not much to report from oregon theses last couple of weeks. we're adrift in the sea of errands, work, and gatherings that constitute the holiday season. i love the start of the holidays with thanksgiving and its gustatory gusto and i love new years because it's the end of the holiday season. tiffany rightly accuses me of being a humbug. my experience at work tells me that is is preferable to a bumhug, but it is the holidays and bum-hugging is a charitable enterprise.
stella test pilots her new bike seat. finds it tolerable.

for the relatives: don't worry; we do have a tree. stella does have some presents.

yesterday, i went to get the trailer off the farm where it's been since we moved into our new place. after a pleasant 3 or 4 hours of getting the airstream ready to move, under a steady and cool oregon rain, i promptly got the van stuck in the mud. more precisely, i backed up to the trailer and stepped out in time to watch the van slowly sink about 6 inches into the ground. (for the other boy-dorks out there, think of the scene where luke crashes his x-wing into the dagoba swamp) fortunately, Justin, the only person in oregon that i know well enough to ask a big favor is also the only person i know with a big 4-wheel drive and some chains. after a bit of mud-wrestling we got the van and trailer out with a large "splorch" kind of sound. we parked the trailer in a storage lot near the vegetable oil station on the edge of town. seeing it lined up with a bunch of volkswagen vans in a fenced lot made me a bit sad, it seemed like such a small and ordinary trailer to have contained so many experiences; my home and vessel for the biggest adventure of my life so far... a long luxurious shower at home, however, washed away both the mud and nostalgia and i am very happy to be on to the next thing. (picture: wetland preserve trail, next door to where we're livin')

this is most of our new pad, minus the bedroom which just looks like a bedroom. i finished the floor today so the faux hardwood now extends all the way to sasha.
here's the view from the big glass doors in the kitchen: frozen-pond fun after the recent cold snap. the kids took turns being the puck. the tarp in the background covers the beehives and a heater to keep their bees-knees from knockin'. if you haven't yet, it's time to mind your own bees-knees.

this blog post has been granted the stella seal of approval and has been sponsored by http://www.greaseworks.org/

Here I am in an apartment cozier than a cave full of hibernating teddy bears and I’ve been trying to untangle the path that lead here. My fortune cookie: "The sidewalk banana of fate gives you an unexpected glimpse of the sky."
You have to sympathize with the Trickster figures that shows up in most religions. Coyote Brother, Brer Rabbit, Judas; each a Trickster and crafty architect of their Hero's labyrinth. The trickster in my pantheon has always been my intuition; the undeniable urge to act, before reason ever has time to fill out his triplicate forms and get them notorized. (My intuition just suggested that the next time I go through airport security, I say "I have a trickster in my pantheon")

You just can’t find a new place without getting lost. If you subtract risk from freedom, you end up with something akin to lite beer, decaf coffee, and getting a nice haircut; a widely accepted substitute for the act of living.
Back when the sun used to hang out here, Tiff and I were hanging around the trailer brainstorming a solution to the approaching rainy season. We found some tipis online and immediately agreed that this was surely the best way to get some more indoor space for the upcoming winter. No real discussion involved, just a mutually reflected spark in the eyes. We decided to move to Oregon by the same method one bored afternoon and similarly made the decision to live in a 23-foot trailer soon thereafter. Our drive across the country was a successful affair because it was planned only as far ahead as the next moment or two. So it’s not that we’re without successful precedents as far as intuition fueled impulsiveness goes, but I was a bit surprised to find out that I really don't like hanging out in a drafty tipi, just waiting around for summer to come back.

The day we moved into the apartment, Tiffany and I both sighed with pleasure at having hot water for washing dishes and faces. I stood fully upright in the shower and managed to dry off without looking like contortionist losing a wresting match with a towel. We opened the full-size refrigerator and smiled the way the milk jug looked soooo small. We brushed out teeth together for the first time in eight months. There are places in the apartment we can stand where we actually can't see one another. And for these very joys I hereby renew my faith in our combined intuition. We needed a tipi to trickster our priorities into place.

Although the werewolves seem to get most of the media attention, there are all kinds of were-critters out there waiting for the full moon to release their inner varmint. Tiffany and I happen to be were-hippies, and when the moon is full we start to feel our tendencies come out in force. Our thanksgiving celebration in Atlanta drug into our full moon celebration and the combination of family times and full-moon fever has made us restless for a new home. We've been in the airstream for 8 months now and as much as we've learned about ourselves and small-space living, I think we've begun to exhaust the opportunities for self-improvement that this particular experiment can provide. The tipi, unfortunately, has proven to be an inadequate patch for our leaking inner-tube of enthusiasm. What's next isn't fully formed yet, but something new for sure and hopefully just as interesting. But it's definitely time for a new experiment.


Thanksgiving in Atlanta; a wonderful trip for us. Stella was mellow on the plane and we got to see tons of friends and family. Four types of macaroni and cheese, three kinds of sweet potato casserole, and endless leftover-snacking.

Right now we are trying to get the whole crew ready to head to Atlanta for thanksgiving. We decided to board the dogs but I didn't have any luck convincing the folks at the kennel that Stella is a rare breed of Swedish upright chihuahua.


These pictures are both from the west side of Corvallis near the trailer park. I can only complain about the rain so much before I get whopped upside the head with the overall prettiness of the place.

Last week, The Barry arrived and we exercised our typical influence on the weather, guaranteeing that any plans we made would be annihilated by meteorological nastiness. The up side of this has always been that we get to do a lot more sitting around at trailheads in the van, drinking beer, and talking about other times that we almost did something cool. We also re-proved our axiom that the random trip is usually better than the planned when when, in an effort to drive all the way BACK across Oregon, we stopped at Angel Creek and got to hike into some of the prettiest scenery I've seen since I've been here. They were releasing salmon from the fish hatchery and we hiked upstream until even the heartiest floppers and swishers couldn't surmount the increasing waterfalls. We were also privileged to get a tour of Portland from Barry's architect friend Scott. The only thing cooler than seeing a building with the guy that designed it was hanging out on his sail boat and watching Stella try to toddle against the gentle roll of the water.

some adaptations for small-space livin'...

The reusable grocery bags that are hip these days; we keep four or five of them floating around the trailer, tipi, van and car. They help to keep the right stuff in the right place at the right time. Heading to go hiking with a baby followed by a run to the recycling center and post office takes about three bags. Going to the gym can usually be accomplished with one bag only. Weekend camping takes all the bags and a couple of armloads; the main idea being to minimize the amount of muddy trips between the van, tipi, and trailer.


House-cleaning is no longer an episodic activity. Cleaning a 75 sq ft space in the middle of the world's largest mud puddle while 5 mammals come and go with their individual agendas is a bit futile. Stemming the tide and occasionally beating back a hairball or pawprint is the best we can hope for. Cleaning is now a continual process and the trailer exists variably in state between mostly clean and filthier than a leprous hyena at a tractor pull.


Incense and humor are indispensable to the physical and psychic ambiance. Too little of either and there's a stink or a stink-eye in the air.

I have mentioned before my lack of esteem for the banana slug. I still think "frankenturd" every time I see one. Nonetheless, I have come to respect their role in the hierarchy of squish that is Oregon winter. The squish that moves certainly rules the squish. Banana slugs are the substrate of Oregon's formless and funky firmament come to life; the antennaed embodiment of the higher squish as it were.

We are slowly adapting to living in the world's prettiest mud-puddle; the only place where water-bugs occasionally take flight and you occasionally see a fish hitch-hiking. There's just no question that hanging out in a small aluminum cave and fighting the perpetual onslaught of wet dogs and muddy boots is a real bummer. The flip side of that being that it is nice to have no reason to go home, stay home or be home.
At this point, the trailer and tipi have become a place to sleep when we have to work the next day. Otherwise we have been scooting back and forth across the Cascades to find a sunny spot or some rain that has at least enough class to show up as snow.
Packing up all the mammals into the van and heading for some back-country has been hard on the van's suspension and the local goose population; the amount of down insulation required for family camping has probably put us on the goose-mafia's hit list. Thanks to the fairy godmother of outdoor gear, Stella has a down suit with built in mittens and footies. It makes her look like she has flippers but it serves it's porpoise.

Beneath limbs shaggier than a Rastafarian sheep, lived festering fungoid frotteurs and other sordid saprophytes.
The sun stops by, but just to use the bathroom. It's his last stop on the way to Hawaii.
Bearded trees whittle the day away; talk about how wet is USED to be back when they were saplings.

The disadvantage of making plans is the exclusion of the opportunity to learn from the unexpected. There is some balance between governing your life and allowing a bit of chaos to ferment into some intoxicatingly serendipitous coincidence. Corvallis is a dog town and the hiking and biking trails are a highway of quadripeds and occasionally a misfortunate triped. So far the only dogs I've noticed to have aggressive tendencies are the one held tightly on short leashes. Absolute control of any situation is impossible and the harder control is striven for the more unpleasantness it creates. Consistency is probably the most over-rated virtue in America these days and trying to achieve stability through control is destroying us personally and politically. The active practice of freedom involves a willingness to expose yourself to risk.

Now that I've dispensed with an over-caffeinated and disjointed rant, I'll follow with some recent photos from our manically erratic explorations. Above is the full moon rising over the Mckenzie river valley.
This is a cloud condensing over a lagoon formed by the warm waters of Terwilliger hot springs. The springs are known locally as Cougar Hot Springs, but not everything in Oregon lives up to it's name.
Stella and my Psychiatrist midway through a recent wet and epic hike. Three sisters in the background.
Doc Sauls looks out over the Sisters Wilderness area. 572 sq miles...
The predominant color around here.

"Water, he no got enemy" -Fela Kuti

Lets face it, some things are just funny... even when they lack class or sophistication. Farting yourself awake is funny no matter how old or well-educated you are. Oregon State University, at some point, made the questionable decision of choosing the beaver as their mascot. This of course means that you can go to a football game and scream "Beaver!" at the top of your lungs for hours and not get arrested. Leagues of eager college girls walk around in sweatshirts with things like "Beaver Believer" and "Go Big Beav!" on them. On the edge of town a billboard advertising a new condo reads "Live among beavers!". The strangest example we have seen of the blurry line between team spirit and downright naughtiness is a hair salon and spa that has a sign in the window that says "Get your beaver waxed here". If I was making this up I would be embarrassed, but I'm just reporting the facts. As much a I enjoy living in a town where I have to swallow a laugh every time someone tells me they root for the beavers, I think a more appropriate mascot would be a jellyfish. Corvallis is essentially an aquatic environment this time of year. It rains for days at a time and I fully expect that come spring we'll have to knock the barnacles off the airstream and shoo off an octopus or two. The winter temperatures are nice enough and the evergreens knock the edge off the dreariness, but squishiness is definitely in abundance. Our solution to being pushed indoors has been to put up a tipi, and so far, having some extra space has been a nice change. The trailer has about 75 square feet of space, the tipi has 243 with a middle height of 20 feet.


After laying in the tripod with a clove hitch and some rapa-nui technology, we layed the circumference of the tipi out on a gravel pad with the door facing east.
Here, Nala and the goats shows the canvas laid out prior to being rolled and lifted onto the frame. This part was a bit gruntier than expected.
This is the final product, minus the rain cap. The floor is a waterproof tarp covered with closed-cell foam and a carpet.
Stella shows off the faux-hardwood floors before we put up the inner liner.

The casserole is the true symbol of the holiday season. Any concerns about its questionable contents are quickly dissipated by its kitchen-given warmth and seemingly endless portions. Jesus may have done well with the loaves and the fishes but, let's face it, if he'd had a decent casserole to ladle around, all of Israel would have needed a nap on the couch that afternoon. The casserole is a melting pot, the grandmotherly equivalent of a witch's cauldron to simmer and blend a mad concoction of bizarre relatives, poorly made travel plans and holiday traditions. The shared casserole is a communion spooned onto the plates of those who believe in the value of family.

She waved the box of cheez-its accusingly from the curb and wailed through her missing teeth "You won't even roll down the window to find out what I want!". It's true... I wouldn't. Most of the time I believe in opening the door to any knock, just in case opportunity happens to have dropped by unannounced, but in Portland, the urgent vapors of the city seem to have coalesced with the foggy depths of the pacific northwest to produce a level of crazy that I'm not interested in messing with.

We were packing up the van to leave for Portland when Tiffany reminded me that we could take the trailer and avoid the issue of packing all together. So we hitched it up and pulled it out of the trailer park like a wooly mammoth out of a tar pit and headed to the city. Feels fantastic to look in the mirror and see our silver house humming along behind us. We spent a week in a real house with friends and family checking out the city, catching up, and eating well. A nice change of pace from the Corvallis Mobile Home Park for sure, but it still didn't leave us wishing to be homeowners again.
We're now parked on a 5 acre farm 3 miles outside of Corvallis. The tipi is done and ready to be picked up in Bend, but were trying to get some prep work done on the site and figure out exactly how to do the floor. We're all looking forward to having some more space. The rain and waning daylight hours are making the trailer a smaller and smaller space. Our move to the country also heralds a new phase of trailer life....we are now using the the bathroom and shower in the airstream. The bathroom, of course IS the shower and having a toilet and sink in the shower presents some unusual opportunities for efficiency. So far, its going pretty well and it is nice not to have to walk across a trailer park to pee in the middle of the night.


(the following my best attempt at a tribute to Sal Paradise and Dean Moriarty. "blow man blow!")

the mad swirl of the rain-soaked city snakes back and forth across the river until we end up down town with all the wild lights, incongruous architecture and pulsing humid vibe that is portland. time and money are short tonight but kinship and familiarity are running over and the six of us puzzle-piece our selves into the formerly swank hotel room with it's turn of the century dimensions and over-abundance of furniture. babies and bottles of beer make their way through the room as the king of trees shouts "you simply must try the coffee! the crabcakes are wonderful tonight!" while leslie takes off her boots and sits on the bed unperturbed like a motherly tree pleasantly buffeted by the winds of her mad family. tiffany is swinging her arms to tell the story the right way and tiny stella sumo-toddles into the padded headboard on the bed and giggles when it knocks her down. we all pile out of the room into the elevator and you can hear the feathers ruffling in the lobby as we navigate the noisy toddlers towards the street and continue talking over top of one another from the elevator to the street. this is family and time is running out and we know time. outside the air is cool and sweet and the rain holds long enough for us make it to the store for snacks and drinks. sprite for leslie and beer for the rest of us. someone has to stay sober or all this craziness will go unappreciated. calder leans over his crib like a friendly neighbor and points something that has caught his eye. Stella pulls a beer bottle out of the trash and wanders around with, embarrassing and amusing us at the same time and then the conversation dies and the babies loose their love for life and begin to scream in chorus and the night is over and its back to the interstate and our friends have to go to bed to make the plane and oregon might be beautiful but there's no family here and no one knows time anymore.