A Pause, A View

It’s not a place to stand and ponder, not in a house full of children and dogs and cats and the occasional tortoise winging up and down the stairs, always in a hurry to get somewhere else.

It’s more of a pause. A breath in and out. A moment to recharge. 

The window is at its best in early morning, when the sun is not quite up and the Portland sky has not yet decided what kind of day it will be. Sunny? Cloudy? Stormy? A little of each probably, but for this moment, it's still an unknown. The tall arborvitae that edge our yard block out the neighbors house in the sparse light, but a break between our trees and theirs allow a wedge of morning sky. Streaky clouds tumble toward the mountain, which you cannot see from our window but which my inner compass knows is just off to the right of our view. Little wisps of pink and purple drop through as the sun rises and our neighbor’s twinkle lights, always on, become fainter as the daylight expands to outshines them. It happens so fast, in the space of the few minutes that it takes me to begin the day.

Pause.

Down the stairs to put the kettle on, up again for a sweater to fight off the chill of a house not yet awake.

Pause.

Down to make the coffee, up again to get dressed.

Pause.

Down to wake the almost-teen, up to wake his sister.

Pause

Down to start breakfast and backpack checks and bus runs. 

From dark to light, night to day, punctuated by the trips up and down the stairs that it takes to get everyone up and fed and out the door for the day.

And then pause, once more, when the house has settled into the stillness of only me and the day ahead has settled into that mix of cloudy and sunny with a chance of rain that defines most of Portland’s days.

tromping

The snow is three feet deep, more where the wind has blown it into drifts. Plenty deep for snowshoeing. Almost too deep for my too-small snow shoes. Before we had kids, Will and I used to scrape enough money together on cold weekends to rent snowshoes and hike around Triangle Lake near Mount Hood. Our newlywed budget didn't stretch to ski rentals and lift passes, but snowshoes it could handle. And the slow, stop and admire the blue sky and the white snow pace of it was perfect for us.

It's been that long. I think we may have tried to snowshoe with a very small Briton in a backpack carrier, but it didn't work very well, babies being not big fans of freezing cold wind on their faces. But yesterday we all strapped on our snowshoes, bundled up in our ski gear, grabbed a pair of sled and tromped over the creek and through the woods and up a hill to the golf course where the best sledding hill made an excellent prize at the end of the hike.  They were troopers, laughing when they fell down, figuring out how to use poles to push themselves back up, keeping up with daddy's very big footprints. I think they were a little amazed too, at walking on the snow instead of sinking into it. I love that they are old enough for it. Big enough to keep up, so that we can head out into the snow together for a family tromp. What can be better?

day camping

We had great plans to make our first foray into canoe camping this weekend. Alas, it seems that everyone else also had the same idea and by the time we tried to reserve a campsite, there were none available. In the whole state of Vermont. And also New Hampshire and the easily drivable part of upstate New York. Ah well.

With all our gear ready and camping food packed (BBQ jars!) we set off for the Green River Reservoir to do a little day camping and to check out the rustic canoe camping sites for next time (When we will book well ahead. Ahem)

Compared to Blueberry Lake, the reservoir is huge. We paddled past island camping sites to a day use area at one end of the lake and spent most of the day swimming, fishing, sunning and swinging on a rope swing we found tucked along the edge of the water.

With no motorboats allowed, the lake was quiet and peaceful. Before the sun went down we cruised around the edges, watching campers set up for the night and loons diving for their dinner. By the time we got home, the kids were asleep and our arms felt a little jelly-like but oh, we've found the perfect campsite. And also a snack-bar with 60 flavors of creemes (soft serve) conveniently located at point in the drive where we all realized we were starving. Perfect.

Although having hauled in everything we needed for day camping, I'm not exactly sure how we will add a tent and sleeping bags. And more food. And clothes. And a dog. Maybe we can load up Will's float tube and pull it behind us. Anyone ever canoe camped? Advice?

to the lake

Somehow, in the space of a week, I have gone from the kind of person who always has the necessities of a day in the city in her bag (bandaids, waterbottle, google map app, subway coloring book) to the kind of person who is always ready to go fishing. The poles live in the back of our car, the bait is in the fridge, but if we are already out, we know all the places where a little tub of worms can be picked up in a pinch. There are towels back there too, along with a bottle of water for drinking and another for catching tadpoles or minnows, and knitting, naturally, in my bag.

And so, in between meetings with mortgage brokers and real estate agents, looking at houses, visiting schools and new jobs, we pop out to the lake to run around, to wade in the shallows, to knit on the banks and to fish.

Briton, who has a hard time focusing on much for more than a few minutes, can fish for hours and hours  (and hours) and Evelyn, who will fish off and on, will putter around in the grass picking flowers or stand nose to the water watching the pond life for as long as her brother will fish.

 

Despite the fact that we are still busy getting settled, it is a slow kind of business, to mirror the slow kind of pace here. And that means long afternoons that stretch into the evenings doing nothing but watching the bobber bob, waiting for the beaver to troll across the pond and slap his tail at the canoers and chase tadpoles from one shady spot to another.