Fighters Folly

Fighter's Folly was a small, first-year event at a new site -- in other words, not a lot of people showed up. Those of us who did had a really good time, though.

I could have taken I25 up to Castle Rock and then driven uphill, but you know me by now, right? So instead I took 24 up to Woodland Park and turned right on CO67.

I drove through a whole lot of this. I think it's from the Hayman Fire back in 2002, but I could be wrong.

What I didn't know is that 67 turns into a dirt road for part of the way. Which is fine -- it's a nice dirt road -- but where I come from, 'roads big enough to have route numbers' and 'roads small enough to be dirt' are a non-overlapping Venn diagram. It really is one of the things I love about the West, though.

I got to site, got told there might be bears around, ignored this as it's true everywhere in the mountains, set up, got told that there was definitely a bear on site and he kept trying to eat their archery targets, grumbled a lot, and tore back down. But I did get a shot of the sun through the trees.

I also got told I shouldn't be walking in the woods alone, by a guy who was far more likely to be a danger than anything else while I was walking through the woods alone. I don't think he has any idea why I was so eager to turn down his 'help', even after I told him that I am, actually, a grownup and perfectly capable of making my own decisions about what I should and shouldn't do.

This made me really, really angry, but Loiosh is a good distraction. Also great at guarding my cashbox.

One of the big things at this event was the archery -- quite understandably, since it's an archery club when we're not there. I didn't get a chance to see more than a little of the shooting, but what I saw looked like a lot of fun.

Also, when you have to walk half the site to get to all the targets, a wagon is a lovely thing to have.

Extra-specially when you're also carrying a baby. (Tobias is almost a year old already, holy crap, when do these things happen!?)

The other merchant on site had nommy foods! Alas, I had brought enough hummus to get me through and didn't bring in enough that I felt okay spending some of it on dinner. Alas!

This is Miss Foxy Lady, who I had custody of while her Momma was off shooting arrows at things. She was very polite to Loiosh, who was awfully confused by this. Also, she had some separation anxiety, which I relieved by careful application of her Momma's leftover fries.

She is a beautiful girl! Also sneaky. As in 'stole and ate the entire bag of Beggin' Strips' sneaky.

Who, me?

Later that evening I saw a wild turkey come strolling out of the bushes, followed by quite a lot more wild turkeys, some of which were TINY FUZZY BABY WILD TURKEYS OMG SO CUUUUUTE and then I started squeeing and couldn't get any more pictures.

TINY FUZZY BABIES

There were also oak threes, except they were sort of oak bushes, which I think is called 'scrub oak' and is kinda cool compared to your standard tall, grand oak tree.

Sunday didn't quite go as planned. Fortunately I had all my stuff in the car by then. Plus my ipad so I could read some Digger until the precipitation stopped.

HEY MOM IT'S WET OUTSIDE I'M BORED

MAYBE I COULD HAVE SOME FOOD I LIKE FOOD (says he who got steak for dinner Saturday night...)

And then my ipad batteries ran out so I couldn't get any pictures of the spectacular drive home, the end.

Distributed camping, and sleeping in my car.

I realized sometime weekend before last that, since my roommate is nearly always home and I am, also, almost always home, that I am getting basically no alone-time. Since I'm pretty introverted, alone-time is pretty important to my sanity levels. Yeah, I get time alone in my room, and that helps, but it's not enough.

Going to events really doesn't help -- even though I spend nights alone, there are still people around, and the days are pretty full. I knew I needed to do something about this.

...and I'd been trying to find the best way to sleep comfortably in my car, anyways. Nights camping in Colorado can be pretty cold, hotels are expensive, if I'm in my car Loiosh is much less likely to find a mouse to chase...all sorts of reasons. I figured it was best to solve my problems with each other.

I poked around and found some places nearby that allowed distributed camping -- for those not in the know, that's camping on public lands, but not in a set campsite. It's nearly always free, which is so totally the right price for me. All you get is a place to park -- no bathrooms, no picnic tables, no nice flat spaces to park in unless you get lucky, but all of that is perfectly doable.

So last Tuesday I headed up Rampart Range Road into Pike National Forest, found myself a nice spot to park the car, and got settled in. Here's my lovely, luxurious camp:

My bed. In order from bottom to top: a five-foot folding table (propped up on the top of my folded-down back seat and some boards to stay level), the cushions from my favourite Ikea chair, a sleeping bag for additional padding, and a whole pile of blankets. I slept pretty comfortably, and I was plenty warm enough.

Loiosh's bathroom facilities:

  

My bathroom facilities:

 

Fortunately I've had plenty of practice in how not to pee in my boots.

Loiosh had a WONDERFUL time. Any time he wasn't asleep, he was purring. He made SO MANY happy blinky eyes at me. He got to climb trees and rocks and chase bugs, he saw his first deer, and he got to hang out with his Momma. I think it helped him a lot that I was so relaxed, too.

Just look at that pleased face!


One of his tree-climbing escapades. He rarely gets any higher than this. He did some kitty-Parkour, too; bolting up to one tree, then bouncing off of it to hit another. I didn't get any pics of that; I was laughing too hard.

The sky in Colorado always amazes me.

We went walking a bit -- never terribly far; I'm pretty out of shape, he's built for speed instead of endurance, and neither of us was really ready for 9000 feet. Mostly we stuck to the road.

But we did wander off to explore some rocks. Pretty big ones. I didn't climb too much; mostly we sort of scrambled around on them.

I'd brought my back basket, and I'm glad, because after the rocks he was DONE and didn't want to walk back.

TIRED MOM IS IT NAPTIME

He spent a bunch of time napping in the car. I spent a bunch of time reading, or working on my current sewing project, or sometimes just listening to all the lovely, lovely quiet.

Dinner was slightly exciting, since I totally forgot a can opener. Fortunately a kind man with a large knife happened by and helped me out with that.

I'll admit I did get a little bored once or twice. I checked to see if I could get online from my iPad -- I couldn't, and I'm pretty glad, because I'd've spent too much time messing with it and not enough just being. I think I'll have to work my way up to more than one day in the mountains with no net access. But I'm pretty willing to do that.

I climbed into bed just after sunset -- I hadn't brought a lantern, or any light source other than a small flashlight, and I didn't want to risk running my car battery down. I had my booklight and read for a couple hours before turning in. I slept okay -- not as well as in my own bed at home, but pretty well for a 'new' place. And I was plenty warm enough.

We walked around more the next day, and I found these scrapes on a tree. Elk? Deer? No idea.

I'd brought breakfast with me, but not lunch, so we headed down to Woodland Park not long before noon. The flush toilet at the McDonald's was very welcome, as was a hot lunch. Overall a good first run, I think. I came back much more relaxed, learned stuff that'll make it more comfortable next time, and, well, call it proof of concept, I guess.

Plus I spent most of 24 hours in places that looked like this.

...yeah, that'll do.

Running Errands

Friday was a day for running errands. Of course I brought Loiosh -- he has a stroller now, after all!
I couldn't bring him into the first place I stopped (the post office) and decided to leave him in the car for the second stop, too -- fortunately it was cool and quite rainy, so the only thing I risked was him hollering at me for leaving him in the car (he's got a point, I have to admit).

The second stop was County Line Nursery, one of two shops in southeastern PA that carries my stuff. I wanted to check on their inventory (they still have plenty, though I got a very nice consignment check from them) and to take some pictures of my products in their shop for the wholesale page. Alas, my camera was acting up and I didn't get any while I was there.

It was working by the time I got to Java Good Day Cafe, though, and I got some nice pictures, and also stocked her up on soap and lip balms (since she'd sold out AGAIN).

Not that I object to this, mind you. I'm pretty fond of it, actually. I left her with twice as many tubes of lip balm as last time, and I'm entirely prepared to do that again pretty soon.

I had lunch there, too -- I almost never eat out, but I can't resist at the cafe, and since I've usually got a pocketful of cash from sales I figure I might as well treat myself a little. This time I had an egg salad sandwich -- no celery, which I hate -- it had chopped-up roasted red peppers instead, and oh my GODS was that tasty. On a lovely buttery croissant, which did result in a certain amount of egg salad on the plate, but that's the risk you take and I was perfectly willing to scoop up the last little bits with the spoon from my (also delightful) hot chocolate.

Lest this turn into a restaurant review (not an actual risk, as I haven't got the patience), let's get back to our roots: it really is all about the cat.

He took a bit of a wander around the shop...

(Courtesy of Ann, the proprietor, who hung onto his leash for me while I poked at my intermittently-cooperating camera...)

...but spent most of the visit comfortably ensconced in his stroller.

He's really very fond of the thing, and that makes me a very happy catmomma.

Home to Eisental

So it's been a bazillion years since I've actually blogged, so here's something I wrote up last summer and then got...distracted. Eight months later I'm flailing at my long-abandoned blog and came across this in draft form, and then bawled my eyes out rereading the thing, so here it is in (almost) virginal form.

To jump ahead in the story, as well I ought, since it's now March?

I wasn't afraid.

For the first time ever on that site -- the first time ever among those people -- I WASN'T AFRAID.

And that changed everything.

---

So anyways. The week before the event was teh suck. I had (unsurprisingly) pushed myself the hell too hard, doing so many events in a row, and I was out, I was OUT, brain made of cream cheese and aching body curling in on itself in that 'major depressive incident imminent, abort, abort!' sequence I've gotten to be so familiar with. So I took it the hell easy, read, goofed online, slept LOTS, did really nothing that I didn't ABSOLUTELY have to. And just hoped I could hold it off until I got some time for a real break.

And Friday came, and I hit the wall where I couldn't pretend anymore that this was just another event, just Event #5 Of Eight In A Row What Are You Thinking. This was Eisental, this was home, this was the people I'd left without goodbyes, abandoned, run away from, fled -- the prodigal son returneth, and the bible story is really nice but pretty often the prodigal son returneth to a kick in the ass and a 'and stay out'. And despite knowing these people, despite all my logic and rational mind could say, I still believed one of the last of the many lies I'd heard way back when, and knew I wouldn't be welcomed back.

Which is why I was pretending so hard. Because these people. These people. For all that Caer Galen became home, for all that I miss my wild, city-state, monkey-dancin barony, I'm still from Eisental, Eisenstadt, bad German accents and cannons, a great ape swinging knuckles on the ground and picking things up with my feet.

I missed them terribly, and I wanted to go home, and you know that line.

So I got up and packed up and screwed around and piddled with other things and somehow got on the road when I'd planned to despite my best efforts, and my hands knew how to guide the car to the site, and my feet knew every pothole in the road, and Wicked Girls came on the radio just as I got within sight and finished up just as I was parking, and I knew that it was all gonna be okay.

---

And somehow it was. I was greeted with hugs and immediate attempts to catch me up on five years' gossip (most of which I handily avoided). I was fed (also hollered at for not telling folks I was hungry). I was invited to enough parties that even if I'd only had half a drink at each, I'd've only made it to half of them. Walking through site, the scent was right, the trees were right, my feet knew every root and ankle-breaking hole in the dark, the story tree drew me within its embrace just as it always had. It was RIGHT, in a way that nowhere else has been right in a long, long time. Too long.

Eisental status mentis est. No matter where I travel now, I know that Eisental is home.

As Caer Galen is home, because Caer Galen status mentis est. I have, it seems, a dual citizenship, and despite East vs. Outlands, barony vs. shire, my two homes have so much in common -- more than just me, and now Loiosh -- that I can comfortably live in both.

It's a good feeling. I haven't had community, true community, since I left Caer Galen, and damn near two years is a long time for even an outcaste nomad like me to be without a pack.

It doesn't make me want to sink my roots here again, mind you. I'm not...a roots-sinking sort of person. But it's a place where I can settle for a bit; it's a perch, a place to stop the wheels from rolling for a time. It's a camp where I'm welcome, a place to pitch my tent.

It's good to be home.

After all those years, it's good to be home...and not afraid.

Taking the slow way home...

I've always been a fan of taking the back ways -- but one who almost never actually does so. Back in the mists of time, that was because I was involved with someone who always felt like he had to be in a hurry (and, as a result, was always late and/or forgetting something); more recently, out of habit, or guilt, or the (unfortunate) feeling of being in a hurry, myself.

The idea's stuck with me, though. It's one of the reasons I want to take to the road full-time as soon as I can manage it. I've taken a few spectacular side-trips (the one to the Grand Canyon was particularly memorable) but most of the time I find myself thinking 'I'll take that little side road...just as soon as I have the RV. But not yet.' And then hurrying along the main roads, taking the quickest way to wherever I'm going.

I broke out of that thinking a few days ago, though, on the way home from an event in western Maryland. I was taking the fastest way home -- I68 to 70 to 81 to 83 to the Turnpike -- and happened upon US 11. Which, as I know from other adventures, parallels I81 for nearly all of 81's length, but in a much more charming, roundabout fashion.

'But what about all the stuff you need to do when you get home?' asks my traitor mind. Except that, tired as I am after a weekend event, I know I won't do much more than pull the meltable stuff out of the car, stand under the shower until I'm clean-ish, and catch up on email.

'You're so tired...you've got to get home as quick as you can, before you fall asleep!' Only it's the highway that makes me drowsy, all the long featureless miles of it.

'You can't afford all the gas to go home the long way!' But avoiding the turnpike also avoids several dollars in tolls. And...aren't there things more important than a few bucks worth of gas, anyway?

Traitor mind vanquished, I proceeded up Route 11, and thence to Route 30, through Amish country, Gettysburg, and right past Dutch Wonderland, a real gem of backroads Pennsylvania kitch. I got home an hour later than I would have otherwise...and had a lovely time. I'll be doing this again.

How do you take a little time from your busy life, and take the slow way home? How could you add a little of this to your life?

Little altars everywhere.

Everyone has a place that's sacred to them, and every place there is, is sacred to someone.

Some people find the sacred in buildings set aside for it -- churches and cathedrals, mosques and synagogues, temples and shrines.

Others feel it in things of beauty, or of deep meaning to them -- a musician in the sound of a symphony, an artist in her paints.

Others still find it in nature -- the deep green woods, the sweeping plains, the heights of the mountains.

That's me, nature girl that I am. And when I really need to renew, refresh, re-start, I head outside. And I wanted to celebrate this.

I've been thinking a lot about altars recently -- go ahead and read those links, I'll still be here when you get back -- and the two ideas came together Wednesday, as I hiked the woods of Evansburg Park here in Worcester.

The path I walked is a mile loop, long enough to lose myself for a while. And when the mood took me, when it felt right, I stopped to build an altar.

I built them under trees and on stumps, on cut branches and logs and stones.

I used what I found within arms' reach or a few steps, chose what caught my eye and lingered in my hands. Moss and stones and nuts and feathers, twigs and leaves and the earth itself.

I was drawn especially to the logs and cut stumps -- wanting, perhaps, to heal the scars left in the earth.

I don't know if any of them are still there. I suspect that some, at least, have already been carried off by the wind, or by opportunistic squirrels.

It doesn't matter. They're not there for posterity. It was the making of them that was important, not their permanence or the lack of it.

Where do you find the sacred? And do you build altars?