I never went to Disneyland as a child. I never went to the top of the Space Needle, in the city where I was born and raised, until my husband took me to the top for dinner. My parents are not the tourist type. What they lack in touristic tendencies, they make up for with adventurous spirit, which they worked hard to instill in all of their children. How many 9 years olds get kicked out of their train compartment, by soldiers as they cross the border into Yugoslavia? Or spend their summers swimming, clothing optional, on the banks of secret swimming holes in California? Or allow their 14 and 12 year old daughters to find their way from one end of England to the other, to catch a flight home to the States on their own?
Although my husband has a different level of comfort in regards to risk taking, I am determined to instill the same adventurous spirit in my own children, with a bigger dose of safety thrown in for good measure (my husband has already vetoed any future white water rafting plans, but I didn't need any more scars on my head anyway).
My fondest memories from my childhood summers were the family road trips we took down the Washington and Oregon coast, to visit my aunts and uncles in Humboldt County. Both of my aunts, and my grandmother as well, had taken their turns living up in the mountains above the Redwood coast. Remnants of their lifestyle show up in my house today, like the handmade rattle my son shakes, made of leather that my aunt stretched and cured (did she kill the animal too?). Eventually, each woman came down the mountain and moved into a house in town, complete with electricity and indoor plumbing. But, their time in the mountains meant that private swimming holes, friends with rustic cabins, and first hand knowledge of the back roads became part of my life too.
This week, I am sharing some of this love for the back woods with my son. His experience may be a little more conservative than my own childhood, but he is enjoying it all the same. We camped out under the stars (on the deck of a friend's cabin), we hiked down to a swimming hole for the day (and wore swimsuits), and even watched a black bear drink from the banks of the river (from a safe viewing spot on a hill).
Today, we are enjoying a day in town before heading back into the hills for another chance to get some color on my skin. The weather in the coastal town of Arcata is a full 40 degrees cooler than the weather one hour inland from here.
If you are ever in the area, coming through Arcata on a Saturday will be worth your time. The town as a wonderful farmers market on the plaza, with live music and handcrafted treasures.
I enjoyed my stroll around the square, and spent my money on an original poem, custom crafted by this wonderful wordsmith, Jacquiline Suskin. She wrote me a poem to give to my husband for our anniversary ("your subject, your price"), which made me cry, and I gave her the cash that I had in my pocket.
Goodbye for now. I will now return to my otherwise un-wired vacation. The relaxation starts where the cell phone signal ends.
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