Isabella Bird Miscellany

I started to clean the house.  It's a weekly routine, dusting, vacuuming, the regular stuff, basically mundane. And I couldn't seem to focus, flitting from task to task like a moth searching for light. Cool, down-tempo music beat in the background.  You know, the kind of stuff you'd hear at a totally chill night club. That's where the pretty people go to sip pretty cocktails. And here I was in jeans with a hole in the knee and a baggie sweater. I sat down for a cup of Chai and picked up my notebook; abandoning the cleaning. I allowed myself to be transported by the acoustics to that vibing club. In my imagination, I walked in pulsing to the sounds. I wore a mod black slip dress, hair slightly messy with sun-kissed bare arms and legs. Several years ago I might have pulled this off. Now, as an old woman, I still have the down beat in my soul and the messy hair; my legs and arms are waiting for the sun to come kiss them. Inside, I'm a cool girl. H...

Leaving Las Vegas, a line made famous in movies, song lyrics and billboard slogans. For me, it’s more than a catch-phrase. It pierces my heart, now more than ever. You see, previously, people were there drawing me back, but as pages are torn from the book entitled “Life,” I’m more aware of how fleeting and transient things are. Change is a given. My heart feels - each word expressed - come back, don’t be a stranger. I know they’re wondering if they’re losing all contact with the family of ones deeply loved. I wonder, too. And while I also know that’s how things happen, I don’t have to like it. So, I stare out the window of the plane, the sun bringing light and heat to the day in shades of pink and pale orange which burst against the blue sky. My thoughts are pensive, questioning, seeing only the rugged ranges with striations of soil and color veining them. As the plane climbs we soar above the clouds stacked on each other like mounds of whipped sweet cream. Contemplat...

There’s icky stuff happening. Everywhere you turn there’s strife, displacement, floods and fires. My heart goes out to those affected by hurricane Harvey, as well as all of the wildland firefighters here in Oregon, as we watch our forests be consumed by the flames. Taking it a step broader, our culture, our world can’t agree on anything. Everybody’s right and nobody is wrong; or is it vice versa? We live in a gritty world of real needs and hurts. The stranger crawls in, abusing, demeaning and using. How will we emerge? I trust you see the optimism in the last lines, for there is always hope, no matter how desperate situations appear. It takes a resolute effort on our part to see the woven crosses and to stand strong, not silent. “Hush, be silent,” crouched in quiet              words of warning heard all too often “Plug your ears, don’t listen,” put it out of your mind        ...

even city birds know they can find food and a place to rest “ Look at the birds ” – it’s a phrase I often hear in my being. These words are a reminder for me to take my eyes off myself, to notice the attitude and conduct of my feathered friends. Have you noticed how birds never seem to have bad days? I do, but they don’t. I was thinking back on a walk with some of our grands last spring. The leaves hadn’t engulfed the trees quite yet. When things are bare, things are visible. One of our granddaughters noticed a bird nest in the bare branches. She said, very matter of factly, “When I’m a baby bird I can live there.” These are the simple words of an imaginative little girl. She went on to find different sized nests for her big brother and baby sister; each with the same explanation: “When brother is a baby bird he can live there. When sister is a baby bird she can live there.” when I’m a baby bird, will I choose to fly? it’s the nature of baby bird, y...

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 ...

It was a gorgeous day to fly.   The skies were clear, the mountains in crisp attire thanks to a fresh coat of snow.   Funny how even a dust of white defines the terrain, etching every crevice with detail.   I revel in the perspective stock-piled from flying above.   Above the city.   Above the rivers and forests and fields.   Above the mountains; peeking down at life below. The seat I had blocked my view.  Instead, I concentrated on the intricacies of the wing with its flaps, ailerons and other things that go up and down, controlling functions.  Peering over the wing, a craggy mountain sat like a big fat vanilla ice cream cone with a bite taken out of the top.  You half expect the frozen concoction to start dribbling down your hand, only to be caught by a paper napkin.  But, it’s a mountain full of magnificence, rather than a childhood treat. Rivers, muddy from spring rains snaked  their way through wet fields, s...