Are You That Woman

Renewal at Blue Sage Ayurveda

The long and winding road was just the beginning. A chance to breathe in and out. To embrace my inner self and reset the internal clock, being nudged to do so. To find that quiet voice. For the first time, in too long, a pen in hand. The sun is warming. A hummingbird greets me every morning drinking from sweet rosemary blossoms. A honeybee buzzing nearby. The joyful sound of water. How blessed to be surrounded by so much beauty. Mountains distant. Manzanitas growing robustly. The many gifts of Buddha. The voice of the wind and a tiny lizard suns itself on a garden temple.

Let me share the journey.

 

Room with a view

A honey bee wards off a much larger carpenter bee. A California scrub jay sips water from a saucer. That crazy mockingbird calls and leaps, the ultimate entertainer. I stretch. My wayward hand elicits sweet notes from the windchimes. 

Each day, rising almost with the sun, I beg myself to say nestled in sleep. But morning waits. Zzxyx is already napping. Nearly 20 years have passed since she was that tiny ball of black fur. I nuzzle her head, scratch under her chin and disturb her morning nap. All part of this blessed interlude. 

Morning is fleeting. I will find her again tomorrow. 

 

December 30, 2018
Sacramento, CA

Tin Box Memories

Memories from my Tin Box of Poetry & Prose. I continue to find the stories scribbled ink on paper. These will be with me always.

An adventure in every way. Traveling to new places, meeting new people, taking part in a piece of Americana - a cattle drive. What else? 

The drive to Bridgeport was fantastic. I had never been beyond Lake Tahoe. Venturing into Nevada and driving through open valleys lined with tumbleweed, surrounded by omnipotent Sierra mountains capped with snow and shrouded by dark clouds. The aspens were a shade of yellow that only unseen powers could create. After passing Lake Tahoe, we dropped down into the Carson Valley - flat and wide-open. The sun was shining on a few chosen spaces. Farther along was Topaz Lake. Just beyond, we crossed back into California. The land was mostly scrub and brush with jagged hills on either side. A small stream, a lovely cascade of water and rocks, shadowed the road. The sky was still cloudy with breaks of sunlight.

The people on the cattle drive have been amazing and made me feel a part of this longstanding gathering. CJ Hadley, a British writer living in Washoe Valley, dressed me out in her suede chaps and her Australian outback coat. Terry Sullivan, a classic cowboy, tied his flowery neckerchief around my neck. With CJ's hat resting on my head, I was transformed into the complete cowgirl. The ultimate show of generosity was CJ letting me ride her horse, Gibson. And so, on our second day on the trail, I rode into Sweetwater Ranch with an extraordinary family of cowboys: Terry Sullivan, David Roundtree, Glenn Allaback, John Ascuaga, and Richard Houle, Chef gone cowboy for a day. We rode on through a majestic valley ringed on all sides by the Sierra Nevada with 900 head of cattle keeping pace.

The next day started with another of Richard's heartfelt meals - steak and eggs, home fries, toast, coffee, and a smile. The world was icy; nighttime temperatures had dipped to a chilly 15 degrees. Bridled and saddled, the horses' tails, manes, whiskers, and eyelashes were tipped in a frosty white. One restless pony pranced feverishly in the corral. Certainly she would not be left out of the day's journey. And she wasn't.

 

 

 

 

 

Wild Rivers Coast: There’s a reason why

The sun was barely breaking through when fog began rolling in across the mouth of the Smith River. Where river and ocean unite – feels holy. Harbor seals, almost ghostly, gaze out across the shallow. A community of cormorants Zen(ly) attempt drying their wings. Brown pelicans and American oystercatchers share the spit. A lone angler casts again and again. He confides it’s been rumored salmon are running better on the Rogue and Klamath rivers. Still, he’s content. I watch with quiet respect and retreat once my camera is satiated.

Some 30 miles away, we walk a considerable sandspit separating the Klamath River from the Pacific Ocean. One more peaceful world, the lone inhabitants strolling or sitting quietly, we reverently contemplate this sacred space. The tide is returning and waves crash to the shore. A swift undertow – the cold water just licks my naked feet as I scramble away.  The Klamath has journeyed far – 263 miles from Southern Oregon – to wed itself to the churning ocean.

 

Morro Bay: Nature Sublime

Inhale. Watch the sun set behind Morro Rock, bark at sea lions, call to a night heron, and walk in silence beside a forest of pygmy oaks.  At every turn, open spaces and environmentally sensitive biomes of extraordinary splendor await.  Miles and miles of nature preserves, state parks, state beaches, and magical places with names like The Elfin Forest elevate Morro Bay’s allure.  From a waterfront perch at the Inn at Morro Bay, only one question emerges, “What next?” Mother Nature worked overtime to create this canvas.  It deserves all your attention.

Turn right out of the Inn’s parking lot. Head for Montaña de Oro State Park toward shoreline and estuary views.  In just a few miles, the road narrows; the “real” world drops away.  Some days are sunny.  Today, fog drapes the hillsides but without diminishing the heightened anticipation to reach Sandspit Beach – a four-mile “ecologically diverse” sand dune area separating Morro Bay from the Pacific Ocean.

One vehicle in the parking lot alludes to a park ranger, nowhere to be seen.  Out of your own four-wheeler, the world is quiet. You zigzag along with the boardwalk, along sensitive dunes dotted with sand verbena and lupine.  A slight rise in the dune and –  suddenly – stillness to crashing waves! A view that thrills you to the bone.

Breathe. One seriously long, deep breath of the fog, the mist, the ocean air.

See. Open your eyes, wide! Really, really wide to an abundance of sand, shore birds, ocean debris, wildflowers, pounding surf. Incredibly, you are the sole inhabitant on this expanse of beach inside Montaña de Oro State Park.  Imagine the coastal Chumash who once called this home.

Step. Follow the footprints – some four-footed – the comings and goings of previous visitors. The tide rushes up and laps at your feet, washing away remnants of your passing and those before you.

Gaze. Scan for signs of life. A troop of curlews hurries in and out of the surf chasing an elusive breakfast.  A band of brown pelicans rises and falls with the light as if on some unseen carnival ride.  Bashful snowy plovers sneak – left, right, left right – over dunes to  protected nesting ground.  A gang of turkey vultures nibble on the carcass of a dolphin, its mouth agape in a petrified smile.  Heartbreaking, still, it is the nature of things and now part of this memory.

Sun and fog debate which will prevail over today’s weather. Fog appears to be winning.  Though a distance away, you linger in hopes that Morro Rock will reappear through the mist. Not to be on this adventure. After a mile on the spit, it’s time to turn back.

A ghostly surfer slips the top of a wave, a solitary figure, as you depart. Exhale.

Top of the World

The Earth.
This place.
A mixture of gold and green
reclaimed by winter rains.
The sky.
Heavy.
A contrast of gray and white.
Sentinel oaks stand watch.
And the wind.
The wind.
Feel it. Taste it.
I stand at the top of the world.
Thankful.

Barbara L. Steinberg
Oakwilde Ranch & Sculpture
November 29, 2014

Rearview Images

As we drive away from snow-crested Sierra,
Images of where we're going
Are not so beautiful as rearview images
Of where we've been.

April 2, 2006

The Dogs

They run and jump
Laugh and smile
Leaping, tumbling
All the while
Free and rambunctious
In the park
I hear the dogs
As they bark.

Barbara Steinberg
Sacramento
April 15, 2008

This is Mexico

These are memories from a journey of just a few years ago. I am hoping for a time to visit again - soon!

Life is quiet in San Miguel de Allende. It's early June and many ex-pats have retreated until autumn. Well above the 6,000-foot elevation and dry, evening brings blessed relief in the the way of cool breezes.

A gentle swing in the garden. The hum of traffic. Occasionally, we hear the sounds of nearby steeples chime and the hammering of construction. Dogs are barking, a lone hummingbird drinks from a pomegranate blossom, and my tequila shot glass is empty.

In the rain forests there is complete silence. The fog is creeping into the mountains. Fireflies are dancing through the darkness. Bugs and birds serenade us during our dinner as daylight retreats behind the peaks. 

Muy bueno!

When You Go to the River, Don’t Rush In

It has been ten years since the call came...cancer. A decade! You always know exactly where you were. The date, December 28, 2010. Hard to believe. To honor this decade milestone (a day I always cherish), I am republishing this story and remembering all the people who came into my life and followed on that journey. Plus, the sidebar article recounting those days that seem like a dream to me now. The Diagnosis. It's true that throughout this journey I said more than once, "I was so lucky!"  In October 2015, I went in for my fourth annual check-up. The letter came days later, the opening sentence said it all, "We are pleased to inform you that your Breast Imaging exam shows no evidence of cancer." So lucky.

Breast Cancer Survivors Retreat & Renew
Photo Credits Peg Miskin & Barbara L. Steinberg
California is vast. Even with today’s sprawling communities, breathtaking open spaces are abundant in far-reaching corners of northeastern California. Envision serene places and natural beauty that can heal body and spirit near ancient and ritual temples such as Mt. Shasta and Burney Falls. Imagine, too, being presented the gift of a weekend retreat at a historic lodge near rushing rivers and world-class fly-fishing including river guides! All of this at no cost other than a little gas money.

Sound too good to be true? Not so. Just fill out an application. If the stars align, they draw your name. You could be one of 14 lucky women chosen to enjoy this tranquil haven. What’s the catch? There’s just one.  You must be a breast cancer survivor! An elite club, breast cancer survivors are treated to this life-altering experience. As if breast cancer weren’t that, too.

Casting for Recovery, a nonprofit organization, along with a cadre of compassionate sponsors are the benefactors of this generous offering. Headquartered in Vermont, Casting for Recovery provided 47 retreats in 33 states in 2011. Their Santa Rosa office facilitates two retreats in northern California. This past August, 14 remarkable and beautiful women – different ages, ethnicities, and backgrounds – gathered at Clearwater Lodge at the Pit River to share their stories of despair, hope, recovery, and survival. The weekend focuses on the fine art of fly-fishing. It’s an excellent therapy for anyone recovering from the rigors of breast cancer surgeries and treatments; a Zen moment.

One-by-one women arrive on a Friday afternoon.  Greeted by CFR staff, they tell each women, “We are here to serve you!”  For most of us, this is a foreign concept – to be served instead of serving.  As we wait to check-in, there’s an exchange of pleasantries, “Hi, My name is _____, from _____.” Soon we are chatting like old acquaintances.  Rooms are assigned, some shared. We settle in and then gather to be fully-garbed in the finest Orvis waders, fly-fishing vests, and boots. Before long, everyone is laughing and looking like fly-fishing professionals. The moment is light. An open book whose pages we have yet to turn. Not one among us could possibly predict the outcome.

A jar of endless homemade cookies and the most divine gourmet cuisine is another highlight. Chef Noel Wright is celebrating her 17^th season at the Lodge. Over the weekend, we will gorge on Mahi Mahi, grilled asparagus, strawberry scones, whole wheat pancakes, fresh fruit, cheesecake with blueberries, and more of those famous cookies. No guest at Clearwater Lodge ever left hungry! The dining room is a cacophony of voices at every meal. Everyone is talking at once and you would think we had been together for years.

From early Saturday morning to mid-afternoon on Sunday a fly-fishing course, free time, meals, and discussions are adeptly orchestrated into our stay. We learn the basics of casting, knot tying, what fish eat, and more casting. Some have fished before. Some not at all. We all start as beginners guided by accomplished women fly-fisher staff. They are patient and giving. And while our casts may not be perfect, we receive big doses of positive reinforcement and many hugs. Training is interspersed with sharing of history. What kind of breast cancer. When? Surgeries. Which drugs and treatments. How many years? Family issues. Relapse. The stories are as varied as our ages and circumstances. The common thread, the double-surgeon’s knot that binds us together, is that we are all survivors.

During two discussion sessions each woman shares her story. The most poignant and powerful moments spent as friends and survivors. There is more laughter and tears. Nodding and shaking of heads; breathlessly listening to tales of strength and optimism. We hear over and over, not just about fears but about the blessings. And the good luck that brought us to this magical place.

Sunday, the moment of truth arrives! We gather to read poetry and prayers, and sing songs.  At breakfast, we are joined by volunteer River Helpers who, one-on-one, will guide us to fly-fish. We climb into our fishing regalia and head-off to Hat Creek. The energy is palpable. Each two-some must establish a relationship of trust and communication. The Helpers support us as we navigate the rushing waters and provide guidance on fly-fishing techniques. Secretly, I think, we all hoped to catch something – some did – but for those few hours cancer was left behind and we were all fly-fishers together.

It’s hard to leave the river. The retreat is coming to an end and we will disperse to our various lives. At a brief graduation ceremony there are more hugs and tears. Words of thanks and gratitude for gifts we cannot even begin to describe. Only 48 hours, departing is truly the hardest part.

You don’t have to be a breast cancer survivor to enjoy the wilds of Clearwater Lodge, fly-fishing, or the beauty of northern California. To quote Sally Stoner, an extraordinary teacher and fly-fisher, “A lot of it is just being there. You being part of it, and feeling it.”

Go…and be there!

The Whole Story in Photos

Beautiful Women
Behind the Hats We're All the Same
We Went to the River

Casting for Recovery still provides these retreats in various locations throughout the United States.  During the time of COIVD, like so many things, retreats are on hold. Check online for the Casting for Recovery Northern California Retreat or Casting for Recovery Southern California Retreat dates. If you or someone you qualifies, please apply. It will change your life.

Make a donation and designate northern or southern California as the recipient.