I had this weekend blocked off for months for one minor event: Portland's version of the World Naked Bike Ride. My plans quickly changed, though, after seven consecutive work days and a forecast predicting 100 degree temps. Being naked among trees sounded much more appealing than being naked with a bunch of sweaty balls, I mean, bikers. So, I had a spontaneous date with Mr. Hood. He did not disappoint. Yes, there were moments of sheer terror when a monstrous thunderstorm rolled through last night. Oh, and all the animal noises outside my tent were enough for me to want my teddy bear, but I wouldn't be without these experiences. They break me open. They expose my soul. They empower me.
I cannot learn from humans what I can learn from trees about acceptance, integrity, and simply being. And I can only scratch the surface about what I've learned from the stoic and bold Mt. Hood. Whenever I've lost my way or feel like my insides are disintegrating into a million pieces of stardust, he appears, standing so fucking strong. It's like he's looking specifically at me, holding me accountable for every move I make and for every thought that enters my mind. He literally unearths me. I can say with near certainty that there will be future dates with Mr. Hood.
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| Night one: near McNeil Point |
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| Night two's campsite view. |
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| A little Mary Oliver reading at my campsite. |
