Go With The Flow

“Go with the flow” is the slogan for the Newberry crater area, just south of Bend, Oregon. A nice play of words on the whole lava phenomena.

Nature flows with what is. Finding harmony within disharmony.

I wonder about how to be more like nature? Natural.

Passing a forest where there had been a burn about 10 years ago, the trees still had a singed look. C remarked, “the trees look like they are getting used to being dead.”
She was right; they looked totally o.k. with it. Sort of like transformation so slow you can’t see it happening, but it is happening.

Once out of the forest and moving south into the dry desert sprinkled with sage, we stopped at a small store for supplies.

“You a Trump supporter?” The man behind the counter asked me, with no lead-in or preamble. I looked at his face and he looked at mine and I said, “no. I am not.” He said, “well, this is Trump country!” Luckily, at this point I had the groceries in hand and the tiny store in south central Oregon would soon disappear in my rear view mirror. After letting things hang in the air a bit, he said. “I don’t like him either.”
So, how do you survive out here?” I asked.
“We have a ‘book club’ in Paisley. We meet once a month and drink beer, eat pizza, and yell about things.”

We all shared a laugh. After that, C and I talked about the hesitation to answer, the urge to avoid unpleasantries with strangers. The worry around a politically-provoked argument with wide-open spaces and only rugged sagebrush to hide behind.

I only thought about it for a few beats and answered truthfully. I figured if he threw eggs at us while we hastily exited, it would, at the least, make for a good story.

What I want is to not be afraid to be in “Trump country” as myself.

This turned out to be a good thing- he looked happy to see us. He seemed weary of his peer group and how they have things worked out in their heads. A few days later, I stopped in again to buy gas and give him some issues of Funny Times- political cartoons. He was tickled.

I liked this trip because I learned you can ask people what their deal is, and they will tell you. There aren’t that many people around in the area of Summer Lake, so you see each other.

I started getting bolder, like the guy at the store, and just asking whatever it was I wanted to know.

Driving back from the refuge one evening, I slowed to turn into the drive where we were staying. Standing near the gravel entrance, a lone man wearing a safari hat and holding a can of Tecate beer appeared to be watching… nothing. He looked like he might be waiting for a bus. There is no bus to catch here. Rolling my window down, I asked, “seeing anything out here?” He said, “I love it here; this is heaven!”

He then asked us: “You bird watching? I’m into reptiles myself.”
He got up at 5:30 a.m. and spent all day looking over the hot rocks and dry dirt for snakes, particularly rattlesnakes. He takes pictures of them. He then gave a small specific lecture about the DNA of rattlesnakes. This guy knew his stuff and was excited about it.

I think we need these sort of exchanges to better know each other.

I am not saying I would want to live in this smaller community. I’m just saying, I like connecting however I can, and I found it pretty easy to connect through basic Q&A.

To connect with myself, I sat in a bright orange wooden chair on the dock that faced a small pond. It was a mirror of Fremont Ridge, just above. Outside meditation offered a gentle breeze, paddling muskrats, bullfrog bellows, breathing, jumping fish, breathing, dragonflies, sage, breathing, juniper, sky, bird tweets, rounded out by nearby horse snorts.

After three days on the bird refuge, I knew some of the birds personally.

At some point, I needed a hit of alternative, a place of earthy mineral groovy goodness. So, off we went to the Summer Lake hot springs compound.

Summer Lake hot springs is a rustic, whimsical sulfuric splash that provides the elements of wonder, relaxation, art, funkiness, and friendly fun. The water feels good.

We rang the bell at the counter and a very mellow fellow with a loosely buttoned shirt and messed up hair gradually materialized at the front desk.

We paid $10 each to go to the soaking barn. Behind that there are three adjoining outdoor rocked pools. The water is hotter outside, which I preferred. Watch for biting flies in the afternoon.

The “Dude” check-in guy said, yes, it was like the Breitenbush of the east, when I mentioned they had a similar vibe. But, he said, they don’t need a committee to decide if a room needs to be painted white or off-white. And then another one, to decide if it should be glossy, or semi-glossy.

The bathhouse was empty. There were two toilets, two showers, and maybe 12 changing stalls (with doors), all co-ed. Suits required until 9:00 p.m. Children allowed until 7:00, and parents were instructed to keep them “mellow.” It was not a naked hippy frenzy, in case you were wondering.

Later, at the Saloon in Paisley, we had dinner. Meat is big in these parts- at this place you can order a beef AND pork burger, together. By now, we had eaten all of the marinated tempeh we brought with us. As well as most of the hummus and vegetables. We were hungry!

The last morning we had breakfast in the lodge and talked about the experience while I swayed to Carly Simon singing in the background, “I haven’t got time for the pain; I haven’t got room for the pain.” It was a time of reflection and conversation about people and animals and assumptions and stereotypes.

I think it’s good to get out there and mingle. Find the birds. Ask and answer questions. Listen to the bullfrogs.

Find harmony in disharmony. Go with the flow.