Monthly Archives: December 2011

For some time now, I’ve thought over blogging about some of the people in my life that have led me to where I’m at now.  Most of them are indirectly related to hiking26, and some I haven’t seen in decades.  Each of them, though, added a piece of the puzzle that is my life, molding, shaping, and influencing me in one way or another.  In no particular order, each week or so I’d like to introduce you to just a few of the people that helped make me, me.  And for their part in my life, I get to shed responsibility of the crazy that is hiking26, and place blame on them….

For beginners, meet Tim Anderson of High Mountain Ranch.  This week, we’ll blame him for the wall of wedding gowns that hang behind me.

Nearly 7 years ago, living in the heart of the city, in St.Louis, I ended a long running relationship.  This led to me partying, bar hopping, and socializing like I hadn’t done in years.  I tend to make the most of everything, so to me, this rough and reckless behavior didn’t look so bad – I was having fun and that’s all that mattered.  I spent a great deal of time surfing the internet as well, where I came across http://highmountainranch.blogspot.com.  Here I read tales of adventure, road trips to amazing destinations, and viewed photos of scenery that left me in awe.  Tim Anderson is an incredible writer that has lived quite a life, as a trucker, horseman, and most recently, completed his Masters in, well, writing.

Tim’s blog and photos of his stunning surroundings, literally from his own front porch, called to me.  It was obvious that he enjoyed showing off the Inland NW, and I wanted to be next in line.  So for my 30th birthday, My parents bought me a plane ticket, and I did something unlike I’d ever done before, and flew into Spokane, to spend a few days getting to know all that is Anderson, and see this scenery with my own two eyes.

View from Tim's place of the majestic Pend Oreille River...

Within 48 hours, I was completely enamored with this quaint little town settled on the banks of the crystal clear, North flowing to Canada, Pend Oreille River. (Pend Oreille – it’s French – say it with me now, POND-ER-AY (or we’ll make fun of you, just as they did to me, when you pronounce Pend Oreille as you THINK it’s spoken). We have one stop light in town, and I think half of it belongs to Idaho.  We’re situated right on the state border, and sixty or so gorgeous miles south of Canada.

You see, I grew up on a short street in the suburbs of North St.Louis County.  The subdivision, with each street named for something equestrian, was in itself, a little town.  Close enough to the grocery stores, and all we needed,  where everyone new everyone else.  Neighbors looked out for each other, and and no one was a stranger.  I was taught to hold the door, say please and thank you, and be kind and considerate by everyone surrounding me.  As I grew up and was able to ride my bike further than the comforts of the ‘horse streets’, I found that the world wasn’t so friendly.  Specifically, I recall wiping out on my bike, laying on the ground, and no one stopped to see if I was alright.  It was obviously a frightening enough experience to stick with me, as I realized what kind of world really lies beyond the comforts of home.

So with my first trip down North Washington Ave – our town’s ‘Main Street’ in Newport, I felt transformed back to the place I was raised.  An afternoon stroll yielded friendly replies to greetings of ‘Hello’, people seemed to fight to hold the door for others,  and the Post Woman on her lunch break came over to tell Tim that his P.O. Box was full and he should stop to get his mail… I knew this was a place I wanted to call home.  I mean, really… the Post Woman knows which box is yours and how full it is! There are 2100 residents in town, how could she know such a thing!?  My sometimes simple mind, responds significantly to such kindness and consideration.  (or maybe it’s a matter of me not being able to remember names and numbers, ADD can be a real problem sometimes… So in turn I was highly impressed.)

Beyond Newport itself, Tim proved to be a relentless tour guide.  Once we would jump in his big-ass pick up truck and hit the road, he’d keep us moving until the sun set, and I’d seen every last point of interest in that direction.  He was always pushing me to get back in the truck, as I would wander off with my camera… “There’s something else I want to show you” he’d say.  How could there possibly be anything more amazing and beautiful than what I was looking at!??  Well, there always was.

In a days drive we would see ancient cedars,  snow, dry desert-esque canyons, grasslands, and mountains.  Humidity only exists in the shower.  And the  pace of life was casual and comfortable.  I shouldn’t embarrass myself by telling of the stupendous customer service, as well, that I found at the tire place, Les Schwab… They RAN out to the truck to see how they could serve us !!!…. No one mentioned that’s their ‘schtick’, and they’re paid to do this… LOL)  Upon my return home, I sold off most of my belongings, and planned to move Northwestward.   I donned the handle ‘Northwestern Adventure’ and planned a life in the hills of Pend Oreille County.  I began life here, living in my 22′ 1968 Airstream, and started blogging of my newly adopted town.  I often tell tales through photos better than words, so friends and family were able to live vicariously through my blog…. And I felt as though I had a new beginning….

It took me a few years after my arrival to settle into the life I imagined.  There are a few years in the middle, where the many distractions of a new life averted my focus.  I fell in love with Seattle and as quickly as i moved to Newport, started dreaming of a life there.   Across the state, I made wonderful friends, as well as watched, and learned new practices in friendship.  In a small town, with a small circle of friends, you’re nearly forced to get along and work things out, instead of moving on and finding new friends as is done so easily and often in the city…  whichever direction I was headed,  I embraced this new way of life.

It seems this blog entry turned into more of an explanation of my town, but Tim is a huge part of it.   On and off again friends for a while, I think we’ve finally settled into a friendship we can handle.  I can be a bear to deal with, and so can he, but I wouldn’t change a moment of our story.  (there was that sketchy moment when my moody behavior and his stubborn side left me standing in the middle of the desert, at dusk, with a few miles of walking and nothing but my camera (in the great expanse of the horrible, dangerous, frightening, rattle snake infested darkness that is Arches National Park .)  I got out of the truck to take pictures, dude… really I did.  Honestly, It wasn’t that dramatic- But hey… it’s a great story to tell)…He’s encouraged me to write and is one of the many that thinks I’m a good photographer, despite my urge to push that notion away.  Actually he thinks I’m a Brilliant photographer, but only since this project, have I been able to embrace that I may have a knack for this kinda thing.

So there you have it.  Because of Tim Anderson, I ended up in the Northwest.  Because of Tim Anderson I took to the hills.  Because of Tim Anderson I ended up where I am today… Had he not shared his life so eloquently and vividly as he had (and continues to), on line, then continued to share it in person, I wouldn’t be right here today.

Tomorrow I’ll post something he wrote about us, and a link to his side of the story.

Me and Tim @ his home overlooking the Pend Oreille River