Monday, August 21, 2006
I Don't Think I Can Say It Better
http://deathandconscience.blogspot.com/
My spirit wife and I went huckleberry picking over the weekend. I just read her beautiful commentary about the experience on her blog, and I don't think I can do it justice.
On the way there, I was exhausted from virtually no sleep...OK...absolutely no sleep. In a way, this is a good way to be in such a place. It makes you a little closer to the spirit world. That was nice.
As we headed toward Indian Heaven, Rhonda suggested we do berry recon, and we found it quite delightul as we traversed through the forest and found a little trail with random acts of the fruit everywhere to be shared with the world.
We eventually moved on after a few pounds were picked, but not after a blood sacrifice first. Rhonda got a huge gouge in her right ankle about the size of a nickel. I got a long scrape on my left shin. We left a piece of ourselves with the plants and the spirits of the place.
We wound up at Trout Lake, and I was still quite delerious. We ate a haburger at the little cafe connected to the gas station and espresso bar. I think its name has Bear in it. Good burgers.
We then camped by Trout Lake creek a ways up and basked in wonderful woodsmoke, starlight, roaring creek. Rhonda got a little cold which closed up her throat a few times during the night.
We went to the Sawtooth Berry Feilds where one side is set aside for Indians and the other for non-Indians. This done by a hand shake and is still at least somewhat honored.
Before we left, a young Indian trio, two young women and one young man were walking by with their little dachshund, Mitzy. The young man and I introduced ourselves to each other. He asked if I had a cigarette. I said no, but I have a cigar. "Can I have it?" he asked. So I dug it out and gave it to him.
Rhonda, you are so beautiful and wonderful and I Love you! I'm not doing the story justice, but I must tell all you who read this thing, since starting graveyard hell, this was the first time I actually felt rested.
I Love you, Rhonda.
My spirit wife and I went huckleberry picking over the weekend. I just read her beautiful commentary about the experience on her blog, and I don't think I can do it justice.
On the way there, I was exhausted from virtually no sleep...OK...absolutely no sleep. In a way, this is a good way to be in such a place. It makes you a little closer to the spirit world. That was nice.
As we headed toward Indian Heaven, Rhonda suggested we do berry recon, and we found it quite delightul as we traversed through the forest and found a little trail with random acts of the fruit everywhere to be shared with the world.
We eventually moved on after a few pounds were picked, but not after a blood sacrifice first. Rhonda got a huge gouge in her right ankle about the size of a nickel. I got a long scrape on my left shin. We left a piece of ourselves with the plants and the spirits of the place.
We wound up at Trout Lake, and I was still quite delerious. We ate a haburger at the little cafe connected to the gas station and espresso bar. I think its name has Bear in it. Good burgers.
We then camped by Trout Lake creek a ways up and basked in wonderful woodsmoke, starlight, roaring creek. Rhonda got a little cold which closed up her throat a few times during the night.
We went to the Sawtooth Berry Feilds where one side is set aside for Indians and the other for non-Indians. This done by a hand shake and is still at least somewhat honored.
Before we left, a young Indian trio, two young women and one young man were walking by with their little dachshund, Mitzy. The young man and I introduced ourselves to each other. He asked if I had a cigarette. I said no, but I have a cigar. "Can I have it?" he asked. So I dug it out and gave it to him.
Rhonda, you are so beautiful and wonderful and I Love you! I'm not doing the story justice, but I must tell all you who read this thing, since starting graveyard hell, this was the first time I actually felt rested.
I Love you, Rhonda.
Subscribe to Posts [Atom]