Lost and Found

I went for a walk, looking for a trail Javier, Dylan, Paloma and I hiked several Augusts ago. It was a weekend morning, probably Sunday. We invited them away from comfort, airconditioning and sleeping in for a walk along this rocky trail in the heat of summer. Promise of breakfast at Café LA lured them out of the house. Ollie came along too.

Flat Top Mountain 2012, visible from certain places on the ranch.

One of my concerns with hiking our five hundred acres of family land has been, what if I get lost? The land is laced with well cut trails, marked and used. Friends of Javier requested regular walking and mountain biking in this part of the desert. They have created or maintained many of the trails we also enjoy exploring. They are marked. Makes it unlikely to get lost.

Part of the ranch property is a mountain hugging our casita and is double privately gated. There are no signs on this side of a beautiful mountain I can see from the casita's picture window facing south. The trail is uncut, unkept and Javier is the only one who knows its location and destination. Years ago, we walked to a clearing he created and considered this place for the creation of a south facing dwelling. I drew rough plans. Practicality and Javier’s emotional connection to the knoll where I sit now, writing on this lap top and plugged into solar power won. The clearing remains a dream for future dreaming and creation.

The other concern felt regarding our sharing the experience of being here more regularly is simple. Javier has spent countless hours on this land, alone. I recognize this place as his sanctuary. I feel blessed to share the peace and tranquility.

My intention last weekend was to explore the area on my own. Allow him his space. Enjoy my space. In a family of introverts there is no explaining to do. We all understand the need for solitude to enjoy our time together.

I walked through the gate, into rocky terrain and saw what appeared to be a hiking trail. A clearing. However subtle its liking. Cow hooves. This must be the way. Overgrown from last summer, fall and this winter’s rain, walking through brush, pulling, holding branches out of the way as I walked the knarly way. I heard cows below. Looked left and saw the sea. This must be the way. I remember the direction. These trees look familiar. Yet they all look the same. Thorns sticking into my pant legs, arms and pulling me back. Using both hands to hold branches aside as I often crouched to get through. I thought of Javier and how often he walks ahead of me through rougher terrains and either holds the branches or uses his machete to cut the way through. A gentleman in every way. A gentle soul with strong shoulders that carry the world. Close to the ground, countless tiny yellow wildflowers. Butterflies to flap their soft and ever accompanying wings. The sound of my footsteps, breathing, silence and a few curse words. In Ireland, they say: when cursing comes from the lips, it eases the heart. I felt myself get more and more lost. Knowing I was going in the right direction: up the mountain and away from the sea. I looked back and saw Flat Top Mountain below the horizon line. How can you get lost when you can see the sea?

Through brief clearings and  rough desert terrain, I thought of mountain bikers and advanced trails. I recognized this as advanced hiking, not a trail. Feeling lost and at home, admiring the beauty surrounding me and motivation to find the special spot I knew was there, I kept hiking up the mountain. My logic was: when I find my destination, I will see the trail and can walk back on chartered ground. Between admiration, frustration, cursing, elation and gratitude for a body that can carry me through unchartered desert home land, I remembered the words of Antonio Machada:

 “Pathmaker, there is no path. You make the path by walking. By walking, you make the path.”

I recalled the unchartered terrain I have traversed. Motherhood and partnerships, relationships, education, trainings, careers, and people walked with through this adventure called life. I remembered times in my life when I have felt like I had no where to turn with drive and restless energy, finding solace in nature, painting, writing. Solace in creativity. Grateful for outlets. Recognition of hitting a wall and moving through as breakthrough to another way of expression and being. Once, that feeling scared me. Now, it is familiar, part of an inner compass I trust with all that I am. 

Yesterday, as I arrived at home, threw a load of laundry in to be washed, watered some plants and felt that welling up of restlnessness that before drove me to regular hiking, to create a series of paintings of beloved places along well walked trails near our home in town, drove me write hundreds of pages before. Pages I went through years after their space was filled. And wittled them down to create a book. Then held on to as a project to come back to, last summer, I decided, it was time to let go. I discarded the original and the second draft. There is a story I wish to share. Yet not from the perspective or experience of purging words to create space within the inner world accompanying my every step. The story is best shared gently, clearly and over time. Which may be happening here with a commitment to write one piece per week. In a year, that is fifty two pieces. More details can always be added later. Polishing, as well. For now, keep writing.

Yesterday, I knew exactly where to go. Here, to the ranch. I invited Paloma. Her response was, can I drive? I asked if she was negotiating. I drove us to the highway and onto the road on federal land leading to our land. I let her take over the wheel up the arroyo and  through gates onto the road behind our house. We arrived, unloaded this trip’s boxes as every trip brings with it belongings and a slow move into this home. She sat down in a cushy green swivel chair, put one hand in each pocket, her feet on the concrete coffee table, looked out the picture window, let her head settle into the back of her chair and she fell asleep. A rare gift for an energetic, talented and gifted young soul.

The energy of raising a teenager is reminiscent of raising a toddler. Different dynamics, but the level of being “on” for me as a mother feels similar. When she rests, I rest. When she doesn’t rest and I can see she is exhausted, I lead her to rest or let her be so I can rest and hope that between the two of us, enough rest is happening so we may restore, recharge and continue along our mutual and shared creative ways.

It has been a week since I got lost on our family ranch. I took one video at the highest spot, along the fence line, where I thought I was close to the clearing and then an easy walk home. After I made my way back, with countless wildflowers, butterflies, birds, stickers, cactus and frustration when I could see the house but still could not find a decent clearing, I remembered again, the inspiring words of Antonio Machado that I later looked up and share more fully here:

“ Wanderer, your footsteps are the road, and nothing more; wanderer, there is no road, the road is made by walking. By walking one makes the road, and upon glancing behind one sees the path that never will be trod again. Wanderer, there is no road --- Only wakes upon the sea.”

When I showed Javier the video, he said, you were way up there! That terrain is terrible! I know. Today is Sunday. I am here and ready to walk again. This time, he has offered again to the lead the way. He offered last Sunday. I kindly declined and created a memory I will always hold dear.

As one of my yoga students said this week:

Sometimes it’s good to get lost.

Food for thought. This, I do know: I've been and felt lost numerous times in my life. Physically, at the age of five in San Miguel de Allende, then taken to the radio station to announce a small child found. When I went back at age twenty one, I asked a friend to take  a picture of me at its entrance. Smaller, lost in Ashland, Oregon. As a teenager and adult, at times I have felt emotionally, mentally or soulfully lost. I certainly don't have to go get lost on purpose. Certainly, I will feel lost again. I am a wanderer, explorer, adventurer.  In all the times I’ve gotten lost, I have learned about this heart, body, mind and soul, learnings I do not uncover on confortable ground. Every time, I’ve felt lost, I later cherish the well earned insights, understandings and gems  found within. I have felt lost and safe at the same time. Frustration may settle in, feelings of overwhelm, and still, no matter how challening, I will always find my way home.

Dylan, Paloma, Ollie and Javier on that sweaty, hot, Sunday August morning.