Springer's Journey

I haven’t posted in a few days.

Not because I didn’t have anything to say.

Honestly? I think I’ve been trying to catch up with myself.

Traveling sounds romantic until your nervous system decides to become a full-time emergency broadcaster.

Mine apparently hired a Steller’s Jay to run the department.

If you’ve never met a Steller’s Jay, imagine a beautiful blue bird screaming:

“EVERYONE PANIC.”

…at every possible opportunity.

That’s been my brain lately.

But something shifted over the last couple of days. Not perfectly. Not magically. Just enough.

I started slowing down and handling one thing at a time.

I mapped out my upcoming drives between Thousand Trails campgrounds:

Cloverdale to South Beach
South Beach to Florence
Florence to Mount Hood Village
Mount Hood Village to Bend-Sunriver

When I first looked at the mileage, my body reacted before my brain did.

My chest tightened.

My thoughts spiraled.

Then I remembered something important:

I’ve driven these roads before.

I used to drive up to Mount Hood to ski.

I know these mountains.

That realization helped more than I can explain.

And then… one thing after another started falling into place.

I got my reservation at Whaler’s Rest changed from a tent site to a cabin during the week of Mother’s Day and my birthday.

That may not sound like a big deal to everyone else, but to me?

It felt like the universe exhaled.
Electricity.

A  bed.

A softer landing.

I cried a little after that.  Or maybe I almost cried.

Close enough.

I also realized something else:

I don’t actually want to get to Baton Rouge in the middle of summer.

So instead of forcing myself into heat and humidity with a tent, I came up with a new plan.

I may spend the summer rotating between Mount Hood Village and Bend-Sunriver.

A week here. A week there. Back and forth.

And honestly? It sounds kind of wonderful.

Familiar roads.

Cooler weather.

Less pressure.

A rhythm.

The more I thought about it, the more my nervous system stopped yelling.

And then, because life is strange and wonderful, I ended up in Lincoln City looking for a laundromat.

Right next door was this gloriously retro diner filled with neon signs, Elvis memorabilia, old vinyl booths, and a couch made from the back half of a classic car.

It was fantastic.  The name?  “60’s Cafe.”

I also put higher octane gas in my Subaru because the engine had been making a “lugging” sound.

The sound improved.  Which felt oddly triumphant.

I cleaned my campsite.

Organized my car.

Learned how to siphon water out of my cooler. (Yes, I now discuss thermal transfer physics recreationally.)

Speaking of that.

Did you know cold water can actually melt ice faster than cold air because water transfers heat more efficiently?

One innocent question about draining cooler water somehow led me into discussions about:

Thermodynamics
Diffusion
Osmosis
Entropy
and

Octopus blood.

As one does.

Which brings me to the octopus.
I learned that octopuses:
Have blue blood
Three hearts
Can change color AND texture
and

Mothers guard their eggs with astonishing devotion.

That part got me.

There’s something deeply moving about a mother octopus tending thousands of eggs in a quiet underwater den, protecting them with everything she has.

The world is full of forms of love we barely understand.

And maybe forms of communication too.

I’ve always believed animals communicate.

Just because I don’t understand their language doesn’t mean they aren’t speaking.

Crows. Jays. Octopuses. Dogs. Humans.
We’re all signaling something.

Speaking of dogs… I met one named Falkor.

YES. THAT Falkor. ARE YOU SERIOUS??!!

The Luck Dragon from The NeverEnding Story.  (Be still, my heart). 🥹

I knew I recognized the name.

Honestly, after the kind of day I’d been having, meeting a dog named Falkor felt strangely perfect.

And finally, the best part.

I found a walking stick.

Or perhaps: The walking stick found me.

I started carving it even though I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing.

And after careful consideration, I named him:

Stick.

Simple. Elegant. Powerful.

Although privately I admit he is occasionally referred to as “The Elder Wand.”

So that’s where I’ve been.

Not lost. Not falling apart. (Much…)

Just slowly building a life:

one campground at a time.

one conversation at a time.

one deep breath at a time.

one octopus fact at a time.

And honestly? Today was a good day.
🌿