"Of all the paths you take, make some dirt."*

Wish on white horses flatlined for a few days, lost its dot com, and in the process didn't even see the light at the end of the tunnel. Now we are back fresh with a new address. It is a dot org. The address now is wishonwhitehorses.org. Remember the originator of this blog is from Oregon, org, good ending.

And so we begin;

For 63 of his 87 years, Buckminster Fuller noted for the geodesic dome, kept a scrapbook/diary that documented every day of his life. It reflected his correspondence, drawings, newspaper clipping, grocery lists and other evidence of his unique story.

This information came to my attention on my “Free Will Astrology” by Rob Brezsny—in my opinion, the best column to read in The Eugene Weekly.

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His point to Aquarians was that he would love to see us express ourselves with as much disciplined ferocity as Buckminster Fuller did for the next two weeks of our lives.

I had to laugh, but don’t worry folks I won’t publish every detail of my existence, not that you would have to read it if I did, I just thought it was funny that he threw that challenge in my direction.

Once I heard Buckminster Fuller speak in San Diego. Of that speech I remember two things, well three, the first was the long line before getting into the auditorium where the girl in front of me who kept obsessing that we wouldn’t get in. (We did.)

Of his speech, I remember this: He held up a model of the square. It was about four inches on a side built of something like four plastic rods held together at the corners with rubber bands. Press on one corner and the square collapses. But as demonstrated next, a triangle is solid and firm. If you press on a corner and it doesn’t collapse. That concept led to his idea of building with triangles.

The only trouble is I like squares—sorry Bucky, but a cube is quite stable and makes a nice house. Probably not as strong as a pyramidal shape though. Guess those ancients knew something.

The second point I remember is that he said he made $300,000 a year and spent every penny of it. He knew that the following year he would make another $300,000—now that’s my kind of guy.

His earlier years weren’t so positive. After the death of his daughter at 4 years of age, and with family financial difficulties, Fuller contemplated suicide as a means of giving his family money from a life insurance policy.

Instead, he had an epiphany, and heard this voice:

“From now on you need never await temporal attestation to your thought. You think the truth. You do not have the right to eliminate yourself. You do not belong to you. You belong to Universe. Your significance will remain forever obscure to you, but you may assume that you are fulfilling your role if you apply yourself to converting your experiences to the highest advantage of others.” ^-- From Wikipedia

He ultimately chose to embark on "an experiment," to find what a single individual [could] contribute to changing the world and benefiting all humanity.”

And, as a part of that experiment, he began chronicling his own life.

The military recognized the geodesic dome as useful. It could be small, lightweight, inexpensive and can withstand heavy loads. 

To quote “Bucky’: “I look for what needs to be done. After all, that’s how the Universe designs itself.”

And now a little inclusion from Joyce:

*The title is a quote by John Muir seen in a window in Sisters Oregon. 

On Social media you can find many people who travel the globe as a way of life, so I thought, I don’t want to travel full-time, but what sort of day-trip can my husband and I take?

A weekend ago it was Cannon Beach Oregon, two days ago it was Sisters, a small tourist catered-to town in the high desert of Oregon. We hadn’t been there for about ten years. (Our pleasant memories of that town was the chicken and dumplings the Sisters Saloon used to serve on Sunday nights. Long ago it was a large bowl with enough to take home. Alas, that went the way of the dodo birds.)

The shortest route from here to Sisters was still closed due to snow.  Snow? It was 90 degrees that day, probably the highway clean-up hadn’t removed any brush collected on the highway over the winter,  so, we took the over-the-mountain trip.

We have always loved the McKenzie River and long ago The Log Cabin Inn was a stopping off place where they served great Marian Berry Cobbler, but the log Inn, too, is gone. I heard it burned down when we were out of Oregon. It is replaced with homes and cabins now. It is still pretty for the cabin-style structures are integrated into the old-growth forest that surrounds the area. Yes, we do have some old-growth left. The McKenzie River was so high and swift that I took Sweetpea away from the bank and beat feet out of there.

We drove through the Cascade Mountain Range where the forests were spectacular, and white frosted peaks gave evidence of long-ago volcanic eruptions.

A Douglas fir forest is sometimes so dense you wouldn't believe a deer could wiggle its way through, but animal paths snake through.

Soon the firs give way to Pine forests where you could actually ride a horse between the trees--my mouth watered-- the forest floor was green and sprouted flowers, and the trees were spaced about ten feet apart.

There was some sage brush around Sisters, but it was still in the Pine Forest. I know, however, that if you continue driving east the Pines will give way to Juniper trees and further on there will be sage brush, and no trees.

We are lucky to have that Cascade Mountain Range that creates abundant forests. It also creates a rain shadow. The land east of the range gets little rain, while we to the west get gobs, and get green that I love.

In Sisters, we ate superb Mexican Food on a little outside deck with our traveling dog, Sweetpea, under the table getting bites of chili verde.

Too bad this path wasn't dirt, I would have gladly trod it, but someone threw asphalt on it. 

Beyond this path is a full sized river, the Metolius. It sprouts straight out of a mountainside. It was so overgrown I couldn't get a good picture of it, and I had to stay behind a fence. The water comes from springs that have been fault lifted to near the surface.  The right most picture is my view of the Metolius River from the view deck--a full-sized river only a few hundred yards from where it was born.

   A Douglas Fir Forest                                                                   A Pine Forest

Evidence of long ago big booms..

I do believe this last picture is of two of Three Sisters. If an Oregonian reads this perhaps they can identify these mountains.

There were snow capped peaks all over the place, Mt. Hood, Mt. Jefferson, Mt. Washington, The Three Sisters, Three Fingered Jack, Mt. Bachelor. Whew. In high school they told us those volcanos were dead, and then Mt. St. Helens woke up. 

One Solution

Sweetpea and Joyce

Want driftwood? Well, it’s here. Beverly Beach, OR.        True.

                                                                                                                                     

How in the world did this happen? This geological wonder was situated where the beach sand abuts a cliff. Beverly Beach OR

Want to hear about my weekend?

No?

Okay.

Well, how about what led up to it?

“I can’t write, I can’t spell, my grammar sucks, and my style isn’t all not that hot,” I lamented after three days of editing where I felt tied to the computer, rummy, and foggy-headed. Husband dear said, “What can you do?”

“I can think,” I said.

So that’s what I am doing here, letting my fingers do the thinking.

After feeling fried, after beating myself into the ground at the computer, I decided to take care of myself.

We hear of our stressed lives, how we feel fractured and displaced. There is little talk of what to do about it.

One solution: change scenery.

Go to the Beach. Now that’s a good idea. There is something about the salt air that clears the brain.

I have wanted to go to Cannon Beach, Oregon for some time, about a three-hour drive from where we live. I could have waited until the weather got better. I could have waited until next weekend when the yearly sand carving contest happens, or go for Father’s Day or our Anniversary that is coming up this month. Even the weather wasn’t all that great. No, I was ready. I wanted to go THAT DAY.

And so with a willing partner, that is husband dear, we set out on Friday night for a drive to Cannon Beach.

You can stop reading now, but the best is yet to come.

You know how it is if you are distraught, things work maybe, but more often than not drama comes, matching your fractured energy.

I got the last room at a Motel—pet-friendly—for I wanted to take Sweetpea. A few minutes later, however, the Motel called, another traveler had slipped in before me. No room. Good thing we hadn’t left the house yet. I grabbed another motel, where there were two rooms left, I reserved one. Then discovered they had a “No pets,” rule. And in small print, "not cancelable without a 24 –hour notice."

Oh, well, take the room. Take the dog. I was determined.

The hotel owners didn’t know I had a dog, she did no damage, and she didn’t let out a squeak. I worried about being discovered, but it worked. I got up at 7 am to take her out and discovered a few folks ambling around a neighborhood, some letting their dogs run down the beach. The area was as quaint as the downtown shops, and the area, the plantings, flowers, shrubs, were all manicured, even the blackberry bushes looked as though they belonged there. A small shingled grayed-by-the-salt-air house, built like a townhouse with two stories, a 1920's issue, was listed for sale for $750,000.

After a latte and a scone, we took Sweetpea to the beach. She stood transfixed at the wonder before her. We unclipped the leash and she flew over the sand, chased the birds, skidded to a halt where the rolling sand from her toenails gave her something else to chase. All this she did while grinning like a Cheshire cat.

After our beach run, the downtown area became our new stomping ground, with people leading dogs, the shops quaint, and everything beautiful with abundant plants and flowers perked by the rain. Pathways snaked in and out of cottage businesses, and the shop signs were works of art. No industrial signs, no franchises that I could see.

I loved it.

We had fish and chips and left for a drive down the coast towards home. I wrapped in a blanket in hibernation mode and felt like one of the Hornbill turtles we saw in Hawaii lazily sunning herself on a beach. 

The weather was overcast until we got to Beverly Beach where the sun came out, and a long strip of coastline sparkled in all her glory. I roused, and we walked down the beach, and Sweetpea again exploded into joy with a frolic on the sand. A Hawk appeared as though catapulted from the cliff above us, dove down at breakneck speed, put on the brakes about a foot from the ground, then swooped up again to the top of the bluff. “Oh,” said husband dear, ”he is playing on the air currents.”

Don’t take a pill to calm your nerves, take in a beach.

Spectacular.

I was like the dog, eating, napping, running on the beach, having an outing of window shopping, repeat. In Newport Beach we watched a glass blower create a vase out of molten glass, a substance like taffy candy that he alternately placed in and out of a 2,500-degree furnace.

Perfect.

We came home and watched a film called Minimalism, a Documentary, where two guys talked about getting rid of stuff.

I have tried to pare down with each move we have taken. Yes, it’s good to reduce stuff, not to accumulate redundantly, not to use buying as a drug, and acquiring as a means out-shine the other guy. On top of that don’t go crazy with Black Friday buying running rough-shod over people. That is plain cuckoo.

The fellows in the documentary felt that being minimalists made them happy. I would say, however, there was more to it than that.

They had a book to promote. They had a cause to champion. They had adventure driving place to place to give talks. They were meeting people.

They had meaning and purpose.

Long ago Dr. Viktor Frankl, an Auschwitz concentration camp survivor, wrote Man’s Search for Meaning. He wrote that identifying a purpose in life to feel positively about, and then immersively imaging that outcome determined a person’s outcome.  Abraham Maslow wrote about becoming “Self-actualized.” Spiritual gurus show that a spiritual connection feeds the soul.

I think that is what we want, to feel we have meaning, that we offer value, that we are creative, and that we connect with a divine energy whatever that is for you. Without all that, we feel empty, and many try to fill that emptiness with more toys and more stuff.

James Clerk Maxwell often spoke on the subject of “authenticity.”  He wrote that in a society that is becoming increasingly insane, only a concern for ethics could restore sanity. He further commented that to arrest robotization, each person needs to develop high ethical standards to rejuvenate that society.

There we have it, my trip to the beach that you said you didn’t want to read, but did anyway, where I insinuated I wouldn’t write about it but did anyway.

 All that so I could stumble my way to a soapbox.