Bliss Hill

Since my return to Tampa after six weeks in Oregon I had been stymied in writing a new Food for Thought. I have been caught between two worlds, Oregon and Florida. I was trapped in a spider web of words, thoughts, views, visions and memories. Too much ‘stuff’ was clogging up the arteries of my words and imagination. Then, I remembered my writer’s tools: pen, paper and peace. I  had pen, paper, but no peace. I must have left that behind in Oregon.

      My friend Cathy nudged me, “When’s your next Food for Thought coming out?”  I was grateful for her interest. I tried, unsuccessfully, to explain my dilemma: “I have too many thoughts and ideas colliding and too little focus.” I couldn’t seem to snare a new Food for Thought from my recalcitrant brain. I was restless. I felt defeated. 

In my mind's eye I returned to our life at Bliss Hill, our Oregon home. It was akin to walking through the door into our Secret Garden.

The first time we visited Oregon was in 1999.  We bought our property after falling in love with the views, the forested mountains, the Siuslaw River and the seclusion. We had plans to build a vacation home but by the time we were ready to build Lane County was not. The powers that be placed so many roadblocks in our path that building was no longer an option. Instead, we built a small guest cottage, our “love shack.” We installed a travel trailer which became our vacation home. It was a “tiny house” before tiny houses became a news item. Appropriately, we named our Oregon home “Bliss Hill.”

Bliss Hill is two hours from Portland. Our road intersects with route 126, a challenging, winding road over mountains, and between ancient forests.  The final miles to our home along the Siuslaw River is a feast for the eyes, heart and soul. We become immersed in the beauty of the river views, steep mountains, forests and open meadows. Every time we travel along this magnificent route memories arise from the past twenty-six years.

“Remember the time we were confronted by that huge bear on our morning walk?”  Now, we can laugh at our shock and fear. “What about that adorable family of otters playing and rolling in the waves at the edge of the river?” Around every corner is a familiar place, memory or friend.

Road to contentment

By the time we unlock our gate and drive up the dirt road to our home we are overcome with anticipation. The road opens to a panorama of beauty and peace. The sun Tim painted on our wooden structure protecting our little home is just as bright and welcoming as it was when he first painted it in 2010. The trees we planted over the years have soared to maturity. We are home, in our land of contentment.

On Bliss Hill we are awakened early every morning by a symphony of birds. These aviary performers raise their voices as one great cacophony of birdsong. Their music bursts forth and crashes from the trees surrounding us, ricochets off the river, rises to the mountains and finally echoes over the forested valley. Briefly, the world becomes alive with their orchestra, country music in its purest form.  Abruptly all members of the orchestra fly off and silence returns. The bird's day, as well as ours, has begun. 

Through our kitchen door I watch the

mountains light up as I drink my coffee. I begin our laundry and hang our our wash on the wooden lattice work over the strawberry patch. One morning I interrupted a young doe nibbling on strawberry plants, enjoying her own breakfast. She stared at me, the intruder. I wonder if she had ever seen a human before. She scrambled off as the bunnies waited patiently for their turn to forage at the edge of the blackberry hedge. I finished hanging our laundry out to dry, which captured the scents of sun, wind and forests..

We take day-trips, frequently with a drive up or down the wind blown Pacific Coast. We revisit our favorite haunts, Heceta Head Lighthouse, Devil’s Churn, Cape Perpetua. We watch the  bronze whale sculpture “spout”  in Yachats and the real whales spouting at Depoe Bay. We search for treasures at the Waldport Flea Market to bring home to Tampa. We treat ourselves to wonderful restaurant meals with views of wild waves, lazy seals and swooping seagulls. 

  Closer to home, we picnic at Sweet Creek Falls. We  traverse a path deep in the woods where years ago I learned to mimic the dances of the American Dipper. We sit on large boulders in the middle of Sweet Creek on lawn chairs, soaking up the rays and the music of the thirteen falls. Tim draws as I write in my journal, creating visions in words. We are awash in the contentment of the falls and the ice cold swirling pools between moss-covered boulders.

We hike old trails through the woods on high mountain ridges with heart stopping views. One drive was the road less traveled as it meandered high over a rocky ridge. The road was vacant, except for one especially astounding discovery in the middle of the dirt road. A round, grey, brown lump with flecks of white was directly in front of us. It looked like a feathered umbrella. Then the “lump” slowly turned its head, looked directly at us with golden eyes, spread it's great wings and silently swooped off into a nearby tree. It was a large Barred Owl whose sunbath we had disturbed. This was a gift from the deep woods we would never forget. Sunlight made patterns through the trees on the dirt road as the Barred Owl departed.

Other days we visit the Florence library, where we snatch up books from the Annual Endowment Fund. The Endowment Fund book choices are a treasure trove on every subject imaginable. We bring home our stash and read under our ancient trees, with the sound of birds and breezes rustling through our 60’ Cedar tree. Tim and I discuss our books, share favorite passages and wonder over the wisdom within all the pages we have read. I take voluminous notes in my journal of all I have learned.

I cook all our favorite dishes. We dine outside on our red picnic table, decorated with a vintage tablecloth.  As we enjoy dinner the lowering rays of the sun and gloaming shadows change the landscape. Bats swoop and dive for their mosquito meals. We enjoy long and deep conversations with our dear friend, ‘C’ who manages our property on Bliss Hill when we are absent. C  has made Bliss Hill lush with flowers which attract birds, butterflies and wildlife.  He has kept our water supply running from our mountain-top spring. During the winters he has devised a water capturing system which diverts rainfall into our reservoirs. As the night arrives Tim and C sit on lawn chairs solving the problems of the world as I witness their deepening friendship.

Most nights the Coastal the fog is captured between mountains and forests, obliterating the sky. When good fortune provides clear night skies the stars appear.

Bundled up in sweatshirts and blankets, we lie prone on lounge chairs as we await the amazing performance above us. The twilight sky is a deep marine blue as early performers enter the stage. The North Star is the first to arrive, followed by the Big Dipper. Then, the colors above us turn into a Cerulean blue as more stars timidly appear. Without Internet or WiFi we have no Star Finder apps. Instead, we rely on memories of previous performances and our meager astronomical knowledge to discover each actor’s stage name. In time the sky turns navy blue as more and more stars appear.  One satellite, then another brightly dashes a path between stars before disappearing over the horizon. The sky becomes brilliant, with nothing but pinpricks of light from the Milky Way scattered across the black blanket of night above us.  Were we to remain on Bliss Hill until August we would be treated with a display of  shooting stars during the Pleiades meteor showers. One year we counted at least 130 bursting meteors. Satisfied with this evening's celestial performance and with stars in our eyes we head for our cozy quilt-covered bed, dreaming of the magnificent show we have witnessed.

Living in these forested hills and mountains along the Siuslaw River buries us in this life of absolute peace, solitude and

contentment. As we draw closer to our Tampa departure I wonder how can I bring all of this peace, contentment and beauty back home?  I dread the heat, the Tampa life energy, chasing traffic, the screaming news, the ringing phones, Wifi and the internet. 

We love our life during our Bliss Hill summers. Many Oregon friends ask us why would we want to leave at summer’s end?  I reply, treading through my words and thoughts carefully. I admit that winters in Oregon, the cold and rain-thrashed forests and snow-covered mountains are not my cup of tea. No matter how hot the tea, we could never stay warm. This year, we will miss Wild Blackberry season and our favorite activity of making jam. With Hurricane season on the horizon we must return to Tampa. It is too dangerous to be away from Tampa during the height of hurricane season to pick blackberries in Oregon. The eagle who flew over our heads on the day we arrived returned on the day of our departure. She seemed to be saying, 'Okay, I put up with you for six weeks. It’s time to go so I can reclaim my hunting ground.' 

Don’t get me wrong, I love our Tampa home. Our walls are covered in art, collectibles, antiques, schotzkes and holds the memories and residue of our 34 years together. I adore my large well-equipped  kitchen, my Italian and Latin pantries, my collection of tea towels, our AC and our laundry room. I love to nurture my gardens: indoor, outdoor and my windowsill glass garden. I have missed my Tampa friends.

Back in Tampa I struggled to write this Food for Thought.  I return to the books I read in Oregon, dredging up inspiration and knowledge from the wisdom of those authors. Trish O’Kane’s book, Birding to Change the World, A Memoir, led the way to my own enlightenment. After losing everything by an act of nature, Hurricane Katrina, Trish relied on nature to reclaim her life. Her birding expeditions in Madison, Wisconsin, her students wading into the marshes and land around Warner Park and her dedication to preserving nature affected me deeply. She found her peace in nature after nature destroyed her life with Katrina. Ms. O’Kane  shared Roger Ulrich’s 1984 study,”View through a window may influence recovery from surgery.” Ulrich wrote, “ A recovering patient said  he felt better not in sterile, windowless medical buildings, but at home, staring out the window at his “friend,” a stalwart pine…researchers have documented how trees and natural green spaces calm the parasympathetic nervous system, boost the immune system…lower blood pressure...reduce glucose levels and relieve depression.”  His words were a pathway to my own peaceful existence through the healing aspect of nature, whether in the heart of a forest or looking through my Tampa window at a view of a lone tree or a spectacular moon-lit night.

I delved further into my Oregon notes. From The Secret Life of a Cemetery, The Wild Nature and Enchanting Lore of Pere-Lachaise, by Benoit Gallot, I became more enlightened. He wrote,

“Hearing nothing but silence in the middle of Paris is a luxury that frequently makes me feel like I’m in the countryside. Time seems to pass differently…the minutes are longer, slower, and more peaceful…I listen to nature. I train my eye to the stillness of the tombstones…I listen to the rustle of leaves and the twitter of birds. I breathe in and out, perfectly relaxed. I’m enveloped by calm.  Nothing else matters.” 

Benoit Ballot’s words soothed the struggle of my unwritten words, the tension, the lack of calmness in Tampa. I had to regain my center. my contentment.

My recuperation began with our early morning walks, even in the heat. I rediscovered my peace. I become immersed in our local beauty. Our resident Peahen now has three babies. The Hillsborough River is flat and still in the heat. The huge oaks above us are screaming with the songs of birds and cicadas. A huge red-tailed hawk swooped within ten feet of us, allowing us to admire his beauty, his strength. The peacefulness of our Florida home slowly settled into my soul.

  Finally, the lightbulb in my stumbling brain lit up. I am in my secret garden, my contentment, wherever I may find it.  I can return to the peacefulness by walking through life and nature. Whether wandering through my yard or watching the birds in our feeder and the squirrels on our patio. I can find peace, even in the heart of busy, traffic and heat-ridden Tampa. I realize that peace and contentment is not a city nor a place. It is within me.  This is the secret garden I must always cultivate and treasure.

I sat down with my three P’s and wrote this Food for Thought. I am completely at peace with myself, my words and my life. This is the Bliss Hill land of contentment I will carry with me always, no matter where I reside.

Pen, Paper, Peace and a cocktail