I followed the sea to the river all the way to the snow

Sunset over the valley, Ashland.























Out back of my little suite.

Coming down the mountain, Crater Lake.

Crater Lake

North Umpqua River

Headwaters of the Umpqua

Winchester Bay, where the Umpqua empties

Winchester Bay

Oregon Dunes Monument

This is Banana Dog, he is my travel companion. Follows his adventures here

travelling down coast, between Yachats and Florence

I am way way south in Oregon, about 80 miles from California in a place called Ashland.

I love Ashland. It's like a bigger, happier Easton. And surrounded by green mountains. And a really big sky. And air that I am certain looks like rainbows.

I got here today and spent too much money on a little suite outside of town for the whole weekend. Dinner tonight was with a totally indulgent novel and a fine bartender who flirted with me just enough but not too much, in a dark corner at a high bartable with mosaic art and some latin influenced tapas. Little girls with painted faces dined across from me and kept getting giggled at or shussshed by their ma's. The air was so fresh and full it felt like it could bounce and the sky was orange and seriously, hot pink, when I left and I couldn't stop smiling. On grinbeam alone I am sure I was gliding, I glided along to downtown, to the river walk, to the park. I glided in to the chocolate shop. It was getting dark. I looked East Coast. I got several compliments on my bag. I bought a single piece of homemade dark chocolate with peanut butter and eating it took like three hours. Everyone kept smiling at each other. Even the punk rock kids, the blackeyeliner and metal faces, the dready hippies on the street. Especially the smiley little families everywhere. I love the houses, the cottages, all over the sidestreets of downtown. The flowers and little twinkling white lights. Ahhhhh god I am blissful, this reminds me of California.

Earlier today I was actually on the top west rim of Crater Lake. In the Umpqua National Forest, after following the Umpqua River in from the coast since Thursday morning. By the time I got up to about 4500 feet, about an hour and half from the top, there was snow all over the ground. I was so happy I think I might have been delirious.

It's weird. My friend died Tuesday night, and the poetry light's been crazy on inside me ever since. What's weird is that I woke up in Winchester Bay, at the headwaters of the Umpqua, on Thursday morning after 36 hours of on and off vigil for her and therefor crazy open consciousness, or at least a well-lit opening to the other side, and I went down to the harbour because like Sam said more than once she was a sailor, our friend, so it seemed appropriate, and I cried. And cried and cried, then wandered in to the dunes through the knobby sea pines and down to the rock slats built up against the coast for the fisherman to make safe passing through the harbor. I had handfulls of flowers and ribbons and a little boat I made out of a random piece of driftwood that I wrote prayers and poems all over in black sharpie. I put her candle on it and added an empty Pabst Blue Ribbon cap then scrambled down to the lowest rock I could balance on with the scratchy muscles bracing me and then me and her had our little goodbye. The rest of the tribe is gathering at Ben's on Sunday to say goodbye I get the feeling it's going to be pretty huge, this is where I used to go regularly, Ben's with the old crew, this is when I was in Chestertown. And even though I've been out of that crew for over a year now there was no question about it in spirit we are all together, I am with them and they are all with her. It's all a little surreal and yet just part of the experience of being out here. I finished crying and goodbying then went up to where the harbour meets the ocean and just breathed and took a ton of pictures of the driftwood and the sand. Then I got in the car which is actually an old chevy pickup truck with classic Oregon Coast rust, and decided I had to see where the water that fed the bay that surged to the harbour and out to the sea, where it all began.

So I headed east. Up the Umpqua, and it started to rain. I drove all day, but stopped alot to talk to the earth or the trees or the river or the rain. Which I guess is one of the main ways I pray. Outside Roseburg it was like 5ish, I stopped at a brandname hotel and got her down 25 off the original price but then something in me casted out just slightly, so I said no thanks and on I went. I decided I'd take the mountain road east out of Roseburg then south towards Crater Lake, mostly because I wanted to keep following the Umpqua, we had a special thing going now. And the river led me to the sweetest motel, the Dogwood, in a place I am sure without a zipcode called Idleyld Park I am sure it was the river who told me to go. I'd just been singing and talking to her and then it was like she waved the gold air inside me after I drove by and so without thinking at all I turned right around and they had one room left and it was for me. A log cabin with kitchen and the best little well-lit table where I could, and did and did, write...

Today I started out again next to her, the North Umpqua, looking forward to a good long hike. There were two stops with hotsprings to hike in to along the way, and at least one with pictographs from anasazi and several paths with Old Growth. But the rain fell and fell so much it was hard to tell the sky from the air. So I changed my plans and settled for sure on Crater Lake, and by the time the elevation and the truck met high enough so that there was snow on the ground, the sun came out, too, and the sky went blue. I had no idea, NONE, that I would be in high mountain land today surrounded by snow. It made me so, so happy.

And now I am here. In all I imagine I covered at least 200 miles today, maybe more, and mostly on high mountain roads. The Winema Forest, The Umpqua, The Rogue, The Klamath. This little pickup Gretchen lent me runs like a dream. It's a manual, he grumbles and groans and spouts a lot but then really gets going and loves to go. I dont listen to music, most of the time, except for the tunneled classic and hair rock stations, or country which is my guilty indulgence, so popular out here. It's a...Nice Day for a...White Weddin....Yea rock out rock out scratchy tunneled pick up truck mountain rock!

This is the best thing I've ever done for myself. Life is good. I am blessed. Can you imagine, I dont have a fucking clue what I'm doing with my life when I get back home! He he it makes me giddy to think about it, if it is anything near like the journey I'm having so far I say bring it on.... <>