The Adventures of Bilbo Doggins

Once there was a girl. And the girl had a dog. And the girl loved the dog. And the dog loved the girl.


From Dog Fancy, July 2001

Blaze you own Oregon Trail:
Bilbo the eager AmStaff leads his pack up the Columbia River Gorge
By Holly Goodman Carpenter

If Bilbo were navigating this trip, he'd turn off he meandering Historic Columbia River Highway for the less remarkable Interstate 84 - a shortcut to the heart of his getaway: a five-mile romp through the woods, creeks, and waterfalls of the Columbia River Gorge.

What a tease it is when we follow the graceful two-lane road alongthe Sandy RIver, slowing to watch fisherman cast but not stopping for a swim. Bilbo, my intrepid 4-year-old American Staffordshire Terrier, shoves his brindle snout out the back window and sucks in the damp air. A wag starts in his tail, flows through his body, and build to an excited dance as we climg through the Oregon countryside.

He knows exactly where we are headed as we round the bend ti a sublime vista 700 feet above the Columbia River. The highway snakes down the demsley forested basalt walls of the gorge, passing under bulging fern-covered rock outcrops. Moss covers the guardrails, creating continuity with the landscape. It is as organic as a road can be.

Beyond the bridge spanning Shepperd's Dell State PArk, we stop for a short walk to the bottom of a waterfall that plunges into a pool where Bilbo balances on a rock working to pull a stick - a log really - from the water. Now the trip is getting good. But, it's a false start. Bilbo reluctantly resumes is spot in the back of the Saab.

THe falls come one after another: Bridal Vail, Wahkeena, and the grandmother of them all, Multnomah, plunging an awe-inspiring 620 feet. They are a tiny sampling of the tumbling waters that comprise one of the planet's most dense collection of waterfalls.

We stop at the last in the string, Horsetail Falls. Out come the water bottles, hip packs and trail mix that signify this, at last, is the real deal. We have reached Bilbo's road, a well-maintained that begins near the base of the falls and climbs up the gorge.

Bilbo is built for the forest: quick, compact, camoflouge and agile. He leads us up the dirt trail that switchbacks through dense fern, towering conifers, and velvety moss-covered deciduous trees, We hike to the top of the falls along Horsetail Creek, behind Ponytail Falls, out along the edge of the gorge, then across Oneonta Gorge _ a narrow chasm covered with endemic wildflowers. We pick up Oneonta trail and follow that creek higher until i collapse - 2 1/2 miles and 1,100 vertical feet later - before Triple Falls.

Bilbo wants more. He circles as my hustband and I make a small picnic. Bilbo would gladly continue guiding us along the network of trails that stretches to the summit of Larch Mountain, but my legs will not climb another 3,000 feet.

Back in the car and less than a mile down the historic highway, we reach its confluence with I-84. No longer with concerned with our route, Bilbo curls up in the back, dreaming of furhter adventures befitting a hobbit. Or, at least, befitting a dog named after one.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Fare thee well, Meatball Boy. Baby, baby dog.

twelve hours and twenty-eight minutes Sunday.
Tri-Met doesn't do the gorge.

2:30 A.M (Am I 12?)

Middle of the night. I love the middle of the night. And I love Trader Joe's. Give thanks for cheap wine that softens the echo of this empty white apartment. Chiraz. Rumpled twin beds and balloons bumped up to the ceiling to remind me my girls were here. And they are not. Just me here for days and days and no place to hide in 660 sqaure feet of white and color scattered in the toys on my floor sitting silently waiting for my babies to come home and play. Michael Franti singing to me. I love Michael Franti. Am in love with Michael Franti. Michael Franti and cheap red win.

Because:

I been down for far too long
Till my faith was nearly gone
I never knew somebody just like you
would be a friend I could call my own
Till I let go of a broken heart
I Let go to an open heart and
I Let go of my broken dreams
I Let go to the mystery and
I believe in the miracle
I believe in the spiritual
I believe in the one above
I believe in the one of love

And take one step close to you
I just take one step closer to you
Even when I'm falling down
my heart says follow through
I just take one step closer to you

I never meant to hurt you, no
And you never meant to hurt me too
but it seems like we always do
And even though I'm scared somtimes
If I ever see you falling down
I'll be the one that's there for you
I let go of a broken heart
I Let go to an open heart and
I Let go of my broken dreams
I Let go to the mystery and
I believe in the miracle
I believe in the spiritual
I believe in the one above
I believe in the one of love

And take one step closer to you
I just take one step closer to you
Even when I'm falling down my heart says follow through

See me walking on the streets sometimes
I'm walking
I just take one step one step closer to you
Even when I'm falling down my heart says follow through
I take one step closer
I just take two steps closer

Keep on walking sweet baby

And this is why I love Michael:

To the East to the West
To the North and South
One love people never gonna stop

One to creation
One to the sun
One to the morning
One to the one
One to the air and the freshness we breath
One the force of the change in the seasons
One to the mother from which all things come
One to the daughters and
One to the sons
One to the fathers who help us believe
that nothings ever gonna harm you see and
One to the soldier that walks city streets
One to the soldier that fights over seas and
One for the man who gets down on his knees
and prays for guidance and protection please
and
To the East to the West
To the North and South
One love people never gonna stop
One to the woman
One to the man
One to the culture from the time that it began
One to destruction
One to birth
One to the people who still fight for the earth
One to the people who suffer for their needs and
One to the rebels who love rockin to the beats
One to the healer who fights a disease
One to the Lorax who speaks for the trees
cause no amount of money can bring back to life whats gone when it's done and
One to the people who rise with the sun and
One to the people who sleep when it's gone cause
To the East to the West
To the North and South
This whole thing seems upside down
but the whole wide world keeps turning around
Life is to short to make just one decision and
Music's to large for just one station and
Love is too big for just one nation and
God is too big for just one religion

One to the practice of being in the flow and
One to the tears of the things we let go and
One to the moment we live in right now and
One to the East, West, North and South

And I love for Michael Franti for the song that kept me moving, rotating endlessly through my CD player for months:

Don't fear your best freinds
because a best friend would never try to do you wrong
And don't fear your worst friends
because a worst friend is just a best friend that's done you wrong
And don't fear the night time
because the monsters know that you're divine
And don't fear the sunshine
because everything is better in the summertime.

But it's never too late to start the day over
it's never to late, pick up the phone.
You know it's never too late to lay your head down on my shoulders
it's never too late just come on home

Don't fear the water
because you can swim inside you within your skin
And don't fear your father
because a father's just a boy without a friend
And don't fear to walk slow
don't be a horserace, be a marathon
And don't fear the long road
because on the long road you got a long time to sing a simple song (sing along)

But it's never too late to start the day over
it's never too late, pick up the phone
You know it's never too late to lay your head down on my shoulders
it's never too late just come on home

Don't fear your teachers
because if you listen you can hear your music in a school bell
And don't fear your preacher
if you can't find heaven in a prison cell
And don't fear your own self
paying money to justify your worth
And don't fear your family
because you chose them along time before your birth (yes you did)

Hold to your children
hold to your children
hold to your children
let them know.

And I love Michael for his body, mmm, says the woman who hasn't had sex since July ...
And I have to get up in three hours to write the stuff that pays the bills.
Ah, recreation.
Deliver me. Protect me. Keep me from standing in line for an Oregon Trail card.

Three hours and thirty-four minutes into Friday.
Yell Fire!

Hello, Cyberspace

I'm bloggin.

Didn't think I'd be out here. Didn't think it. And here I am.

Just in from the cold, nightly ritual. Tuck the girls in, wait for them to come out. Tuck the girls in again, wait for them to come out. Threaten to turn off the lights if the door opens again. Tuck the girls in again ... pull blankets to chins, kiss cheeks, linger at the door lovin on the look of sleepy peace, turn out the light and punch the clock. Off duty. Check pockets three times for apartment keys - feel the keys, see the keys, hold the keys as I walk out onto porch. Do not, do not, DO NOT lock self out with children sleeping inside. Smoke half a camel light until I dislike the cold more than I like cigarettes. Blow warm breath into brittle fingers. Settle into the computer.*

*computer settleing replaces the previously favored: pour deep glass of red, refill generously.

Free-range Josie changes everything in a space where everything has changed. Making a major transition anyway, might as well move the little one from the crib to a big bed becuase why keep anything easier than it could be? Josie is my quiet child. The one who naps and builds and sometimes stops moving. And Josie has found her first love, free will. My babies found their voices quickly and joyfully raised them in dissent.

The baby, 23 months, says: "Let's go see Mama, Amma. Come on. Lets go out and get her in the living room."

Big sister laughs and knocks the door into the wall.

In my dream they are 20-something, themselvles carried upright into adulthood by uncomprimising spirits, unconcerned with appearances. Fearless Free Spirits. Powerful women. Wide awake I want to firebomb all that independence and bury the ashes in ice. If only I could pause a few of my favorite qualities for the next couple decades and restore them while we're unpacking dorm rooms. It's all there, raw and unformed. Unapologetic. My job deliver thier spirits whole as they grow. Oy.

Got to have the council of women and last weekend circled round .... Thank you, Jennifer Lauck. Thank you, Carrie. Thank you, Jess. Thank you, Jerri. Thank you, Oshanna. Thank you, Theresa. Thank you, Andrea. Thank you, Prema. Learned life. Learned me. Learned words. And realize, finally, learning myself is learning writing. Turns out it wasn't writing I been affraid of so long, it was me. Go figure.

So I'm here with my thoughts. Mind in my body. Fingers on the keys. Small piece of Quorn chicken stuck the roof of my mouthing making me insane.

Twenty three minutes into Thursday.