 100 I have to shut the windows to keep the house cool. But today, I can fully enjoy the summer and have the outdoors coming in — through the screens, of course! I never will get over how my grandma in Berkeley summers would have the windows wide open with no screens, and no flies. I can remember how her sheer curtains would float gently in the breeze that blew up the hill from San Francisco Bay….

The front garden is burgeoning, everything bigger than ever, with an added flower growing out from under the germander hedge. It’s not like anything else growing on the property, or the neighbors’ properties, unless you compare it to the Golden Marguerite that can be seen behind it. The Seek app even said it was a Golden Marguerite, but if it is, its petals are albinos.

All in all, I think the balance between tidiness and messiness tipped a tiny bit toward the tidy in the last hours, in spite of added bread dough and starter mess. I promise I will clean the kitchen now and not leave any dishwater in the sink when I go to bed. That will contribute to keeping happiness in ascendance, too. Thank you for sharing my happy day with me.