Towering trees, mountains, and a lake recently provided my ideal vacation. Nevermind this particular vacation lasted only 2-1/2 days; it was all I needed to forget the phone, internet, violent news, daily responsibilities, and myself. I came home feeling light as a feather and wanting more.
After several days of preparation and anticipation, we left town on a hot summer Sunday morning, canoe tied securely to the top of the car and a tote full of art supplies squeezed between two suitcases full of clothes for all kinds of weather and coolers with enough food for several days. We came home with a canoe that never got wet, water color brushes that remained in their case, clothes that never saw the light of day, and food that went right back into the coolers.
Since I have a tendency to analyze everything under the sun, I've been wondering why and how this break in our normal routines affected me the way it did. I think it was because nothing else interrupted the flow. My husband and I have always had a reason for traveling to incredible places: home re-locations, business meetings, or visits with family and friends. When one travels that way, there are timelines and few opportunities to wander around and really get to know an area. When we moved back to the Gorge, for instance, we passed the Great Salt Lake, an area I'd like to explore -- but not at 65 miles per hour. You don't lollygag when you know the moving van is ahead of you. And when my younger son was in school there, my husband and I couldn't stay long because of our jobs.
We've been all over the country, but rarely - rarely - have we ever just gone somewhere beautiful and restful for the sake of going somewhere beautiful and restful. This time, thanks to retirement and time on our hands, we did; and it didn't take long to get used to the luxury of sitting on the deck of a lakeside cabin and soaking it all up. I said to my sweetheart, "This is great. We are getting away from the world and each other - together!" Our husband-wife personas were left at home and we were content to sit with each other as old buddies inside Nature's best.
Not only are vacations good for a marriage that can get ho-hum or too often emphasize a couple's differences, they're good for the soul -- like a battery, they recharge all the senses. My husband is happy when he's fishing, which he did in earnest as soon as he unloaded the car. He looked at the 48 steps from cabin to water and decided casting from the dock into the deep lake would be perfect. As for feeding my soul, photography took center stage. We couldn't take a walk without my pausing every few minutes to catch the sunlight through heaven-skimming ponderosa pines, acres and acres occupied by grazing cattle and horses, an osprey's nest and its juvenile occupants learning to fly, or the green-blue lake and summer mountains streaked by thin ribbons of snow. I was totally relaxed, which is not my normal state; I'm usually up and doing something productive...something that has a tangible outcome (like a hairless carpet).
My mind is just as busy as my body. Yoga and meditation provide brief, quiet breaks from my daily brain bursts; but this vacation gave me the chance to get away from worrying about our aging dog, coming up with an answer to "What's for dinner tonight?", or thinking about my next Soul Portrait workshop and blog topic. This vacation reminded me of the value of relaxation and the fun of doing only what I want to do; but it also made me very grateful to have the extra funds to take this trip. All around us, we see people living hand-to-mouth; in fact, we met a woman who is trying to keep her business afloat. Single and 65, she is supporting a disabled daughter and working every day; retirement, let alone a vacation, is out of the question.
The morning we got ready to leave the cabin, I slowly scanned my surroundings, knowing I'd have pictures to remind me of the bliss, but feeling sad. With fingers wrapped around a last cup of coffee and tears welling up, I said to my husband, "I don't want to leave." I've never said that before; I've always been anxious to get home. Yet, even as the words were coming out of my mouth, I started to think about Molly and if she was doing okay at the kennel. That was another blessing about time away; she doesn't have many more years with us and I swore I'd never complain about her hair again.
"I don't want to leave." What is inherent in that statement? Was I content enough to stop the clock for a few more days? Am I pushing myself too hard at home? We are retired, for Pete's sake; I can stop trying to prove something to myself any time I want. Do I feel guilty when I'm not painting, writing, cooking, or knitting? Is aging gracefully about knowing when priorities need to change, when vacuuming or fixing the perfect meal or having shiny stainless steel appliances is secondary to sitting under a tree with a clear head and a full heart?
Most Oregonians know about Wallowa Lake, just outside the town of Joseph, and positioned at the foot of the Wallowa Mountains. Joseph (named after Chief Joseph) is founded on the history of the Nez Perce; it is also a Nature-lover's dream. In spite of all the summer visitors, it was quiet and serene. Residents of neighboring cabins and year-round homes were my kind of people -- quiet and thoughtful of others and the environment. It was heaven on earth and I can't wait to get back.
