beauty from today

Dear Adele,

Spring helps me remember the beauty of every moment. 

Here are some gifts from my walk today.

Much love,
Nicole

"See What You Want"

Dear Adele,
Here is a story from the travel. Less harrowing than the last one I sent by email. The photos were taken the very day the story took place. It was a few days after my summit and one day before I exited the park. Hope it makes you smile.
Thinking of you,
Nicole

The air is thick and juicy in my lungs. How much fun it is to breathe! Fully and deeply breathe! It’s like a full meal for my respiratory system. Who knew that oxygen could be so delicious? After the starving wisps of the high altitude this air feels positively luxurious.

I am coming down from the mountain, triumphant, a hero of my own expectations. I did it. I made it to the darn top of the thing. And now, thank goodness, I get to go down. I’m low enough now that there is no more trace of snow. The sun has melted away even the memory of this morning’s frost from my bones. I am coated in yellow joy.

It’s the weekend and at these lower altitudes the park is full of day hikers. They all stare at my big backpack. And rightly so. It’s ridiculous. A piece-meal of parts lumped to my back. I’ve added my rain cover over it all in hopes that it will help hold it together. I have more equipment coming out than I did going in. A kind hiker leant me his super sleeping bag and tent fly to help me survive the snow-filled mountain nights. All the extra stuff doesn’t fit right inside my pack so I had to strap it to the outside. The pack is much larger than my torso and weighs about a third of my body weight.

But I feel super strong. Good air, glorious sun. I’m the girl who climbed that mountain. I want to shout it at all the silly day hikers. But instead I smile and circle around the same small talk.

“Your pack is very big!”

“Si.” I don’t quite have the Spanish to explain why I have all the extra equipment.

“Are you hiking alone?”

“Si.” I have no good explanation for that in any language.

“Suerte,” they say to me. Good luck.

I wobble down a tricky patch of path. Narrow. A steep cliff to my right and a sheer drop to my left. The weight of the pack shifts with every step. I stay focused, one foot then the next. But I know my body. My feet and I are friends. They will step wisely if I ask it of them. My back is kind to me and bravely holds the pack high. I make my eyes behave and stay stuck to the path. I don’t look down. When the way turns onto a stretch like a dragon’s back, I pause for a moment of thanks. The path is still precarious but possible. A thin spine with a shale slopes on either side. I can do this. I gather my gumption and then press on.

Without warning I feel something slip from the snug cords on my pack. Some piece of equipment dangles dangerously and bounces against the back of my thighs. This is not a good place for this to be happening. Not convenient at all. The path is too narrow and I am too wide. If I plop myself down here it would be hard for another hiker to pass me and I’m not sure I’d have enough room to stand up again. But if the piece falls off here it will surely tumble from the path, down side of the dragon and be lost. Not good. I reach carefully behind me. My sagging rain cover is the only thing holding the piece in place. I feel about and find that the delinquent equipment is my friend’s sleeping bag. I don’t want to lose something that’s not mine. 

I walk forward tenderly until a large rock forces the path to widen. This is as sturdy a spot to stop as I am going to get for now. I turn like a turtle with an oversized shell and squat down to lean my pack against the rock. I reattach the sleeping bag to the pack. It’s a simple fix really. Just a second to secure the strap. Clickety click and done.

Two speedy day hikers, carrying almost nothing, run down the path towards me. It's clear they are freaked out to see someone stop on the path at such an odd spot. I try, in very damaged Spanish, to explain the situation to them.

“I had a problem with my knapsack. Now, I have no problem with my knapsack. Everything is good.”

They look unconvinced. I shoo them out of my way and try to stand. I strap the giant pack to my back, roll over on to all fours, push my hands to my knees, and wobble myself towards an almost upright position. This does nothing to reassure them of my well-being.

“Todo bien,” I say, annoyed, and give them the thumbs up. They continue jogging down the path. They keep looking back at me.

“Todo bien!” I yell out to them and wave.

Two Day Hikers = Two men

This is where the trouble starts. It’s like a game of name-that-tune on the radio or connect the dots. When we only catch a tiny lick of information it is our nature to try to fill in the blanks. A woman, alone, stopped on the path; this is a sketch that begs to be coloured in.

But I know no trouble. I am dreamy as the morning drifts to afternoon. I sing a bit as I walk. I stop by a stream and rest my head for a few minutes on the mammoth bag. I eat a protein bar leaning my back against its comforting shape. I follow the stream as it cuts a crevice across the top of a hill. When I catch site of the next campsite I whoop out loud. It’s still about an hour’s walk away but despite the weight of the pack my spirits are light.

Like a line of little ants I see three figures moving up on the trail towards me. They are walking very slowly. Too slowly, I think, for them to safely make it up to the next campsite tonight. I worry for them and wonder what they are doing, walking so slowly, up, so late in the day.

When we cross paths I greet them gladly, happy for the company, keen to learn their story. There are two tourists from Houston and their Argentinian guide.

The guide speaks slowly and with diplomacy. “Is there…a woman…who needs help…up ahead on the path?”

There have been no people on this stretch path with me for hours. And as for women, in the whole week and a half I’ve been here, I only met one other woman hiker like me. Day hikers excluded. And absolutely no women by themselves. Just me. I am starting to put some pieces together.

“Was she a woman travelling alone?” I ask innocently.

“Yes!” the guide says eagerly. “Two Argentinian runners came past and told us there was a woman in distress on the path here.”

“Ah,” I say. “Er, I think that was me.”  

I explain how the runners past me when I was having a spot of bother with my pack. A very brief spot of bother, that was already sorted by the time they found me.

“Oh…,” says the guide apologetically. “They thought you were in real trouble.”

I’m not angry yet. That will come later. I'm just bewildered. If those two guys thought I was in such crisis, why did they leave me in the first place?

The two tourists from Houston are unlikely saviours. It’s their first and only day in the mountains and they are huffing even at this low altitude. I huffed too when it was my first day. When their guide heard a girl needed help he convinced them to walk higher up to try to find her.

The company of three turn around and walk back to the low camp with me. They offer to carry something, but it would take more effort to dismantle my pack than it is for me to just carry it. Besides, I feel good, the campsite is close, I’m not tired. I’m the girl who climbed the tall mountain after all. I brag, just a little bit, and entertain them with stories of frost bite, glaciers and snow storms.

“You’re tough!” says one tourist. He means it to be a compliment.

I think about all the ways I might identify in my regular city life. Tough isn’t a word that always applies. Strong, sure. Tenacious too sometimes. But I'd call myself feminine and empathic. Today though, I think he’s hit it quite accurately.

“Yes,” I agree. “Today I am tough.”

Two Tourists From Houston + One Guide = Three more men

At the campsite there are two day hikers in full rescue mode. One of them is talking urgently into a radio.

“Which hostel? Which hostel are you staying at?” He speaks quickly in Spanish.

At first I’m confused. I haven’t stayed at a hostel in the mountains. I’ve been camping. I realize that he has been calling around, perhaps to the park rangers, to try and figure out which hostel I have gone missing from so that they can gather any emergency contact info I would have recorded when I checked in. They assume I am a day hiker.

“No hostel,” I say in Spanish. “I have been camping here for eight nights.” I say it a tad proudly.  He hangs up on the call. The Argentinian guide explains the situation to them.

“I just had a tiny bit of trouble with my backpack.” I chime in.

“Those runners didn’t understand that,” says the man with the radio. “They thought you were in danger.”

Two hikers with a radio + random person on the other side of the radio = Three more men

I smile, lots of teeth showing. But again, I’m wondering, why did that first pair of dingbats leave me then if they thought I needed help? Did they hear me when I said everything was fine? Did they see me as I walked down the path, perfectly capable? I guess not. Did they want to see a damsel in distress? Why?

The tourists from Houston take my photo. Their guide gives me some sandwiches. The other two men pack up their radio. And they all walk away from the campsite down the mountain. Back to their cars. Back to showers. Back to hot meals and soft beds.

I eat the sandwiches, pitch my tent, then I take a little bath in the river. The sun is still kind and dries my skin quickly.

I survey the bruises on my arms from lifting the pack. “I like myself tough,” I say aloud to no one but the rocks or the wind.

I imagine the headline in tomorrow’s local paper, “Solo Woman Hiker Adjusts Strap on Backpack: Eight Men Become Heroes.”

South American Photo Log

A dash of colour from the journey sent to you Adele.
Hugs from Nicole

Dear Adele,
Here is a quote that I have loved for a long time.

with love,
Nicole

The waves, the sun, the day...

             Hoping that the waves and sunshine are making your day memorable and bright.

                                     Beauty flows in each gentle curl and splash of water.  

                                               Joy gleams in each caress of the sun. 

                                                     Hugs for an Easter weekend,

                                                                                                          John

A message from Adele

Dear Artists

 I continue to enjoy every post and to revel in every detail of your artistic lives.  It has been quite a while since I’ve posted but I’m anxious to share a little of the good things that have been happening here.  We  had a respite from chemo and took full advantage of the time off to travel to the Azores and Portugal.  I’ve attached a few photos of the beauty of the San Miguel and Lisbon and other parts of Portugal.  The warmth of the people made the journey even more special than it set out to be.  

I love this quote from Henry Miller…..”One’s destination is never a place but a new way of seeing things.”  That is  certainly what happened during this adventure.  We now try to  take each day as a bonus and to live it to the fullest no matter where we find ourselves.  It was a wonderful way to learn to shift perspective after so many months of seeing the dark side.  

Continue on your beautiful journeys, all.

Adele

Waiting for spring... This is a lily I put outside in Consecon every summer. This winter it lived in my warm apartment and has treated me to a bloom. Sending you hugs, Adele.
xo Martha

Camus for you

Thinking good thoughts of you my friend.

hugs,

John

Life is really simple...

This thought seems so appropriate to me this afternoon. 

hugs to you, 

John

Hi Adele

I came across this drawing I made a couple summers ago... it features a quote from a dear friend of mine. In the picture I am thinking of his words while I take photographs in the creek next to my house in Consecon.

Hopefully we will have tea soon.
xo Martha

A full moon from my tent in patagonia

thinking of you

Nicole

Hi Adele

I am sharing some selected pages from one of my all time favourite children's books, a lovely mix of characters, colours and absurdity. I will bring it to tea next time and read the whole thing to you. Perhaps we should search for some cakes like these to have with our tea! In the meantime, here's a taste of a tasty book...

Lotsa love,
Martha

I created a wall of quotes in the middle of the night on Jan 1st. It was meant to help me contemplate, keep perspective, enjoy, be inspired. (On my table, poetry experiments.)

 Some of the quotes...

Leap Year

Leap year,
Leap
    here
        and now
hear,
     hear
Leap into the clear and indistinct
unknown
          disappear
and appear again,
changed
          changing
free of chains
more free of fear
which binds and holds you
back.
        Leap forward, go fearward,
into the forever-shimmering unknown
(the universe is everything we know
              and everything else).
Welcome this leap year,
this new and amazing day, 
leaping greenly
between future and past
celebrate being
here, and near
Spring into action,
enjoy satisfaction
without retraction,
stay whole --
   no factions, or fractions.

Listen!
   The universe is calling --
Hear!
_________________________________________________________________________________

Hi Adele,

these are some spontaneous thoughts on leap year, and the turning from winter to spring -- also inspired by wonderful sound and dub poetry I heard last night at the "Black Words Matter" event in Hamilton, celebrating both the meaning and the music of language.  The quote about the universe is by Erwin Schrodinger, physicist  (1887-1961). "Go Fearward" is advice to writers by Barbara Turner-Vessalago.

Warmest wishes for each amazing, leaping greenly days -- words borrowed from e.e.cummings.
Love,
Ellen

keep the channel open

Hi Adele,
I send you greetings from Santiago Chile. It's plus 31 degrees here in the afternoons. I will soon go trekking in the mountains for a few weeks. I'll send a hello from the route.
For today though I am sharing a quote that has haunted me for my adult life. Sometimes it brings me hope and sometimes it just goads me. But at all times I believe in it and try to let it guide me.

Hugs from Nicole

on being curious

The skies at Six Nations and a quote that I find inspirational. 

I most certainly am not comparing myself to Albert Einstein but I do believe that being passionately curious is the best way to live.

To truly wonder at the smallest and the greatest things that we encounter is a great gift. It is easy for me to be swallowed up by the hurly burly of life and miss the opportunity to pause, to take in the deliciousness of the tiny and expansive moment that is in front of me. Spending time with children is a fine way to keep connected to that sense of wonder in the world. They are wonderfully full of wonder. We have much to learn from them.

Hugs and good wishes Adele,

John

Love Is...

Hi Adele,

In honour of Valentine's Day, Family Day, and the love we all feel for you, here's a poem written by a group of patients with whom I work.  We used as a model the song "Love Is" by Anna and Kate McGarrigle; then the group (4 people) dictated their own images of love to me and I wrote them down.  The group then did collages to depict love.  (I will keep the group and program anonymous on this blog).  All the best, Ellen

LOVE IS....

Love is family

Love is friends

Love is great-grandchildren.

Love is chocolate, and Chinese food,

                        coconut shrimp and other seafood.

Love is family happiness.

Love is pets, and home-made pie

Love is a clear blue sky.

Love is being alive

Love is being able

Love is waiting – and wanting – to go home,

walk in the park and see the stars.

Love is for all seasons, and has many reasons.

Love is physio, and people to help,

Making new friends from different places

                        with smiling faces.

Love is people who care, and want to share.

        LOVE IS!!!