When I moved back home at the beginning of the Summer, I jumped into several projects around my parents’ house. Between work and travel, those projects eventually got put on the back burner. Now, with my Summer job over and Kristen’s wedding quickly approaching, we have been digging in once again. I recently had the chance to hang out with my old high school classmate, Miranda, and her family. I realized that I have much to learn from her when it comes to getting things done and documenting it simultaneously (all while producing and managing offspring), but here are a few shots taken over the past week.
The first thing I tackled in May was an ailing garden with a dead rose bush on the west side of the house. The thorny remains were uprooted and replaced by a host of gladiolus bulbs that have finally decided to bloom more than three months later.
Another job that I had been wanting to do for years but significantly underestimated was the paint job around our front patio. I had initially gotten the go-ahead to repaint the trim, but when we discovered rotten wood underneath the railing, suddenly half the wall need to be reinforced or replaced; and if we were going to go that far, why not just repaint the whole thing? I’ll tell you why: because painting lattice work is a painstakingly meticulous, back-breaking, knee-crunching chore that I would never wish on anyone.
During her daily watering routine, mom has been keeping tabs on our pet mantis. When I was a kid, I used to be awestruck by these insects because of their rarity and beauty. However, after reading about their reproductive habits in Pilgrim At Tinker Creek, my regard for this species moved from awe to grotesque fascination.
Meanwhile, Kristen is convinced that even the sunflowers know there is a wedding on the way. Love is in the air.
For years, I have been hearing about this place. When speaking of it, friends like Matt Barley would make it sound to my ears as though I would have to travel through both time and space to get there. It was mountain country, where men earned an honest wage by the work of their hands and the sweat of their brow. A loving community led a peaceful life in their beautiful and secluded piece of creation. Simple pleasures were celebrated to the glory of God, and the same was graciously offered to any visitor passing through.
I have known Henry for only a few years. In that short time, both of us have lived in Europe – myself as a ski bum in Norway, and Henry as a skateboarder in Barcelona. Both of us appreciate the nomadic lifestyle, which made it easy for us to hit it off after meeting in Moscow. In fact, prior to my departure in 2007, I spent several weeks sleeping on Henry’s couch.
Henry and I agreed over coffee outside of Bucer’s one Summer evening last year that neither of us were eager to get married, or even to start dating. That was before I moved to the Midwest to live with my cousin for the Fall. After I arrived in Wisconsin, I was surprised to hear from Henry, since he is not the type to call, even when he is supposed to, and certainly not out of the blue. Our running joke had been that Henry would never remember I existed until he saw me.
His call could only mean one thing. Henry wasted no time talking about the weather before telling me about his new romantic interest. What struck me at the time was not that Henry had a girlfriend, but how serious he sounded about her. Henry didn’t just tell me he was dating – he told me he had found “the one.” The relationship might have been easier for me to judge over the phone if I had known the girl, but I only recognized her last name from having met her two older brothers years ago. Their family was from Wallowa County.
The girl’s name was Änna. I learned that she grew up riding horses after being adopted into the Hostetter family as Henry would tell me about how he was talking to her father, visiting her family, and falling ever more in love. So it came as no surprise when I soon learned they were engaged, and at the wedding Pastor Tollefson highlighted their differences well: “Swiss-German meets Korean, skateboarder meets equestrian, wanderer meets small-town girl, tall meets… not tall. Opposites attract.”
Henry and Änna were married last Saturday, and the occasion provided the perfect excuse for me to finally visit Wallowa County for the first time. Though I had neither lodging nor transportation, a tent, sleeping bag, and spiffy new sleeping pad would suffice as long as I could find a ride there and back. Thanks to Caroline and Susanna, I did.
The wedding was held at the Hostetter’s Rim Rock Inn Restaurant overlooking Joseph Canyon. One can get an idea of how far removed the restaurant is by reading on its website, where the visitor is given directions not only by car and motorcycle, but also by plane and helicpoter. While it is located only a short sixty miles from Moscow as the crow flies, the two and a half hour drive consists almost entirely of winding roads up and down the Lewsiton and Rattlesnake grades crossing through Idaho, Washington, and Oregon.
The outdoor wedding was a success, despite some ominous storm clouds that constrained themselves to thunder and lightning until after dinner, when the sun had set and the rain began to fall. This didn’t put a damper on the festivities, though, as the band played on and the dance floor was grooving late into the evening with the help of the bride and groom. While the Rim Rock refers to itself as an “Inn,” its accommodations are limited to RV hookups and a trio of furnished tipis. Thankfully, I was able to avoid a soggy tent by crashing Susanna’s tipi, along with David Hoos, Katie Bauer, and the Stevensons.
We were woken up early Sunday morning by the sunlight filling our tipi. When we rolled out of our sleeping bags and opened the flap, we were greeted with an incredible view, complemented by a scrumptious breakfast of coffee and pie, courtesy of Rim Rock managers Otto and Bethany Nielson. The wedding party had dispersed, and we were left with plenty of time to conversate, rejuvinate, and contemplate the scenery before us.
Although our view of the sunrise over Joseph Canyon was a sight to behold, I had been disappointed to learn that the Rim Rock sits on the northern boundary of the county, and that the heart of Wallowa was another half hour down the road. My disappointment returned to expectation when I learned that we would be attending Pastor Tollefson’s Christ Covenant Church in Lostine, which would take us those few extra miles south.
We worshiped with many who had been at the wedding the night before, including Henry’s wonderful family, whom I have known over the years. Afterward, we were invited over for lunch by the Hostetters before hitting the road back to Moscow. Jordan’s invitation, followed by his parents’ incredible hospitality to a complete stranger (in their beautiful home) made me that much more pleased to see Henry and Änna starting a family of their own together.
My first visit to “the county” was a long time coming and over far too quickly. Like my trip to Chicago earlier this Summer, perhaps the only thing the two places share in common is that I left wanting more time to explore. Fortunatley, Wallowa is practically in my backyard, so I hope it will not be long before I return.
A few pictures from the weekend are up on Flickr.
Lest you think I heard from Bonnie, I did not.
I left work early today to find a sticky note in my Jeep reminding me that I needed to buy a sleeping pad on the way home, since I will be camping out for the second Saturday in a row in honor of my friend, Henry. Last week was his bachelor party, and tomorrow he will be getting hitched in Enterprise, Oregon. The Harbinger pad I used to have was worth its bulk in comfort, which is now being enjoyed by whoever stole my car from a parking lot in Norway last Fall. Snow White was recovered – unfortunately, the pad and about $1,000 of other gear was not. Last weekend’s padless experience convinced me that it was time to invest in a new one.
My first stop was at Idaho’s Most Interesting Store, where I dug a few affordable ALPS Mountaineering mats from a disheveled selection of expensive Therm-a-Rests. Despite the twenty minutes I spent comparing sizes and prices, I received no attention from the friendly folks at Tri-State and decided to try my luck at Hyperspud. On the way, I took a detour into Rosauers, thanks to Z-Fun DJ, Steve Shannon, who was broadcasting live on location to promote the store’s limited stock of Vandal-colored twenty-four packs of Bud Light. (You know you would have done the same.)
On my way in the door, who do I meet but Ian Warnock? Ian (salesman and public relations specialist for the Daily News) enthusiastically volunteered a free copy of today’s paper, which I accepted. His offer was promptly followed up with a solicitation to subscribe, which I responded to by politely relating my recently frustrated attempts to do just that. Ian, who by all appearances was still looking forward to puberty, didn’t skip a beat. Rather than give a confused apology or excuse things with an explanation, he simply existed to solve my problem. Ian was deterred neither by my lack of cash nor my interest in only an online subscription. A quick withdrawal from the Rosauers ATM and a completed order form was all it would take for me to wake up to the Moscow/Pullman headlines on my laptop every morning for the next three months. To sweeten the deal, he even threw in a ten dollar grocery card, a college coupon book, a Palouse dining card, and a 124 page guidebook to Idaho’s state parks. I seriously started to wonder if this guy was for real. To be honest, though, even if I never read a single story, I feel like I walked away with my money’s worth. Ian had made my day, and I was carrying a case of Vandal Bud Light to boot.
On to Hyperspud, where I had barely walked into the jam-packed Main Street shop before the owner was giving me helpful tips on sleeping pads. A well-spent fifty dollars later, I was the proud new owner of a dark red Big Agnes air core sleep pad. Not until I got home did I flip through my newly acquired coupon booklet to discover that with my minimum purchase of thirty dollars at Hyperspud, I could have also walked away with a free Nalgene bottle. I might have gone straight back if I didn’t already have one, but I am looking forward to breaking in my new pad tomorrow night.
Before then, I have a ten dollar grocery card to use on hors d’oeuvres for my ten year high school reunion. I had ruled out any chance of attending both the reunion and the wedding, but the timing is working out so that I will be able to drop in for a lunchtime barbecue in the park before hitching a ride to Enterprise. To see my old classmates tomorrow will not be too much of a trip – many of us have stayed in the area and have more or less kept in touch. What is strange to think about is that ten years ago, the eighteen of us graduated from high school. We were liberated, empowered, and the world was ours to make what we wanted of it. We went to college, got a job, made a family, or all of the above. A decade later, most of us have a career or kids or both. In May of 1999, I saw myself taking the same path.
Instead, when I walked out of the office to the parking lot today, I was leaving my job at SEL. For the second time. The first time – back in August 2007 – was a little easier, since I had an answer for everyone who was asking what I would do. I would travel in pursuit of my dreams and in celebration of my freedom. Little did I realize at the time how much I would experience over the next two years, and I never had a single regret about leaving behind what was a very promising career. But the road eventually led back home, and when I received an offer to pick back up where I had left off at SEL – if only temporarily – I was happy to accept.
To limit the opportunity to a Summer job versus returning to the company full-time has been my prerogative, only this time I don’t have an answer to the equally inundating questions of what is next. Part of me really wants to have an answer – even to make one up – when everyone else my age has settled on one option or another, and God knows I have tried. But the rest of me appreciates still having the same sense of independence and opportunity I did walking across that stage ten years ago, and I am getting comfortable with not knowing. So, ask me about my plans, and over a Vandal-colored beer can, you will hear about this sweet new sleeping pad I’ll be breaking in.
window gazing, outside in
at some elusive american myth
i know you want to believe they’re at peace
safe from life’s uncertainties
but would they agree?
take your time, make your mind up and
tell the world to wait
take your time, live your life
you’re the one that has to live it anyway
after the sound, the fury, the noise
has stifled the simplest of joys
the clock keeps spinning on and on
and once its gone, the time is gone.
the time is gone…
all you’ve built and done
is just a fraction of the you we love…
lyrics to World to Wait by Stavesacre
With less than one week until I am scheduled to arrive in Moscow, I am counting down the days. It will be an interesting journey home: I had anticipated being able to use this time in Kristiansand for planning my three days in Ireland, but due to various reasons – including a paycheck that is late in coming – I will be winging it once I arrive in Dublin. Besides, I have received such a warm welcome here that it is beginning to feel like home, and I have been connecting with new and old friends on a daily basis since I arrived. Picking up where I left off yesterday, here is a quick summary of my final week in Norway:
Sunday, May 3: Karl Sigve finally has a day off following a church conference, and we take a relaxed afternoon hike through the woods that border his neighborhood. We talk about life, family and the future and enjoy another incredible view over the city. At several points along the way, I am forced to pause just to take it in. It is beautiful here, and I am going to miss Norway. We make our way home in time for Karl Sigve to go prepare for the evening’s worship service, and I follow on foot a couple hours later. I have heard so much from him about his congregation, and now I finally have the opportunity to join them. I recognize several more faces from the camp last Summer, and I feel welcomed by the fact that many of them also recognize me. When we arrive home, Karl Sigve showcases his ability in the kitchen with a delectable lamb fillet dinner, and we pass the evening over another bottle of wine.
Monday, May 4: We are up early before Karl Sigve is back to the grind. He works for a small outfit that delivers and supports measurement and diagnostic tools for automobiles. You might remember that I had the chance to join him on the job a couple of years ago.
Karl Sigve on the job - November 15, 2007
Happy with the day's work
Karl Sigve invites me to join him and his colleagues for lunch. I make the fifteen minute walk to the office (the walk I made to church the day before, since they meet in the same office/shopping complex). I rendezvous with him and Henning at the store for their daily lunchtime ritual of grocery shopping, taste sampling, and chatting it up with baker Berit. We climb the stairs two stories to find Torbjørn, both boss and pastor, and the four of us make smalltalk over open face sandwiches, pastry and coffee. Before returning home to the apartment, I make another round in the grocery store and emerge with two rather heavy shopping bags and an unwieldy bouquet that was even more unmanageable thanks to the wind that hasn’t seemed to stop blowing since I got to Kristiansand. The flowers make it home in one piece, and after Karl Sigve gets home from work, we arrive fashionably late for Åshild’s early birthday BBQ, followed by Swedish jokes and coffee.
Tuesday, May 5: Apart from Karl Sigve’s circle, I think it is safe to say I know only one other person in Kristiansand, and I could not visit the city without meeting up with her. From my first day at Kvitfjell, Anette and I have had a special connection, and we spent many good times together during my first season on the mountain. Last year, however, she made the move to Kristiansand to study journalism, so I have missed having her around.
Tuesday, I take the bus into the center for the first time since Karl Sigve picked me up at the train station. Anette finds me shortly after, and we take a walk to the fish market, past some of her local hangouts, and eventually to Herlig Land for a bite to eat (which, coincidentally, is the last restaurant I dined at with Karl Sigve during my Christmas visit in 2007). We enjoy catching up over lunch, then go on an unsuccessful hunt for a music store, all but one of which have apparently moved to a large shopping center outside of town. With better luck, I would have hoped to snag a copy of Medea, the sophomore album from Oslo’s Jenny Hval and her project, Rockettothesky. I first learned of her when Janne posted this mystical video for the single “Grizzly Man”:
Mr. Boklund picks me up and gives Anette a lift on our way to a tasty lasagna dinner with his wife, Ruth Silje, their two children, Noah Emil and Matilda, as well as the Feed sisters and Maria’s son, Jonatan. Between remote control helicopters and wind-up race cars, we follow up mealtime with coffee and Norway’s best shot at American chocolate chip cookies before Solvor and I join Henning on the way to his brother and sister-in-law’s home for house group. We sing, share and pray together (over coffee, of course) before I hitch a ride back to the apartment with Siv and her sister, Lisbeth.
Wednesday, May 6: Of all the travel decisions I have had to make, the hardest has been whether I would be able to swing a trip to Feda. Karl Sigve’s schedule has not allowed for it. In fact, this morning he is off to Oslo for an overnight business trip. Today, I break the news to Bjørn and Marit, who have always treated me like a son, that I will not be joining them at Håland, where they are busy with work on the farm. Marit expresses that they will forgive me this time, as long as I promise to return. I need no convincing. There are several reasons why I decide to skip what is probably my favorite place in Norway: despite the fact that I am now on “vacation,” the past month has been chock full of work, packing, planning and traveling. As relaxing as life is in Feda, I need a chance to simply catch my breath, so I spend my first full day alone at the apartment, except for a welcome visit from Åshild, who drops by for an evening stroll.
Today, Thursday, May 7: Karl Sigve returns from Oslo tonight. I sleep in for only the second time, thanks to the construction crew that has been drilling, sawing and hammering out a foundation for a new garden on the other side of my bedroom wall. (All bets are on that the finished flower bed will be more aesthetically pleasing than it sounds.) As much as I enjoy updating this blog, even simple updates like this one take me hours to write, so that is what I have done today. Tonight I plan to join the rest of the house group for coffee (!) downtown, and any extra time left in the day will be used for getting ready to leave Kristiansand.
Tomorrow, Friday, May 8: Tina and Runar will be in town for a trip to the zoo with Ida Sofie and Tor Martin. They have invited me to come along (which will only be in keeping with the theme of the past week) before accompanying them on the drive back to Skien for the night.
Saturday, May 9: The bittersweet day of my departure. If all goes according to plan, Tina will drive me to the airport on Saturday in time to hop an afternoon flight to Dublin. I will need a lot of prayer and a little bit of luck for things to work out there. Of course, they always seem to. Besides, it’s Ireland!
As my train approached Kristiansand a week ago, I got a text message from Åshild, roughly translated:
“Give me a ring when you make it South. I have an offer for you to join in a (free) experience! I can promise you high velocity and wonderful people. This Saturday.”
By the time Friday evening rolled around, I found myself riding shotgun with her to spend the night on her cousin’s farm near Mersland ahead of what would indeed be a top speed experience – namely, Rally Sørland – a round of the Norwegian Championships in rally car racing! Waking the next morning to a glorious chorus of mooing cattle, we joined in a patio gathering of early risers, where I was introduced to nearly half the population of Norway, including (amazingly enough) a few who were not related to Åshild. We spent the better part of the morning drinking the coffee pots dry, entertaining ourselves with an impromptu slackline session, and dodging scattered rain showers before the first of two laps kicked off shortly after eleven o’ clock.
We fired up the grill between laps, and when the last car crossed the finish line, we were not far behind on our way to (more) coffee with Uncle Trond and family, followed by an afternoon stroll along the river. They say trolls live in these parts, but what were we to do when we came across one of these just sitting there quietly on the forest floor? We picked it up, of course, played with it for a while, then taught it that as tolerant as a black kitty might be, it would much rather walk alongside you than be dragged backwards by the tail.
Our day was not over until we had greeted the ponies, listened to the flowers sing, and visited still more of Åshild’s incredibly welcoming friends in Vigeland (which might be recognized as the hometown of that famous sculptor). We stopped by a work in progress to see Vidar and Merete Haugen, who are expecting twins and a remodeled home. A few others joined us for – you guessed it – coffee and chocolate before the drive back to the city.
Through Karl Sigve, I have been blessed by dozens of believers in Kristiansand, though I might add it is uncanny how many infants I have cradled and how many toddlers I have entertained. Just last evening, while over at the Boklund’s for dinner, it struck me how long it has been since I shook someone’s hand, then helped them blow their nose. But I’m getting ahead of myself. There you have my update from Saturday. Plenty more to come. Now it’s time for me to check up on the view.
I am writing from Karl Sigve’s kitchen table. Last time I visited, he was staying in an elderly couple’s basement only a few blocks away. This past February, after two years of prayerful waiting for the right apartment to come along, he finally purchased and moved into the second story of a hilltop house on the west side of Kristiansand. His patience paid off, and I have the honor of being the first he has welcomed to stay in his guest bedroom (not that I gave him much choice or advance warning). Last night, over a bottle of wine, Karl Sigve related the story of how he was led to his new home. Now I am enjoying his breathtaking view over the harbor while he attends a conference for the remainder of the week. I won’t take the liberty of posting pictures from his roomy and modern interior (including a turquoise-tiled bathroom with a space-age steam shower), but I hope he won’t mind if I share the view from his veranda.
View south over Kristiansand harbor from Karl Sigve's balcony.
It is nice to have some down time following a hectic month. With the exception of our final week of business – during which I had three consecutive days off – there was plenty of work to do between Koia and Tryi-Hans. I got the last-minute idea to use my three free days to visit an old friend, who has now moved to Bergen. As fate would have it, Memet lost his phone. Although it was later recovered, by the time I heard from him, it was too late to make the seven-hour drive there and back before my last weekend at Koia. It would have been Snow White’s grand finalé, who – until the day before I left – was on her way to the graveyard. Knut-Arne called just in time to take her off my hands, and while I am grateful she lives to see another day, it was still a sad parting.
Snow White changes hands.
After two seasons at Kvitfjell, Spring has become a paradox. This season of new life is overshadowed by the dispersion of an entire community who has spent the Winter living, working and playing together. The past few weeks have been especially difficult, since I do not have plans to return. Sunday was closing day. Like last year, I volunteered to shut Koia down for the season. I closed early, and locked the front door just in time to see the last chair lift come to screeching halt. That evening, everyone was invited to a barbecue at Tyri-Hans, where I said good-bye to many good friends. Within forty-eight hours, Kvitfjell was a ghost town, and I left behind an empty apartment complex when Knut-Arne picked me up on Wednesday morning. After we signed the papers on the car, he dropped me off at the train station, and I was on my way to Kristiansand.
The first half of my journey to Oslo was a bit more comfortable than the day I arrived in late December. The view was ironically similar, only now the ice on the lake was receding and the snow that remained would soon be gone. In fact, yesterday’s train ride was like taking a time-machine through the past two years. It is surprising how much I have reminisced lately about my first days on the mountain and how vivid those memories still are. I am leaving Kvitfjell with a backpack, a heavy heart, and a story. As I looked out the window south of Lillehammer, I could pick out the spot where it all began.
Camping on the outskirts of Lillehammer - November 6, 2007.
I have one week left in Norway to spend with relatives who have also become some of my best friends here, despite my spontaneous and infrequent visits. I have been invited to a rally race on Saturday by a friend that I met at Risøy last Summer. Then, if Karl Sigve’s schedule allows for it, we will also make a trip to Feda before I retrace my way up the coast to spend a couple days in Skien with Tina and family before leaving for Ireland next Saturday. I have yet to plan anything beyond my arrival in Dublin.
This is our last weekend at Kvitfjell, and tomorrow will be my final day behind the bar at Koia. Like he does every year, Lars has invited a group of old friends to hang out, eat lobsters, and enjoy springtime on the mountain. I have appreciated a couple conversations with one named Terje, a recreational mountain climber who has been to no fewer than eighteen states – including several visits through Idaho – over the span of fifteen trips to the U.S. He informed me that the vintage Coke sign that hangs on the wall in Koia was originally from Idaho, when he and Lars were sitting in a cafe and Lars told the owner to name his price. Who would have guessed? Then Terje told me the one thing about Idaho that impressed him more than any other place he has ever been: the sunsets. I couldn’t agree more. I am looking forward to getting back, but I’m going to miss days like this….
After working for two weeks straight, tomorrow will be my first (and only) day off ahead of this weekend’s Kvitfjellrennet – our final event of the season before the mountain closes on April 26. Having had hardly enough time to collect my thoughts lately – let alone put them into words – I’m reposting another video classic. While Skyping with Kristen tonight, she lamented Pike’s long-standing absence on this blog. It reminded me of a promise that was kept one year ago today.
It is nearly one year ago that I traveled to Malta with the Kvitfjell gang. It took me the better part of that year to finish a five minute documentary of our vacation. Now, cousin Adam has tipped me off to this video competition, which has motivated me to upload the piece to Vimeo along with a few pictures and words.
For those who live in Moscow, there are a handful of happenings on the horizon that you don’t want to miss. I am writing this because I wish I was there myself, so if I were you, here’s where you would find me (yourself) over the course of the coming week:
Tonight, for example, you would find me at the front door of Mikey’s on Main Street asking how I could possibly be allowed in to hear Pablo Trucker and Laura Gibson perform for a mere eight dollars. I would be posing the question at roughly nine o’ clock.
Tomorrow night at seven-thirty, you would find me at the University of Idaho’s Hartung Theatre, happily paying the non-student admission of eleven dollars to be duly impressed by my youngest sister in one of several weekend performances of Dancers, Drummers & Dreamers.
Fast forward to Tuesday night, and you would find me back on campus, but this time at the Student Union Ballroom a bit before seven hoping Molly could sneak me in to hear former Norwegian prime minister Dr. Gro Harlem Brundtland deliver the keynote address for this year’s Borah Symposium.
Finally, on Wednesday evening, I would be attending a double-header at the Nuart Theater beginning at seven o’ clock, when Graeme Wilson kicks things off with the premeire of Abstract Thought’s latest production, This Contains. After securing my own copy for (as his brother put it) the “cheap as free” price of ten dollars, I would be heading back in as Low Red Land took the stage. Of course, I would be glad they made it after all the bad luck they’ve been having, and I might even tell them how their sticker has been traveling the world on my Nalgene ever since I saw them play with the Magic Mirrors at Mikey’s, which would surely bring back fresh and fond memories of last Friday night.
