Isabella Bird Miscellany

Sitting on the patio at Milo's Cellar and Inn, I found myself mesmerized by the sound of the water. The theory was to read and write, but I was absorbed with the sound; conscious of the water spilling over the gutter which had become a fountain. We stayed at Milo's last year. It's an oasis in the desert, tucked above and behind the wine cellar exterior. Once the door closes that leads to the courtyard and rooms, one has entered another place, another time. A place where time is still and quiet, save for the profusion of water tipping over the gutter. water tipped over the down turned gutter covered with years of verdi gris on what was slick copper the splashing was loud; landing in a pool inhabited by shiny koi and a turtle named Tom cattails lived on the edge; conversant with existence in water and soil moss adhered to rocks drinking in each splashed water molecule listening, the sound was rhythmic and steady; a heartbeat in water the water...

We went away for the weekend; a quick getaway stolen to breathe. Stolen to rest. Stolen to connect, with each other, maybe with random encounters. The sea was stormy, but we could walk on the beach without being soaked or blown away. Experiencing the power of the waves, noticing stones and debris, some quite large, tossed like one would toss Pick-up Stix. S unny beach days are glorious, but for me, there’s a special appeal in the moodiness of a storm. Our paths crossed with vendors and servers and other visitors such as ourselves. Two encounters were different, no actually three. The initial encounter was with the servers at our first breakfast joint . The guy behind the counter was polite and refined in his jeans, t-shirt and Vans. The restaurant only accepts cash. Who carries much of that anymore? We had some, but needed to pay attention to what we ordered since we weren’t prepared. The gal said, “ No worries, it happens all the time. Just stop back and pay...

‘cause the desert had turned to sea there were plants and birds and rocks and things there was sand and hills and rings - America, "Horse With No Name" - I’m reentering our long, indirect road trip in May. Not by accident we had “America” as our ‘tripping music when we reached the ocean in SoCal. Following an intentional wander through silent deserts, now it was time for plants and birds and crowded life. Just as the solitude of the desert is good for the soul, so is watching waves that go on forever while earthing your feet in minute grains of sand that can’t be counted. The Northern journey to “ Ventura Highway ,” while actually driving on Ventura Highway was just as known and unknown as the desert trek. The beauty of travelling during the shoulder season is spontaneity; reservations aren't necessary.  I'm gripped by the Missions, which are scattered throughout California, so they were on the agenda. If by chance we stumbled upon a fe...

death valley, california - may 2017 During my journey in the desert, I had the comfort of writing.  I wrote of activities and sites. I wrote descriptive phrases for photos. I wrote pieces of poetry that express more than pages and pages in my journals. These words, I think I’ll keep close as they teach me a way to live in awareness and mindfulness. I hope  you, too will find some inspiration in the silent sounds of the desert. chartreuse desert bloom encircled with thorns I hear the silent sounds of the desert crickets, a few birds, my breath it’s a quiet more quiet than switching off everyday sounds At times I must strain to hear my own heartbeat or eyes blink listening with intention, I begin to hear a beetle in the sand; shuffling like old feet a bee’s wings as it pauses for nectar on a cactus blossom I hear the words of the one who created the zephyr that kicks at the sand; drying my very soul ...

desert road, open spaces, extra large sky I love the freedom of road trips; stopping when you want, turning on a side road or adding an extra day to a particular place just because you can. The freedom of the road is romanticized in novels and movies, but some of those depictions are reality when traveling with your love and best friend. stokes castle, austin nevada We left early afternoon, and after pushing through the Oregon high desert with water levels equally high and wildlife abundant, we stopped for the night in Austin, Nevada. It’s a small, mostly boarded up, for sale town wedged on the side of the Toiyabe Mountains. Austin is mostly dead and abandoned, but not in a cool ghost town sort of way. Its rugged beauty though, includes a castle, stories of colorful silver miners and hiking, biking and other desert exploring stuff.  big smoky valley,  lonely and lovely Leaving, we dropped into the Big Smoky Valley on the Loneliest Highway ...

unplugged in this sweet spot  Our annual unplugged weekend. We adopted this habit last year. It’s a great concept, sometimes easier to strive towards than actually accomplish. It takes discipline to say “no” to the pull of technology and entertainment; saying “yes” to the simple pleasures of writing, reading, napping and having deep and superfluous conversations, just because we can. I’m usually pretty good about letting down when we get a chance to run away for the weekend. This time was more difficult . I don’t know if it had something to do with having been sick and stuck at home with no people contact for several days or what. No matter, I did manage to set my pacing self aside. bottles of red and books and glimmering candles The couple hour drive went smoothly and we arrived mostly on time for our massages – a great way to begin . A stop by the market for simple meals and “thank-you” bottles of wine for our hosts. They joined us at the cabin - a loos...

life in a crack We left the city yesterday, wet leaves covered sidewalks; brown and at the end of their season. It had been nice to walk neighborhoods, dart into cafes for coffee or a drink. It was grey in a melancholy sort of way, with a fresh breeze. Being reminded of traffic, activity, and people. The places we gravitate filled with the not-mainstream people. I’m intrigued with their stories and thoughts, often different from mine. Bridges and highways, buildings old and new, some dilapidated, others restored. The rush and crush continues, all covered with leaves set in grey. Written in Seaside, about Portland while in our hip, urban loft-esque industrial hotel. Missy If you have been mildly amused, challenged or inspired by what you have read, please pass on my blog to a friend, colleague, family member or even random acquaintance

we took a stinkin' lot of dirt roads, but i wouldn't have it any other way The drive wasn’t long by west coast standards, a mere few of hours; which meant there was plenty of leisure (interpreted coffee time) before leaving on another road trip escapade.  I can’t begin to tell you how much fun it is to pack a bag, gas up the car and set out to see what can be seen. An interesting thing I’ve discovered on these exploits, is that having lived in Oregon for the majority of my life, I’ve missed “seeing” a lot of things. You know, I think we all get into the habit of going to the same places, which is a good thing, but we forget about the “other” places that are right in our own backyards. Case in point, yesterday afternoon, when my darling man and I went to Tumalo Falls. I’ve been to Skyliner Snow Park, but never gone the few more dirt road miles to see the falls. Holy cow! Is that lame, or what? a sweet little place, no frills, but plenty of yesteryear ...

burst through a blow-hole at sunset, 2016 I’ve been to Yachats a number of times, staying at The Adobe.  It was always our go-to spot to celebrate our anniversary, and set our annual goals while watching waves crash thru vast picture windows. We would wander to Smelt Sands, the pebbly beach near the hotel. End of our Yachats story. we sat just behind the drift log and watched the sun fall into the sea Desperately needing to spend some time at the beach, I looked on line, decided our budget wouldn’t do well with our previous abode, and so chose an intimate Inn settled in the middle of town. It had good reviews and the walkability was off the chart, always a plus in my book. Did I mention the view of the sea? You know how there’s always the binder, like we used in school, with helpful information? Well, our room had that. The most interesting tidbit was typed neatly in courier, an “ideal spot for a stop in the course of a motoring trip along the breat...