We made it back to Idaho.

The first time he received a phone call about a smokejumping job we were in a Korean restaurant in Tucson and he stepped out of the establishment to take the call.  When he walked back in, he looked extremely serious, sat down at our table for two, and calmly broke the news that he had been invited to rookie training at the North Cascades Smokejumper Base — a dream come true for him.  He had spoken of jumping since our initial meeting in New Zealand when I was 18 and he was 21 so I’m sure you can imagine the span of life that had led up to this moment for us!  My reaction was to stomp my boots on the tiled floor, smack my palms down on the table top and emit a howl of joy.  In the kitchen, I heard some poor cook drop a stack of dishes in surprise to my rather vociferous response!  I was thrilled for Robert, thrilled for us, thrilled to the point of goosebumps like I get when we have a dream become a reality.

Since then, we’ve spent six years straddling the states of Washington and Idaho, moving twice a year to chase the fire season and returning to Idaho for the winter months — some of those summer seasons I spent alone in Idaho when housing in Washington didn’t shake out and those were very lonesome times for us.

All the moving has been too much for me and if I can be completely frank, I didn’t think I had another season in me, at least I didn’t think I could move the studio to Washington again this summer.

It’s one thing to move a home and a family but another thing entirely to pick up a studio space and small business twice a year and shuttle it 16 driving hours down the road, set it up again and find your way back to the work like a drunken homing pigeon.

So when Rob called me from Arkansas in early March to tell me he had been offered a position at the McCall Idaho smokejumper base, my reaction was very similar to that first smokejumping phone call he received six years ago.  I stomped my boots on the floor of the strawbale house, slapped a palm down on the kitchen island and screamed aloud.

I WAS THRILLED.  I was beyond thrilled, really.  And I would like to mention (brag) that Rob’s transfer to McCall is a lateral transfer into a permanent position which everyone thinks is easy to do, but it’s really not easy to do.  To take a permanent transfer, a base has to be very sure of the quality of person they are hiring.  Once they take that person on, they won’t be able to get rid of them (because that’s how the system works).  So with that said, I must offer huge thanks to McCall for taking a chance on my man.  They won’t be sorry.

My life has been crazy for so many years now and we have worked hard to make do with less than ideal circumstances every single fire season.  There has been the yearly added stress of finding last minute housing or studio space in the Methow Valley which is really totally impossible (think housing crisis due to two consecutive years of the valley, quite literally, burning down).  In that moment, when he told me he said yes to the job, I had a sense of STABILITY wash over me.  Peace.  I said a prayer of gratitude, I lived a prayer of gratitude for days, with all of my heart, feeling almost blissed out by the reality of our lives, and I felt my roots thrust themselves downwards, past the volcanic rock of the Snake River Plain, into the hot core of this state we love.

We are thrilled to be back in the beautiful state of Idaho, full-time.  We are delighted to really move forward, full steam, with seeking out and purchasing our working ranch property.  We are looking forward to meeting a new branch of fire community in McCall.  I’m so happy to no longer be seasonally moving my studio.

In the meanwhile, we’re sorting out life plans for the summer, working out some kinks in the still-unfinished Airstream which we will be living in again, trying to figure out how to get my ’71 Ford down from Winthrop and all the other details that come with a new job and relocation.  It’s all a glorious pain in the arse!  And I don’t even care!

With all that said, here’s to you, Robbie!  You’re the best man I know — the man, the legend.  I love you.  I am proud of you.  Let’s keep on grabbing life by the horns.
7I9A2967[Another typical family portrait for us…milliseconds later, I found myself literally log rolling down this cliff face…thanks for that, babe.]

Just Like You

7I9A25647I9A08177I9A99107I9A25417I9A25867I9A26007I9A2655I hit the wall yesterday.  I was bleary eyed, I could barely type out single words let alone sentences on the computer, I was 100% ineffective at everything I was hoping to complete.  I needed to spend the day in the studio and when noon rolled around I knew there wasn’t a chance I would be remotely effective in that space either so I shut it all down.  I stepped out of the house to peer at the sky — it looked capable of anything.  I packed a bag with my camera gear, water and two coats in case of rain or cold or both.  The dogs eagerly loaded in the truck and we were off.

More often than not, there’s so much to do around here that it can feel difficult to justify days like yesterday and I have to remind myself that going outside is how I sweep out the cobwebs and reverse the muscular atrophy that comes with too much computer work, too much photo editing, too much time spent hunched over in the studio, too much tame living.  Going outside is vital to my work.  It’s as important as answering emails, submitting images, writing my morning pages and crafting cocktail rings.

I signed another contract for a photography job this week.  I was on the fence about it for a long while.  I was afraid (I am still afraid) it might be a mistake, an overextension.  I like to do my very best, no matter what I’m working on, and I’m afraid of this job and what it might do to my life over the next few months.  Fear.  Fear.  Fear.  It will be a lot of work and I need to find a way to do it with joy and HEART, injecting soul and honesty into every image.  I talked to Rob about it.  I talked to some of my friends about it.  I wrestled with it like Jacob and the Angel of the Lord

In the end, I committed to the work because I didn’t feel like I could say no to it.  In this business, there’s soul work and there’s survival work and sometimes the two can operate hand in hand and sometimes they can’t and you’ve just got to do what you’ve got to do to get by.  I know there’s some romance hanging like a golden sunbeam over what I am doing with my life as a freelance photographer and a metalsmith but the fact is this, these are jobs.

In fact, I think there’s too much glamour attached to the notion of doing full-time creative work, I mean the image of the working artist — it’s not more noble, it’s not more soulful, it’s not more meaningful, it’s not more emotionally and spiritually centering to do art full-time for a living.  The work itself can be noble, soulful, meaningful and centering (ANY job can be these things) but doing creative work as a full-time job isn’t going to strip your life of normalcy.  You’re still going to be human   You’re still going to have your struggles.  I’m just trying to be honest about this because sometimes folks get worship-y about the lives of full-time artists.  The work is just as messy and complicated and beautiful as having a job out in the real world.

Just like you, there are mornings when I don’t want to do my work.  I want to do something else.  I want to stay in bed curled up with my animals and read a book instead of facing my inboxes or sitting down in front of a necklace design I managed to bung up when I let myself work too late in the night with muddled eyes.  There are times, too, when it’s the joy of my heart to work!

I get tired.  I get energized.  I get hurt.  I get healed.  I get empty.  I get full.

I’m just like you.

Anyway, the dogs and I went out yesterday, we had some gale force wind blowing in our ears, we found plenty of really cool dead stuff to look at, we watched the hawks hunt, we listened to the canyon wren, we heard the chukar chuckling, we gazed off in the distance and daydreamed, we kept our eyes peeled for antlers, and we walked it out, mile after mile, until the sun went down.

We don’t regret, for a moment, how we spent the day.

Freshly Finished

7I9A2212These necklaces turned out so well. I started in on them before we left for New Mexico and just finished them up moments ago.  The variscite featured in these simple settings is rich and vivid in smooth cuts (I’m crazy for this hue of green lately) but what makes these necklaces really lovely is the articulated double bail points made of four hammer formed, hammer textured, hand pierced birds that seem to make the stones gently drift in place around the neck — like a piece of beautiful debris riding the surface of the river.  The word fluid comes to mind.  To be frank, it’s just a great design.  I can’t wait to hear what the three of you think when you put these necklaces on for the first time, whoever you may be.

I’ll try to have these beauties in the shop for you on Monday, as soon as I can properly photograph them and build listings.

Now I’m off to practice my spiritual gift which is randomly finding antlers while joyfully strolling about under this wide, Western sky.

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An Ordinary Night

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Suddenly, I found myself with a wealth of time on my hands.  I was supposed to spend almost all of March with my cameras in Canada on a sort of expedition and at the last moment, the main backer for the trip dropped the project.  That part of the situation was a touch annoying but what I felt more than annoyance was utter elation — a strong sense of freedom replacing the urgency of all things schedule related.

I put on my boots at the back door that evening and stepped out into a wide expanse of possibility, high desert and gale force wind, a low ceiling of flying cloud.  I stepped out into over thirty days of life-space such as I haven’t had in…well…in longer than I can recall.  The dogs and I practically ran up the rim rock ledge behind the house, to get closer to the sky, to gain a firmer grip on the lay of the river, to grasp at the corner of the concept of horizon.

The corn stubble up there was rickety in the wind and the dogs immediately dislodged a small flock of Canada geese from their roost.  They rose into the air, hammering at it with all their practiced might, I heard the zithering of their wings churning the night air white.  Many were missing flight feathers, either naturally lost or shot off over the past few months.  I stood beneath them, marveling at their ability to stall, hold easy and steady in invisible currents; they are masters of water and wind.  I am ashamed to be mildly clumsy and terrestrial in the presence of such gifted beasts.

I had an earache from the force of the breeze and while I waded through grass of stature and aimless tumbleweed Farley and Tater located a group of pheasant — still in hunting mode, those dogs are.  Tater was backing Farley beautifully so I took the moment as a training opportunity for Tater who’s steadiness to wing and shot mysteriously turned to rust and ash part of the way through the upland season this year.  I walked forth and flushed the birds while keeping an eye on him.  He held.  We went on like that as we walked, finding more quail and pheasant hens to work.

I looked around as I walked, mittened hands shoved deep in my pockets, noting the palate of the landscape and the cautious fringe of green slowly parading down the canyon walls, the sudden green-silver of the sage leafing out, the evening tunes of birds.  I was compelled to lay down in it for a spell, as I have been known to do, since I could afford the time.

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Edge Season

7I9A98657I9A9880 7I9A98937I9A98957I9A99117I9A99327I9A99377I9A99807I9A99457I9A01057I9A00327I9A01627I9A01357I9A00897I9A01967I9A0216I really like the weather in these edge seasons of high desert Idaho when the air and wind are deadly cold but the sun is gaining strength and heat — the feeling of it all pressed up against my cheeks while we are out hiking or running is simply one of the best feelings of all.  To be kissed by the sun and cut by the wind, simultaneously.  There’s nothing like it.

We went out yesterday under such a magnificent sky.  It gets foggy in the high desert during the winter months and the mantle has lifted!  We’ve been gifted with such bright days this week.  There’s a sense of coming alive all over the land.  The deer are beginning to drop their winter burdens.  I expect to hear a meadowlark any day now — last year, around this time, I heard the first one in the sagebrush above the riverbank here.  They always signal a seasonal shift for me.  I cherish their music.

I can sense it all stirring, waking, rubbing at sleepy eyes.

Along the roads and deer paths I run, the sage is coming back, fragrant and soft.  I run my hands over it as I pass through it and then lift my fingers to my face and breathe a little deeper.  Is there a greater, more soulful scent than the sagebrush of the interior West?  Maybe the perfume of an entire slope of wild rose in bloom.  That’s lovely, too.

Rob is starting early season work in the southeast (Arkansas, Tennessee, et al) sooner than ever this year.  The off-season seems to get shorter with the passing years as he goes deeper and higher with his job.  We’re savoring our last moments together as a little family before the fire season busts us up for a bit.  And no, we don’t know where we’ll be living or where I’ll be working or any of that stuff.  As usual.  Being a firewire is to exist in a kind of information less purgatory; I live a very last minute life.  But we always prevail and something pseudo-suitable always turns up in the way of housing and studio space.  I’ve quit worrying about it.  Things will shake out how they will, they always do.

I have enough projects and travels to keep me active and busy this spring (I cannot wait to share some of those details with you), but I’ll still miss Robbie when he goes.  We’ve done a lot of growing and shedding of old selves this winter.  All the change and growth has been rooted in truth, in realizing the things about our individual selves that we’d like to work on, and then simply working on those things and rewiring our hearts and minds, dropping bad habits and lighting new fires in our hearts.  I’ve loved this winter.  This winter with him.

He’s been building me a hotbed!  It’s kinda state of the art, you’d expect nothing less from him though, would you?  I can hardly wait to get it planted.  I have my seeds coming in the mail as I type this.  Maybe they’ll arrive today!