MCKENZIE RIVER
Originally uploaded by cmort04.
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
A River To Unite
When we first moved to Oregon, we found a place that we really connected with spiritually. The first time I visited was with my parents, wife and son. We just walked the paths and listened to the river, it was then that my mom, always thinking ahead, planned for a long weekend there. A weekend with all of us. My brother, his boys, mom and dad and some close friends of theirs George and Gail. At the time she made the reservation, it seemed a long, long way off 2 years to be exact. I was excited at the thought of spending some real time there and photographing the area and really seeing its secrets. The McKenzie River runs right through it and provides the water for the hot springs that bubble throughout the grounds. The name of the lodge and campground is Belknap. But for me its defined by more than a name. There is a lot of positive energy there and judging by the way they keep the grounds, its obvious that there is an equal amount of love and hard work.
The months passed and as they did, a profound change was in the works. We had decided to leave Oregon for the Midwest. I was determined that we would not leave until after this trip. It meant a lot to me, and even more now that I was leaving. Not so much because it would be a long time until I saw it again, but that it would be the last big camping trip with my family that I would have in awhile and I really wanted it to be special. My focus switched from shooting images of nature to those of the heart and mainly, I wanted to capture memories that I would visit often in my new surroundings. It was around this time that my aunt Bobby Jo who lived in Prospect Oregon was diagnosed with colon cancer, this came as a big surprise as she was already battling breast cancer. It became clear very quickly that it was advanced and that her time with us was going to be short. Too short. That weekend, she went into the hospital for emergency surgery and passed away.
I got a call from my mom the next morning and she broke the news. I didn’t know it at that instant, but this trip we had planned for so long was about to take another turn in its dimension. Her funeral would be on the weekend of our trip. It was within driving distance of Belknap and it felt like the perfect timing, we would all be together and we could all say goodbye together. As the weekend drew closer and our lives even more hectic, I made the decision to say goodbye in my own way and not make the long drive from Belknap to Prospect with my parents. This was a hard choice to make, but one I felt was best for my family. Now this may seem strange to some, even disrespectful at such a sensitive time, but one thing that I missed the previous summer was a chance to go white water rafting with Bobby Jo and all my cousins on the Rogue River. It just didn’t happen, the way lots of things don’t that seem like they should. Well I would never have the chance again so when my son asked to go rafting that day, Kim and I enthusiastically agreed and signed up. We invited my brother and his boys to join us, but they had just gone recently and weren’t really interested. No worries, this day was for celebrating life anyway you wanted and we were going to do just that. As we gathered our stuff to meet the river guides, my brother had a change of heart and they were “onboard” with the whole rafting idea, literally. That made me happy, it felt complete.
We put in about 13 miles up river where the water temperature was a chest squeezing 42 degrees.
As we meandered down the river, our guide talked to us about the rapids and informed us that anything on the river was ours to name. Sure they already had names for the rapids like, Fluffy White Bunny for example, which describes a rapid that looked hungry for any boat that dared near it. I think we all quickly forgot to name these monster rapids and instead concentrated on just getting through them. We were having a great time. All of us together on one raft. As we hit slow pockets, we engaged in water fights with other boats and took in our surroundings. It was one of these lulls that Eric, says, “This is exactly what Bobby Jo would have wanted us to do today”. And he was right! With that warm thought still fresh, we encountered a rare sight that even the guide was surprised to see. A Bald Eagle. She was flying up the river that we were going down, appropriately, as this magnificent spirit was briefly making contact as she continued on her own journey and we on ours. Much like Bobby Jo. We watched her until we came to a bend in the river and went our separate ways. The guide said she was ours to name and with that, Eric turned to me and suggested the only name it could be, Bobby Jo.
It was perfect, for me, the feeling was that we had just said our goodbye. Its hard to describe, but it one of those feelings that you just know, you cant prove and to some it may sound silly, but at the end of the day, you know in your heart and it helps you close your eyes and sleep deep.
Bobby Jo remains one of the richest souls I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting. Truly a person that would do anything for you. And when she wasn’t sharing her life with you, she was providing a rock solid moral compass that has influenced me and countless others over the years. She will be missed in too many ways to count by those who’s lives she enriched. Also a magnificent spirit that will fly on.
The months passed and as they did, a profound change was in the works. We had decided to leave Oregon for the Midwest. I was determined that we would not leave until after this trip. It meant a lot to me, and even more now that I was leaving. Not so much because it would be a long time until I saw it again, but that it would be the last big camping trip with my family that I would have in awhile and I really wanted it to be special. My focus switched from shooting images of nature to those of the heart and mainly, I wanted to capture memories that I would visit often in my new surroundings. It was around this time that my aunt Bobby Jo who lived in Prospect Oregon was diagnosed with colon cancer, this came as a big surprise as she was already battling breast cancer. It became clear very quickly that it was advanced and that her time with us was going to be short. Too short. That weekend, she went into the hospital for emergency surgery and passed away.
I got a call from my mom the next morning and she broke the news. I didn’t know it at that instant, but this trip we had planned for so long was about to take another turn in its dimension. Her funeral would be on the weekend of our trip. It was within driving distance of Belknap and it felt like the perfect timing, we would all be together and we could all say goodbye together. As the weekend drew closer and our lives even more hectic, I made the decision to say goodbye in my own way and not make the long drive from Belknap to Prospect with my parents. This was a hard choice to make, but one I felt was best for my family. Now this may seem strange to some, even disrespectful at such a sensitive time, but one thing that I missed the previous summer was a chance to go white water rafting with Bobby Jo and all my cousins on the Rogue River. It just didn’t happen, the way lots of things don’t that seem like they should. Well I would never have the chance again so when my son asked to go rafting that day, Kim and I enthusiastically agreed and signed up. We invited my brother and his boys to join us, but they had just gone recently and weren’t really interested. No worries, this day was for celebrating life anyway you wanted and we were going to do just that. As we gathered our stuff to meet the river guides, my brother had a change of heart and they were “onboard” with the whole rafting idea, literally. That made me happy, it felt complete.
We put in about 13 miles up river where the water temperature was a chest squeezing 42 degrees.
As we meandered down the river, our guide talked to us about the rapids and informed us that anything on the river was ours to name. Sure they already had names for the rapids like, Fluffy White Bunny for example, which describes a rapid that looked hungry for any boat that dared near it. I think we all quickly forgot to name these monster rapids and instead concentrated on just getting through them. We were having a great time. All of us together on one raft. As we hit slow pockets, we engaged in water fights with other boats and took in our surroundings. It was one of these lulls that Eric, says, “This is exactly what Bobby Jo would have wanted us to do today”. And he was right! With that warm thought still fresh, we encountered a rare sight that even the guide was surprised to see. A Bald Eagle. She was flying up the river that we were going down, appropriately, as this magnificent spirit was briefly making contact as she continued on her own journey and we on ours. Much like Bobby Jo. We watched her until we came to a bend in the river and went our separate ways. The guide said she was ours to name and with that, Eric turned to me and suggested the only name it could be, Bobby Jo.
It was perfect, for me, the feeling was that we had just said our goodbye. Its hard to describe, but it one of those feelings that you just know, you cant prove and to some it may sound silly, but at the end of the day, you know in your heart and it helps you close your eyes and sleep deep.
Bobby Jo remains one of the richest souls I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting. Truly a person that would do anything for you. And when she wasn’t sharing her life with you, she was providing a rock solid moral compass that has influenced me and countless others over the years. She will be missed in too many ways to count by those who’s lives she enriched. Also a magnificent spirit that will fly on.
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
Old Game Gets New Name
It must have been 104 degrees that day in the Wal-Mart parking lot when out of no where, a race breaks out. You know the kind, where one person, usually a super competitive 8 year old starts running and states the rules as he takes a ten step lead. Well Kim is usually the last to the car or where ever and thus she becomes the “rotten egg” I let Dylan win 9 times out of 10, but so long as I’m maintain 2nd, I’m not an over competitive jerk father, or the rotten egg so I’m fine with that. On this occasion however. It was Kim that felt she could get the drop on us and make a mad dash to the car, (again, stating the rules on the way... ‘last one there is a rotten egg!) You get the idea. What makes this story worth writing isn’t that she finally won, she didn’t, or even that she initiated it. It was the fact that while yelling out the rotten egg part, she accidentally said “ROTTEN LEG”! We all stopped and looked at each other for a split second, unanimously deciding that being a rotten leg is way worse than a rotten egg. That being said, IT WAS ON! With images of past CSI episodes dancing in my head I quickly overcame Kim. Dylan on the other hand was a little quicker and way more sneaky. Plus he hates to lose at anything. Kim is fair, too fair for a race of this magnitude and she was looking like a shoe-in to become the dreaded, putrefied, maggot infested appendage that I pictured decomposing in some weeds off of a deserted highway somewhere. I know its a tough image, but its a motivator and that’s what I needed. The humidity was well passed what I find to be acceptable, and if I’m going to make it worse by taking part in an impromptu 50 yard dash, I’ll be damned if I’m also going to be stuck with the rotten leg moniker. All my efforts to beat the kid were in vain, he will stop at nothing to win. I was quicker of mind than of foot and slyly changed the rules to; last one in the car is a rotten leg and since I had the keys and could open only my door, I did and thus saved myself the disgrace of being known in the family as the dreaded leg. Kim was not so lucky.
Speaking of rotten legs, the next day we went to a kid’s rodeo. When I reluctantly agreed to this outing, I was thinking we’d see a lot of mutton-bustin, or some pee-wee version of the barrel race and at the very least, clowns doing what they do best, scaring little kids. When we got there and I saw the type of rigs they used to haul their horses and the distances that some had traveled to get there, I knew I was in for more than I had bargained for. We made it just in time to sit down for some Bronc riding. We planted ourselves on a grassy knoll and our first rider came exploding out of the gate! This was no Shetland pony! It was huge, fast, mad as hell and heading straight for us! The poor kid who was (and happy to say, still is) 14, hung on for dear life. This beast was having none of it though. In a surreal few seconds, I watched as the horse ran straight into the gate in front of us, bowing the metal fence in his effort to dump his rider, and dump his rider he did! That poor kid went flying over the gate and straight onto his head! It was brutal and very disturbing to see. These gates are nearly 7 ft. tall so it was a long fall without going into it from atop a sprinting horse. The kid didn’t move a muscle and I thought the worst and heard Kim inform Dylan that bull/bronc riding was officially added to the long list of things he would not be doing while under our roof. The paramedics arrived quickly and stabilized him. By then, it was clear that he was conscious and in pain but fortunately it wasn’t his neck or back that hurt, it was his leg. Which had apparently been wedged briefly in between the bars as his body flew over. I missed this little detail in all the excitement but was glad it wasn’t worse. They hauled him off to the hospital for x-rays none the less. Hopefully he turns out just fine.
As they hauled him away, the announcer mentioned how tough he was, followed by his time and a “It was all worth it huh buddy? I just sat and shook my head. Welcome to Wisconsin!
Speaking of rotten legs, the next day we went to a kid’s rodeo. When I reluctantly agreed to this outing, I was thinking we’d see a lot of mutton-bustin, or some pee-wee version of the barrel race and at the very least, clowns doing what they do best, scaring little kids. When we got there and I saw the type of rigs they used to haul their horses and the distances that some had traveled to get there, I knew I was in for more than I had bargained for. We made it just in time to sit down for some Bronc riding. We planted ourselves on a grassy knoll and our first rider came exploding out of the gate! This was no Shetland pony! It was huge, fast, mad as hell and heading straight for us! The poor kid who was (and happy to say, still is) 14, hung on for dear life. This beast was having none of it though. In a surreal few seconds, I watched as the horse ran straight into the gate in front of us, bowing the metal fence in his effort to dump his rider, and dump his rider he did! That poor kid went flying over the gate and straight onto his head! It was brutal and very disturbing to see. These gates are nearly 7 ft. tall so it was a long fall without going into it from atop a sprinting horse. The kid didn’t move a muscle and I thought the worst and heard Kim inform Dylan that bull/bronc riding was officially added to the long list of things he would not be doing while under our roof. The paramedics arrived quickly and stabilized him. By then, it was clear that he was conscious and in pain but fortunately it wasn’t his neck or back that hurt, it was his leg. Which had apparently been wedged briefly in between the bars as his body flew over. I missed this little detail in all the excitement but was glad it wasn’t worse. They hauled him off to the hospital for x-rays none the less. Hopefully he turns out just fine.
As they hauled him away, the announcer mentioned how tough he was, followed by his time and a “It was all worth it huh buddy? I just sat and shook my head. Welcome to Wisconsin!
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