our spring trip, post 7: clamming

This was my favorite day in a long time. I now love clamming! Never had done it before. Rejuvenating. With the simplest of tools, a bucket and a shovel and possibly a rake, you walk out at low tide and dig into the sand to see if it's the right consistency for clams. Various clam types prefer different sand/mud mixtures, if you can believe that. Picky little critters, but then, what other choices do they get to make in life? This is the height of their self-actualization. Pretty soon, if it's the right environment, you'll start finding clams, their shells already shut tight or maybe just shutting, a stream of water squirting out. It's great. Easter egg hunting on an adult, hunter/gatherer, survivor level.

What you're seeing in the background of this next shot are the legs of a man in his 70's who'd just placed second at the senior Olympics in Vancouver, B.C. Pole vault, I believe. Rad, ain't it?

Z didn't feel well, so she didn't take to clamming like I'd hoped. She stayed close to me and didn't give a fig about the wriggly crabs and worms we unearthed. She wanted to nurse. So there we were, me at a squat, she latched onto my breast, standing in tiny shoes on the ocean bed floor, where hours before there had been enough water to cover us over and would soon be again. That's the kind of timeless, grounding, spiritual experience I like to see around here.

After a few hours of digging up clams, we took them home and made linguine. One of the boys played guitar while my aunt and uncle cooked. I baked bread. We all feasted. It was deeply satisfying to eat those clams in the warm light of a coastal town kitchen, with windblown hair and faces, and to talk about the best way to get the sand out of the clams beforehand, and how to prepare them. It reminded me again of how far removed from our food sources we are most of the time and of how much simple contentment we miss out on because of it. And of how easy it is to get back in touch!

our spring trip, post 6: Sequim

Z and I took Highway 101 from Portland to Sequim, to spend our final week there with my aunt, uncle, and cousins. Zoralee slept nearly the whole time, which was road trip bliss for me. It was sunny, and we glided through forests of thick pine trees. Ahhh, the northwest; nothing like her. We slowed for each tiny town, both to obey the speed laws and to delight in the make-shift structures so indicative of places without zoning codes.

It was stormier in Sequim than usual. One night, the wind was so fierce it blew the sleep right out of us. I love being part of the weather - being affected by it, I mean. It's important.

You just can't know people outside of their homes the way you can from inside, huh? I already know these people well; we'd lived with or near each other in various configurations through the years. But it's been awhile. During this visit, this one week visit, I got a nice long peek into my cousins' lives. I witnessed prom preparations, including the developing plan for asking a particular girl (and the ensuing news that, after the poem had been read and flower received, she'd said yes), college letters of acceptance arriving in the mail, excitement over a motorcycle safety course passed, a summer job offer from Alaska, a fender bender in the old Suburban, working on a video project for Spanish class, and getting ready for an all-state business competition the night before it started. I met or visited with a current or former girlfriend of each cousin. :) True story.

Here's Dalton on his mom's bike. He's bad to the bone (Z following suite), but what's really awesome is his usual ride in the background.

wrestling with Cousin Connor

glow in the dark paint, designed to match Dalton's date's dress

This is Z with P, a little guy my aunt babysits. Playmates are awesome. I cannot WAIT for Zoralee to have a sibling. She needs one like crazy. I need for her to have one like crazy.

The following scenario was not set up. We were out for a day of errand-running, and I peeked back to see how P and Z were doing. They were tired, a bit out of it. But through the brain haze, P reached over and placed his hand near Zoralee. She lifted her hand to his, and they sat this way for several minutes of the drive, not unlike a happy old couple who'd seen a lifetime of loss and gain and still found comfort in togetherness.

Zoralee enjoyed the dogs too, Sophie and Cinch. Here she's trying to rope them. I especially like the shot where she's coincidentally in her leopard pajama top. A real animal trainer.

our spring trip, post 7: Easter

a foggy dawn meeting at the ocean shore to commemorate the Resurrection

later in the day...

Zoralee took her sweet time hunting eggs. 40 minutes to find 12, actually.

She carefully opened an egg, chewed on several of the candies within, and moved on. This pic knocks me out; it's exactly what my sister, Rachel, looked like at this age.