I sit perched in the Airstream doorway in the Methow Valley as I write this.  I look out past the buildings at the smokejumper base, towards the Mazama Corridor and the mountains beyond.  It’s beautiful.  It’s a home away from our home in Idaho and I’m always surprised at how good it feels to turn off the Columbia River and make my way up the highway towards Twisp and Winthrop.  There are places here that I belong to now; a coffee shop, a sandy bend in the river with a tiny cove I use as a kayaking take-out, a deep pool on the Twisp River I love to wade and fish in the evenings, the hill I like to stand astride for sunsets, the secret spots I carry my camera and sketchbook to when I feel like being alone and being at rest.  The cashiers at the grocery store and I pick up our conversations where we left them off, last fall.  The cooks at Glover Street Market know I’ll want the spring rolls before I even place my order and maybe a green goddess juice to go with.  Each of these places, each of these belongings press down on a single, pure, resonating ivory key in the the black and white of my heart.  So it’s funny to make this confession: I don’t always think I would like to live here year round.

The Methow Valley is dear to me, I consider it one of my homes, but I cannot imagine buying a house here and settling in for a decade or two.  Isn’t that strange?

  How I feel about the Methow is flittering, abstract and at times, contradictory.  I like, very much, many things about it, but there are other details surrounding valley life I struggle to tolerate.  I blame it on my extremely wild, rural childhood which has caused me to have a rare perspective regarding space and and especially high standards with respect to freedom and wilderness.

It’s hard to tame something that has grown up wild, everyone knows this.  At times, during my childhood, adolescence and even parts of my adult life, I have been downright feral!  My issue with the spectacular Methow Valley comes down to human population and density.  The valley feels cluttered to me.  Narrow and full.  Brimming, at times, with people, livestock, habitualized mule deer and fancy fly fishermen taking up all the good water.  To contradict myself in a terrible manner, one of the things I love most about the valley is the people!  The community!  I cherish our immediate fire family, the incredibly rich and diverse artist community and also the general population of the entire valley which is so special and unique.  What irks me is the very thing I love!  Perhaps it’s because I love it so truly that I am irked, or maybe I am irked because I love it so truly, or maybe I’m just a fickle puss in need of a good pinch on the bottom.  Whatever the case may be, I flip flop like a pancake every other day of the week when Robbie and I speak aloud of the future of our little family, the future of our jobs, where we want to go and what we want to be.

It’s a tricky thing to figure out, you know?  We only live once.

Anyhow, I had a regular, good old time in the valley and stayed on with Robert in our delightful little Airstream for nearly a week while he began work.  I watched him do his refresher work (which is rather vigorous) and jump out of an airplane a few times (always exhilarating), visited with some of the other fire wives who I am blessed to call my friends, dropped work at a gallery or two and generally ran around the valley doing all my favorite things while cruising in the best-good-old-’71-Ford-pick-up-truck that ever was.  It was a restful time for me after being with my side of the family in Canada which always tends to be a little non-stop chaotic.  I read a few books which was a complete joy — I’ve really been at the mercy of my work these past six months and reading has become a luxury I cannot always afford, to the great detriment of my happiness.  I spent a couple of days at the lake, suffered a rotten little sun burn and then piled everything in the truck and headed home to Idaho for a couple of days before departing on yet another trip (details and photographs forthcoming).

I thought a lot about the life details I’ll miss this summer while I am at home in Idaho, holding the fort:

-swimming in cold, clear rivers and lakes

-5 minute drives to great fishing holes

-really big ponderosa pines (I love the excellent company of quiet giants)

-seeing Robbie more regularly when he is working base 8s and his job is more like a 9-5 giving us dinners together and breakfasts, too

– La Fonda tacos…oh gosh

-Bruce Springsteen’s V8 purr

-the fluttery, papery flight of the poorwills in the headlights of my truck at night

-wild, wild thunderstorms rattling the windows at the Little Cabin In The Woods

-smoked out sunsets over the Cascades

-gin and tonics with the girls…movies in the bunkhouse with all the fellas…night bicycle rides on the airstrip

-early morning veggie deliveries from John Button

-late night star watching through the crowns of the douglas firs

Oh…I could go on and on.

It’s good to be home in Idaho this summer, in my own house, with my full studio building, but I would be an awful liar if I didn’t confess my heart is divided in more ways than one.