Taller Than the Trees

Taller Than the Trees

On the morning of May 18th, 1980, a 5.1 magnitude earthquake detached Mount St. Helens' north face and hurled it down the terrain at 130 miles per hour. Lava followed moments later engulfing an area of 230 square feet. Congress declared the 110,000 acres surrounding Mount St. Helens a national monument to preserve the area for future scientific study (YorkVid, 2015). The national monument has miles of hikes ranging in difficulty from beginner to expert. I discovered a passion for hiking after several deaths occurred in my family and the passing of my fiancé over the last several years. In nature, I found peace, healing, and strength. Hiking Mount St. Helens' summit is on my bucket list; however, I was unable to obtain the required permit. October is not the ideal time to attempt the summit due to inclement weather, so I settled on the Boundary Trail. One can learn a lot by rising to a challenge of trekking a 12-mile trail in solitude. One learns to trust their instinct, gains personal satisfaction by testing their limits, and nurtures the perfect distraction-free environment needed to promote meditative healing. A famous quote attributed to Henry David Thoreau states, "I took a walk in the woods and came out taller than the trees" and I presumed this adventure would be equally uplifting. 

I packed granola, jerky, a pocket knife, paracord bracelet, raincoat, winter hat, gloves, a Swiss Army knife, and several bottles of water. I meticulously loaded the knapsack with the essentials needed for any emergency while also considering the weight of the pack. I set the alarm for 3 a.m.; if I did not leave the hotel before 4 a.m. I would spend most of the day gridlocked in Seattle's rush hour traffic. Additionally, I wanted to see the sunrise at Mount St. Helens.  At 7:30 p.m. I swaddled myself in my blanket and fought my pillow for a comfortable position. Gradually I calmed my excitement and closed my eyes.

The alarm scraped across my eardrums like a third grader practicing the recorder. I arose from my alternative-down sarcophagus, fumbled toward the coffee pot to power it on. The machine bellowed out an exasperated hiss and sigh in protest, finally dripping liquid into the pot. I dressed quickly to evade the chilliness of the room. I brushed my teeth, filled my thermos, grabbed my backpack, and proceeded to the rental car. I left the hotel parking lot and drove south from Mukilteo, occasionally searching the inky sky for stragglers of the Orionids meteor shower.  I sipped coffee while I scanned radio stations. While crossing the bridge entering Seattle, I admired the electric glow of the skyline. The city hummed like a forgotten "open" sign. The Space Needle proudly flashed its beacon in the distance. Cars shifted lanes, buzzing past like fireflies. Even though traffic was accumulating, I was relieved to avoid the worst of it. With a hundred miles to go, I tipped my knit-hat to Seattle and turned up the radio.

As the rental car crept up the mountain, the atmosphere lightened from black to cerulean like a mood ring. The closer I approached Mount St. Helens, the road became curvy, and the temperature on the dashboard thermometer dropped. At 2,000 feet in elevation, the temperature read thirty-five degrees Fahrenheit. I no longer doubted packing my winter hiking boots. The sky continued to lighten, and the silhouettes of massive fir trees emerged like monsters from shadows. I passed a sign that read "9 miles to Johnston Ridge Observatory." Full sunrise was at 6:21 a.m.; I drove on racing the sun.

At 3,000 feet altitude, the next serpentine unveiled a massive structure on the passenger side of the car. The clouds resembled a dessert, white and pink lines swirled around the mountain and peach clouds floated like fruit suspended in gelatin beneath a clear royal blue sky. The sun peeked from behind the clouds and illuminated Mount St. Helens. I stopped at the first available viewing area, forgoing my coat, to enjoy the view. The air was crisp and clean as it whipped through my hair. I stood in awe.  I felt vulnerable, yet simultaneously strong. I reflected on a passage from The Pale Blue Dot; "Our posturings, our imagined self-importance, the delusion that we have some privileged position in the Universe, are challenged by this point of pale light" (Sagan).  That moment was breathtaking, and I finally knew the meaning of that word. Cold from the elements, I returned to the car excited to reach the trailhead.

I pulled into the secluded lot and parked. I put on my boots, wool sweater, and raincoat and gathered my gear. The wind was calm. My cheeks were warm from the sunlight. The sun glistened off the thawing dew which refracted red and gold hues. Mount St. Helens stoically stood in the distance wearing her snow-capped crown. I slipped on my knit hat, hoisted my backpack over my shoulders, and proceeded to the footpath. 

The crunching sound of pumice pebble resonated beneath each boot step. I followed the route imagining what the land looked like thirty-seven years ago before and after the eruption.

    

Trees remained toppled over from the blast like a field of fallen soldiers. Plants and saplings were growing from the gravelly soil. This contrast unearthed emotions that I meditated on as I proceeded down the mountainside.

The mountain trail ended at a grassy intersection to the Hummocks Trail. A landslide occurred during the volcanic eruption which formed the Hummocks. This two-and-a-half-mile loop has hill-sized boulders throughout low-lying valleys. Realizing the path ahead would trap me between a hill and swamp I picked up several rocks and proceeded cautiously. After a few miles, the pathway looped back through this confined area again. Only this time the overpowering scent of carrion hit my nose. I quickened my pace to find fresh air when suddenly, on my right in the dense brush, a loud growl reverberated. My heart leaped into my throat and was planning its escape through my eardrums. I wanted to run and scream, but without missing a beat, I took a deep breath and threw a rock towards the sound. I will never know what the noise was; I only peeked back to assure nothing followed. I saw greenery shake as something traversed the opposite direction, and that was enough to ease my mind.

The rest of the hike was inspiring and peaceful. It was the perfect environment to reflect on unexpected events that occur in life. The eruption site of Mount St. Helens Monument is a testament to resilience, and I drew strength from that.  I learned I could trust my instinct to keep me safe. I gained satisfaction and self-confidence in completing the arduous Boundary Trail. Like the national monument, I experienced unfathomable devastation from which it seemed I would never recover, yet slowly I crawled from the ash and rubble stronger. The experience was a tribute to how amazing life is. The journey served a reminder that people and nature can overcome enormous tribulations and thrive. As the sun began its slow crawl behind Mount St. Helens, I returned to the car feeling not only taller than the trees but taller than the mountain.

References

Sagan, Carl. (n.d) The Pale Blue Dot: Short Recording. [Audio file]. Retrieved from the Library 

of Congress, https://www.loc.gov/item/cosmos000110/

Unknown Author. [YorkVid]. (2015, October 9). Volcano: The Eruption and Healing of Mt. St. 

Helens. [Video file]. Retrieved from https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5HrL7T--8Dk&feature=youtu.be

Abs By David Sedaris or How Awkward Am I?

"There will be a book signing" I said to excited and nervously to Carmen. We settled the details of the itinerary over the cubicle wall as we would be driving to Dayton the following morning.
As I sipped my coffee, my mind wandered to a neurotic place of everything that could possible go awkward in the brief  encounter. On a scale of 'spinach stuck in my teeth precisely resembling a yokel'  to 'flipping simmering scolding hot soup onto his face', my imagination veered more towards the latter. I settled on tripping and accidentally causing him to stab a sharpie into his eye would be my worst fear.




I have met a handful of celebrities in my day and in my experience but it is always awkward. The kind of awkward that occurs when you greet your friend and he goes in for a hug but you were going to shake their hand but due to poor, slapstick timing you end up grabbing a part of their genitalia instead.




One celebrity, who will always remain nameless approached the fans amassed outside the tour bus with such excitement you'd have thought we were the fans. She hugged me, kissed the guy behind me, hugged the tour bus driver...ok on second thought, her zeal may have been chemical-induced. Another threw popcorn up in the air trying to catch it in his mouth with his leg propped up on a chair . Another asked me where the bathroom was at a festival. Admitting to moments of brief awe, I generally don't get caught up in the hubbub. Celebrities slide into a pair of Roberto Cavalli snake skin pants one leg at a time like everyone else. Nevertheless, meeting David Sedaris held more weight for me.




Due to the passing of a dear friend, the past year or so had been a long road of bad relationship choices, healing, & growth for myself. Until I began to surface from this dark grieving period, it was difficult to acknowledge I had been stuck in the depression stage for a considerable amount of time. One thing I can now attest to is that "depression" isn't giving up; it's more like fighting with all your strength to accomplish even the smallest, menial task. It felt as though I'd been trudging through an endless field of thick mud-- not sinking entirely, as one does in quicksand in movies, but rather, covering one's ankle and engulfing the tennis shoe with each subsequent step. I was existing. I was breathing. I was taking up space, if you consider that living.




Exhausted from reading countless self-help books,  I decided to take a break from analyzing myself and studying my assorted, mixed-bag of self-diagnosed neuroses.
"I used to laugh  ALL the time. I used to make myself laugh", I told my therapist,
"But I fear that part of me is broken."
She asked a few questions for me to digest, overanalyze & sustain me until the next session.


Months later, prior to Christmas, NPR posted a recording of "Santa Land Diaries" by David Sedaris. Something magical occurred as David Sedaris described his position as an elf at Macy's. By the time he said "I think I'll be a low-key elf" I laughed out loud and I was hooked. I chuckled. I laughed so hard a few tears formed in my eyes, which I now imagine was the layer of tundra around both my heart and brain beginning to thaw.




Like an addict, I yearned for my next fix. I went to the bookstore and purchased "Let's Explore Diabetes With Owls". The stories made me laugh and even snort a few times. Making me snort with laughter is the highest honor a jokester can receive from me. I absolutely hate my snort-laugh but at the same time appreciate it's sincerity. You will never receive a pity snort from this gal under any circumstance.






Across the cubicle divide, I passed the book on to my avid reader & neighbor, Carmen.
"You have to read this!" I insisted, throwing the book onto her desk. Over the course of the next few days, through the white noise and over the grey wall, I would occasionally hear her laughter.


One day while googling Amy Sedaris, whom I have loved since the series 'Strangers With Candy", I discovered that David Sedaris was touring. I informed Carmen and she was eager to find tickets. Un To our dismay, there were no local shows scheduled and a few had been sold out. The options we were left with were: Little Rock, AR; Peoria, IL; Greenville, SC & Dayton, OH.
"I have family in Dayton", Carmen explained, & that somehow put Dayton in the lead.
I will fast-forward past the Dayton jokes that would ensue the following months.


We took our seats in the theater and I people-watched briefly before the lights dimmed. David Sedaris was delightful and witty as expected. In the Q&A session, when questioned about his partner Hugh, he led those of us unfamiliar with the relationship to believe that something terrible had happened to him. A silence fell over the audience as he explained that 'Hugh could no longer fly with him since the accident' or something along those lines. He revealed after a few more sentences that 'Hugh was fine'. The awkwardness that had slightly frozen had dropped and people laughed. Being duped by David Sedaris will be a fond, memory I will not soon forget.


During his perform, I found myself wondering deeper, possibly obvious questions. Does he like his job? Does he like the spotlight? Should I get him to sign my book "To Switchblade"? How awkward it must feel at times for strangers to secretly admire you? I somehow managed to juggle both his performance and the nagging questions in my head. My sides, once again, ached from laughter.


I stood in the line waiting for him to sign my book, I could feel myself getting increasingly nervous. This was the kind of anxiety that makes you imagine flipping a table over and fleeing the scene in the most overly -dramatic way [possible. I rehearsed in my head the script I wanted to say "Mr. Sedaris, it is so nice to meet you. I just wanted to say that your book truly changed my life. You made me laugh when laughter was a intangible, non-existent thing in my life. Thank you".


He was eating a meal out of Tupperware; grabbing bites when able. As I approached the table all I could get out was "It is so nice to meet you."
I froze.
He asked me about my employment & where I was from. I could feel the blood rising in my face. I was a human thermometer of nerves. Then we talked about our Fitbits. He asked me my highest step count to which I nervously & inaccurately replied "twenty....five....thousand". (I definitely meant 25 miles.)  His top was somewhere between 80-90k by the way.


I know you put your Japanese style influenced, short-pants on one foot at a time & I know logically that I shouldn't have been nervous. I wish I could have a do-over Mr. Sedaris. I wish I had told you personally that your words gave me hope. I wish I had told you how your book seemingly removed grey clouds and allowed me to see some sunshine for the first time in a while. Maybe it was due to the inevitable timing; hearts and brains can't stay frozen forever. Time does heal most things, but just maybe you are just so funny that not even grief can remain stoic.


And maybe I will meet you again someday, but let's be honest, I still will approach you face-flushed, smiling awkwardly,  with a frog in my throat, trying to 'play it cool' while you take a bite of your tupperware dinner.
I'll try to be more composed,
Doubtful, but hopeful,
xo Cheriebobomb

While Visions of Beyoncé Danced in My Head

So I have suffered with insomnia the past several months. I'm almost certain this has more to do with anxiety, those obnoxious people who boom their cars at 3am in my neighborhood & the fact that I used to prepare my coffee so strong I referred to it as "liquid crack", and less the fact that I am in my thirties. Nevertheless it has been quite a nemesis.
I considered joining a late-night fight club or at least getting a 3rd shift job. I tried baths, meditation, exercise, melatonin; everything natural but crazily began considered injecting a horse tranquilizer square into my brain or Ambien.
Eventually I had to surrender to the sleeplessness and decide to make the best of another of life's unexpected, ill-timed, crappy hands.


My last resort was sound-proofing my bedroom. Last night I laid sound-absorbing rubber flooring under the bed and hung 2'x4' acoustic panels on the walls. I had decided if that didn't help my insomnia then I would have at least established a place I can record banjo music all night long if needed.  I'm not exaggerating when I type that I slept like a fetus. Realistically, this could be due to sheer exhaustion or the fact that is was storming, but I choose to believe it was due to all my determination and effort. My Fitbit confirmed that I got a solid 7.5 hours but I also dreamt so hard. I remember even the smallest details.


Now for the really exciting part; my dream. Whee! (Everyone loves hearing of other people's dreams. They are so important. Believe me, I get it. Yes, this is sarcasm. )


So my friends and I were walking in a dark, Sin City comic-like alley (like ya do). It had been raining because the street was wet and there were puddles. Out of nowhere Beyoncé pulls over in a limo and asks us to be background dancers. I have no clue what happened to her incredibly coordinated and well-rehearsed dancers. I don't think anyone asked or questioned it. When Yoncé asks you to join her dance crew,  you just do it no questions asked.


We went back stage and put on some tattered, sequined, black, ruffled mini dress and waited to go onstage. Her opener was Mahalia Jackson accompanied by break dancers who pop-and-locked like zombie extras from "The Walking Dead".


Suddenly I was over-come with anxiety. "I've watched the Beyoncé dancers like 3 times in my life. how am I supposed to know the routine". I asked Beyoncé to place me waaaaaayyyyy in the back. Beyoncé was less than concerned about me clumsily clopping around her stage. Of course she wasn't; even in my dreams she slays.


The dream ended with me walking a lonely street with a trench coat covering my costume, being approached by a homeless man with a grocery cart.
I guess it was too much pressure for me.
I woke up wishing I'd at least stayed and watched the show.




Wishing you the sweetest of dreams,
xo Cheriebobomb