Our Trippiest Move Yet

Yesterday morning we enjoyed a lovely breakfast of scones and sausage sand dollars (which are like miniature round pasties) at Wildflour Bakery, owned and operated by our dear friend Pop.  He and Jenet (another dear friend–and the first Reiki-Seichim practitioner I’ve ever met beyond Vashon Island!  She is also a Master-Teacher.  Amazing!) offered us coffee and goodies, and then we zipped on our way, leaving behind beautiful Wallowa Valley–our home for the past nine-and-a-half months.

And this afternoon, toward the end of second full day of driving we entered the sprawl of the San Francisco Bay Area.  Even with the onslaught of traffic that extended for miles and miles I found my delight in the clear blue skies with eager clouds and oak-dotted hills.  Clean air, not brown-tinged with smog.  A sweet greeting.  Truly, California is a beautiful state.  I look forward to the time (for I am an optimist, and refuse to dream of anything but the most positive of futures) when most of the asphalt will be taken up and native plants and woods and edible gardens and locally-oriented communities surrounded by small family organic farms will replace the sprawl.   We’ll see rail service replace the interstates as the mainstay for long-distance travel, and only the occasional airplane above ….

We drove into our old-and-new neighborhood, and I was stunned at how the trees had grown and the shrubs had expanded.  Now, it hasn’t been that long since we’ve last been here–just a little over a year.  But for some reason, since we were moving into the house we had moved out of eleven years ago, I seemed to be viewing everything with those eyes from the past.

And then stepping into the house–which has never been empty in my lifetime.  Andy and I had moved into the house when my grandmother, no longer able to care for herself, had moved to my parents’.  So we’d moved into a house still half full of her furniture.  When we moved on, we took some of the pieces with us, and left others behind.  Many of my grandparents’ wall hangings and paintings remained through the various transitions (and a few still remain).

When we decided to move to Vashon Island, I couldn’t bear the thought of selling this house.  In the midst of the pain of leaving the place I so dearly loved, I knew in my heart that someday I’d be back, and that somehow I’d bring back something that I’d learned and lived on Vashon and live it here.

Eleven years later, I drove up with one daughter and the two miniature chickens (and Andy and our other daughter and the duckling beat me by about a half hour).  The plants from the landscaping of twelve years ago have all filled in and then some.  The backyard is blooming with roses, and the apple tree we planted is thick and big enough for my younger daughter to climb.  Considering that one of the reasons we left this area was so that our children could climb trees (a story for another time), I found comfort in this sapling grown to medium-size.

I also took comfort in the plants that continue to live here, several of which we’d planted, and which I can now appreciate from my herbalist perspective: the lavender, the roses, and California poppies.  And the quince still thrives, and the lamb’s ear.

The garden was a comfort, and whispered “It’s okay.  Really.”  And as I sat in my new secret spot under the enormous cedar tree, I honestly felt mi abuelito y abuelita sit down beside me.  I felt Grandma squeeze my hand and gaze at me with that mischievous smile of hers.

Planes roared overhead, and cars zip by, and there are voices everywhere and I’m nervous about our serama rooster and his crowing.  He and his wife are indoor birds, but we do like to allow them time outside.  Not a problem in Joseph, OR, where roosters are fine in backyards, and where we had practically no neighbors anyway, but here in the suburban city with its regulations about poultry (you can keep them in your backyard, but roosters aren’t allowed), I can’t help but feel twitchy.

In the whole of Wallowa County there are not even 10,000 people.  There are no freeways, or traffic lights or malls.  Airplanes hardly ever cross the skies.  Drivers stop to let you cross the street, whether you are ready to cross or not.  Here in this Peninsula city is a population of at least 80,000, sidled against cities of similar size all along the bay.  We have good reasons for being here, sound reasons.  And it is hard to remember those reasons.

Still, I enjoy how multicultural this city has become.  I feel relieved that our current style of dress and being isn’t as odd as it might have been eleven years ago.  I love the smell of the Asian restaurants in the downtown–ah, excellent Chinese, Thai, and Japanese food!  It has been awhile!  And I love Central Park, with its Japanese Tea Garden, and miniature train that gives children rides sometimes in the summer (I think it’s still there!), as it has done since before I was a little girl.

Anyway, we settle our things in various spaces around the house.  I wonder which section of which room will be my healing arts studio.

It is totally bizarre to live here again after living so differently and fully elsewhere.

To be continued!