oregon in spring

Another Kessler vacation extravaganza came to a satisfying end yesterday. We hit the road for Portland last Saturday, big belly, dwindling budget and all. I was determined to do one last road trip before we have two tykes in the back of our little Honda and wanted to see Jeff's sister and her husband before they welcome their first into the world in a few weeks.


After a few last minute deliberations, we threw caution to the wind, loaded Elie up with DVD's and her buddy's entertainment system, and hit the road. Jeffy has a go-til we-drop long distance driving style, which I've grown accustomed to over the years. Spring breaks have found me wedged between backpacks of camping gear and stinky climbing shoes, happily contorted in the back seat in search of a new adventure. While Jeffy and his buddies recreate, I read and wander, journal and rock out to my tunes (moving from a walkman to discman to ipod as the years have progressed).

Eliana is fitting in nicely with our vacation style. She's learning to keep it real in the backseat and not ask for much (beyond her shows and copious amounts of trashy snacks that she only gets on road trips). Jeff and I goofed off in the front, rocking out to old songs and just being together. Lucy even stayed mellow wedged between Jeff's skis and Eliana's carseat. I think we were all just happy to be together, just being.

From our arrival on, it was one adventure after the next. Eliana loved the MAX, Portland's train system. We hopped on and country bumpkin style rode around and looked out the windows with no real destination in mind, hopping off whenever a spot sounded interesting.


After a few days of family love, city style and lots of playtime with Kelli and Jack in their lovely home, we hit the coast for a few days. My friend told me about this cabin in Oceanside and, for whatever reason, I felt compelled to rent it. We took a trip to a cabin in Whitefish before Eliana was born and the memory of those last, quiet days has always been so important to me. This time I wanted a "Babymoon" with Eliana, a special journey that was simple and beautiful and perfect.

And it was. The way Eliana is so up for anything. The way she hikes now, like actually can walk for a long period of time, especially if we're playing hide and seek, double especially if Eliana is Dora and Jeff is Boots.
The way she embraced the rain, took in the waterfalls. Raced us up trails, jumped in mud puddles and never ever stopped displaying her exceptional ability to be in the moment.


The way Jeff found all sorts of special spots for us, Clark Grizwald style, a daddy so excited about sharing the wonders of the natural world with his daughter.


Our visits to what Dad and Elie dubbed the Fairies Beauty Parlor, a wacky hippie alter on the way down to one of the beaches. Amongst the broken bits of shell and rock, Eliana decided the fairies needed money. We left them a penny. A penny which was gone the next day. Apparently the Fairies are big spenders.



I wrote this early in the morning, as I watched the sun rise over our insane ocean view. It seems to sum up how perfect it all was:

Waking up in this tree house, the ocean wild and vast outside the wall of windows, everything tinged a salty shade of spring gray. I can see the floatsam creeping in, mountains shrouded behind mist in the distance. I just crept the few feet over where my daughter sleeps, her perfect form curled in fleece and cotton, her body longer by the day. I feel the warm body of my husband beside me, the calm that has finally settled into him after leaving the city. Neither of us can hack it like we used to, cars and highways, crowded restaurants and dirty streets. Eliana's alive with curiosity, with excitement, her tiny hands explore the metal grates on the filthy sidewalk, a wrought iron planter around some yellow and pink tulips. "What's this, mom?" and "Here comes another train!" Alive and so full of wonder. I want her to always be adventurous, want her to always feel safe as long as we're there. "We're a family!" she proudly says, hugging our legs, holding us in a tight ball of cohesion and goodness. And even last night, "I love my baby brother so much!" followed by belly kisses and soft little hand rubs over my belly. This time away together makes me feel his presence infinitely more. He's so ready to come out, to become a part of our life. His little fingers tickle me from inside, his round, hard head nudges me, twinges and juts, smooth, fluid strokes and silky little jerks. I love that he's a boy, love that his gender is such a new exploration for me, new and yet totally right and familiar. I'm feeling ready and powerful about bringing him into the world, ready to feel each wild sensation, each rabid surge move through me, each jolt that brings us closer to meeting face to face. Just as I write this, I feel him move excitedly inside, he knows when I'm thinking about birth and wants to reassure me that we're on the same page, that he'll do his part to keep us safe.

I could stay in this bed all day.
Look out these windows forever.
Been too long since I've slowed down for any significant amount of time.
And I'm so ready -
To cradle and rock
and nurse and hold.
To introduce Eliana to the
careful, quiet,
hazy world of a newborn.
To tune my senses into every grunt and gurgle,
every blink and slow,
destination-less reach as he makes
sense of an unwatery world,
to the bright, vivacious hues
of our home, the blue of his
sister's eyes,
the smell of my skin.

Eliana stirs from her pack and play. This quiet time, seven uninterrupted pages in this journal come to an inevitable close. I shift my heavy body and more flows of white come into view. These waves. Little worlds that recede and progress, meld into each other, giggle and retreat, fluid, cohesive, yet each one on their own distinct path, rolling, rolling, subtle and constant, the wavy water covers this earth, this body, this view.