Journal 2008

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8 January 2008, Dragonfly Place in the Siskiyou Mountains of southern Oregon....

Here on the ridge, it's been snowing since Christmas. The storms began with a wallop, fierce winds, and alternating sideways rain and snow. But for the past few days, the snow has drifted gently down from the mountains, leaving an inch or two between cloud-breaks. Just enough to make my home a winter landscape, but not so much as to make it impossible to get down my road.

Mister Fox wanders by for visits several times each night, and by morning his tracks crisscross the driveway. A family of jackrabbits has also been stopping by, adding to Fox's tracks and making the snowscape a mosaic of winter wandering.

On New Year's Day I made a trek up Lower Table Rock. It was cold enough that thin ice patterned the vernal pools and frozen mud made for easy walking. Since my last visit, the BLM had moved the ancient Bear Rock to the side of the trail though several months ago they promised to leave him alone. They not only pushed him off the trail, they turned him around. The Bear Rock is a sacred site used for centuries by Takelmas to honor Great Bear in the Sky and thank him for the seasons he circles through the year. Until he is returned to his proper place, gazing down the trail to greet visitors on their way to the summit, the native community will continue to pressure the BLM to make things right.

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10 January 2008, Dragonfly Place in the Siskiyou Mountains of southern Oregon....

As snow turns to rain and then to sunshine, I watch the landscape shift from ghostly white to deep green as pines and firs shake off their cloaks of snow. In three weeks, the first daffodils bloom on the coast.

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16 January 2008, along the Willamette River near Eugene, Oregon....

The sunset looks warm ... red, orange, rosy-pink ... a fire in the winter sky. I sit inside next to a blaze in the fireplace and contemplate this cold night. If I were to walk outside, the freezing air would blast me. Inside, as I watch the sunset fade, fingers of flame reach out and warm the night ... red, orange, rosy-pink.

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21 January 2008, Dragonfly Place in the Siskiyou Mountains of southern Oregon....

Just before dawn, my last dream of the night ends as the pale moon slips over the western ridge. Lately, my dreams have been vivid and each dream has a story as long as the night. This makes sense to me. It is the height of our storytelling season. The Old Ones tell us that now, in the depths of these dark nights, dreamtime and mythtime are twins.

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29 January 2008, Dragonfly Place in the Siskiyou Mountains of southern Oregon....

My stories are my voice, even more so now. The words I have chosen for the writing portion of my website are the beginnings of a mythology set in Doty and Coyote Country. Photos and drawings are accompaniments to those words.

Many years ago, during my revolutionary youth, I was convinced that there was only one path to doing good in the world, and the Way was one of confrontation. I still feel that this path is valid for some, but it is no longer my path. When I discovered the power of stories -- how they touch us deeply and how they heal, and the long-lasting influence they have on our lives -- I realized that my work as a worder was my calling.

I do not know how long I have in this life to get it right. At times I feel that my path is short. And so it is even more important that I spend each day in tune with my artistic vision, in an effort to complete my mythology. Knowing the stories of my home makes my sense of place a place of sense, helps maintain a vision of empathy for Mother Landscape and for all who are her neighbors. This path, along with several paths available for others to choose from, offers a way out of the madness the politics of the world continues to feed, toward an enlightenment of body and soul.

For the past several days I have been snowed in on my mountain ridge. Despite the stress of everyday business realities, my thinking has been clear enough to make room for the business stuff, to do the work efficiently that needs to be done to allow me to embrace my vision. It is important to me that I free myself from what is not needed and walk my remaining days in a light manner.

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Long night and a glimpse into how dark a mid-winter story night can be here on the ridge. A falling tree drops power lines around 8:30 pm, and the dark and cold quickly set in. The only light in these woods is moonlight diffused through the clouds and reflected by the snow. Hours of darkness, and now a growling sound like a monster out of the mythtime depths, and bright eyes flashing light almost too bright to look at as the Pacific Power crew climb the ridge in their snowcat.

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30 January 2008, Dragonfly Place in the Siskiyou Mountains of southern Oregon....

My dreams thread my stories into a mythology better than my writing. No boundaries of logic that in my opinion is overrated by many who teach the "rules" of writing. In dreamtime, there is only one story, and I wander the night from scene to scene ... Coyote's Paw to Lower Table Rock to Rock Old Woman to where I left me and Coyote and Coyote's grandmother walking the Takelma Trail of Tears in reverse. We've been out there in the Willamette Valley for weeks, and have managed to miss all of these frigid winter storms.

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9 February 2008, Dragonfly Place in the Siskiyou Mountains of southern Oregon....

The days have warmed. The snow is melting. The road down the ridge is a muddy, mucky, flowing mess. But the sunshine is brilliant and crisp after so many white and gray days.

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27 March 2008, along Ashland Creek....

A cool first full week of spring, snow in the morning at Dragonfly Place and a bracing 23 degrees at sunrise, and a cold breeze to shake the new blossoms down the valley. It has been a stressful week for me, trying to stitch together enough income to make ends meet, and every end seems to have an impossible deadline. The wind has certainly been shaking my blossoms into sleepless nights. Beyond that, I continue to dive a little deeper into my art each day though sometimes I feel like I'm living in a "split both ways" kind of world: the elation of my art, the turbulence of business.

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1 May 2008, Dragonfly Place in the Siskiyou Mountains of southern Oregon....

Back to writing today after a spell of no writing. I've been on the road a lot performing and what little time I have had at home as been spent reorganizing my life into the life I want, more focused on my stories and with a plan to have enough income to fund my passion, my calling, my art. So these first scribbles into my journal are my first steps back into my daily commune with the written word.

Also walking, daily, again something I haven't done in a while. I've been active with all the performances, and some saunters while I have been traveling, but certainly not enough time outside, and this changes this morning at first light.

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Before dawn, after a few windy days of springtime sun and snow, the morning is still. No wind, just the soft sound of Mister Fox as he pads across my porch. Clouds are islands in a sky of stars. A sliver of moon sits motionless in the east. I am still as well. All this month I have been on the move, traveling all over Oregon sharing stories, and tomorrow I head south into California. But in this moment, I am at home on my mountain ridge, waiting for the sunrise, eager to follow Fox down the trail on my morning walk.

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7 May 2008, Ashland, Oregon

Trek to the Anderson Creek village site this afternoon. I found the year-round spring, the flat-topped rock near the spring. Between the spring (southeast corner of the village) and the creek bed (western and northern edge), I could easily visualize the layout of the village in the grove of cedars. This site is close to two other Takelma house sites near the Beeson homestead. There must be an old time trail between them.

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10 May 2008, Dragonfly Place in the Siskiyou Mountains of southern Oregon....

Today is my Story Day. My first performance was on May 10, 1981. Each year on this day, I contemplate my art, where I've been and where I'm going.

This past year has been an interesting journey. In many ways, it has been wonderful. A return to a full calendar of programs, moving back toward writing every day -- these have been highlights. My health, however, has been a challenge, and the cost of treatment has sent me scampering toward some creative financial solutions.

I see my own physical health, and the health of my spirit and my art, all tied together. For me, keeping those connections strong is all about the day to day rituals that keep me spiritually and artistically balanced. Perhaps this is what this day is all about. I suppose the could spend it as I have spent many other days, worrying and scheming about finances. But everything will go better, including my physical healing, if I spend the day renewing my spirit ... my five Rs intensified ... reading, writing, reherarsing wondering and wandering....

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2 June 2008, Dragonfly Place in the Siskiyou Mountains of southern Oregon....

Thunderstorms the past few nights followed by blazing sunsets. It's as if the electric fire of thunderbolts joined forces with the fire of the sun.

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8 June 2008, Dragonfly Place in the Siskiyou Mountains of southern Oregon....

Much like the ancient carved and painted images were carefully positoned on the rock surface for aesthetic and artistic drama as well as to enhance the layered meanings of each story, so my drawings are placed carefully with the words on the printed page. When the stories are spoken, gestures serve much the same purpose. The images -- my drawings and gestures -- are not illustrations, but accompaniments. The best creators of illuminated books and the best mapmakers knew this. Blake knew this. I am just beginning to discover it myself. I have much to learn. Each new work needs to stretch this concept. There is no need to keep doing what I know.