picture courtesy of Cornell University’s All About Birds
Every spring the neighborhood crows visit our river birch tree, which I can see from the window by my desk. I’m banging away on the computer and the flutter of movement catches my eye.
About the time the diminutive catkins droop and the leaves come on, the crows show up. They proceed to tug on the spindliest twigs (which the river birch has lots of). When they successfully pull one free, they fly away with it and I suspect they are nest building. Winter winds have broken off some of the small branches and twigs, and there are often bits on the ground under the tree. I used to wonder why the birds didn’t take the easily accessible debris.
Now I think the live twigs are more pliable for nest building. But really, who can know the mind of a crow?
It’s been a year since Craig and I banged around for 21 days in Alaska. We flew into Anchorage and took an Alaska Marine Highway ferry down to Bellingham three weeks later. Among our various stops, we spent a few days in Juneau, the state capital, which is a busy tourist mecca (for good reason) with many cruise ships docking there.
I took the above left picture from The Hanger on the Wharf, a lively bar overlooking Gastineau Channel, which is where the massive ships disgorge their passengers and also where the city’s seaplanes land and take off. What an unexpected dance, to see the cruise ships and seaplanes moving efficiently yet so close to each other.
For a respite from the crowds, we chartered a boat and captain (John Joeright at Sailing Alaska) for an overnight trip to Taku Harbor, part of the Taku Harbor State Marine Park, where there is a small dock for boats (no roads, no air strip, no town, just wildness). We were one of just four small boats who tied up there. A trail took us past an old salmon cannery, long gone now, but still strewn about with the most interesting remnants of its existence, like the sheet metal that now looks like an old book flung open, pictured below.
I can’t really describe the impact of the beauty, the quiet, the majestic views, the debris of the past that is melancholy and also somehow charming. I can say that it all lingers a year later.
We’re gearing up for another big trip, and, as we did on our Alaska travels, we’ve built the itinerary ourselves. Looking at these photos now, I’m remembering how much I like being in the planning and anticipating phase. It adds a richness, knowing we’ve been essentially our own Rick Steves. Props where they are due, of course. I love checking the Rick Steves website for ideas about places to go and things to see.
But if this kind of planning sounds overwhelming, then definitely let the Rick Steves and Road Scholars and other travel planners work their magic when you get the urge for going.
The great women in my white belt training group. I’m bottom left.
A thing Nia dance practice allows me is free-flowing thoughts. My body is moving to music. I’m following the trainer’s lead and tracking choreography. Meanwhile, my mind wanders. I have these pit stops at how my body feels (Wow! Great!), plans I’m looking forward to (Wine with Kristen tonight! Super!), stuff from the past (a year since I took Nia white belt training! Stunning how it infused my life!) And then, of course, the people I’m dancing with: Amazing Karen! She can’t have just turned 80. Look at her rock this dance!
Today I imagined women all over the world dancing Nia. What a tribe to be part of. And then, of course, all the people of all the genders who love dance of any kind. Ballet, hip hop, two-step, ballroom — all of us living in the joy movement. It filled me with such deep gratitude to feel connected across space and culture.
So glad to have found this tribe. So glad to celebrate it.
Susan Palmer's Exquisite Now 