I wish I had something profound to say about Vladimir Putin’s Russian invasion of Ukraine, but it’s more just a feeling of sadness. So much needless suffering because of a despot’s fragile ego.
Nearly six thousand miles away here at Casa Carter, life goes on. In the span of a few days, we’ve gone from gray, drizzly, and mildly warm, to clear, sunny and bitingly cold, which is something of the norm this time of year in Oregon’s Willamette Valley. We never quite know what we’re going to get in February. (Last year at this time, for example, we were still digging out from a freakish ice storm.)
Just got back from a quick three-day getaway to Newport, staying in a rented house just north of Yaquina Head Lighthouse (pictured from the beach above on the sunniest day), partly to celebrate my son’s 16th birthday. My daughter joined us from OSU for two days, so it was nice to have the whole family together. Other than the occasional walk on the beach, and lots of staring at the ocean, I spent most of the time reading Stephen King’s Billy Summers . . . which meant it was pretty much a perfect retreat as far as I’m concerned. A great tale about a hit man’s last job. King, who plays with point of view in some interesting ways in this book, also has some interesting things to say about the act of writing itself. I never would have thought a book about a hit man would end up being partly about writing, but then, King does frequently manage to surprise me.
On one of my walks with Rosie, I went exploring to see if there was a path that connected with what’s called Communications Hill Trail, on the Yaquina Head Lighthouse side. Using Google Earth, I could see that the water tower was pretty close, but there was no way to know if a connecting trail was there without walking up to the tower. So that was what we did, first on a steep, narrow road past the houses and into the trees, where cracked pavement eventually turned to gravel, ending at a locked chain link fence that surrounded the tower. Nothing there to greet us but some graffiti on the side of that giant green metal tank.
It would have been easy to turn around and head back, but there was a narrow path along the fence, so we decided to see where it went. It led to a view of the neighborhood below, and the beach beyond, so that alone made it worth the trek.
And yet once we reached the viewpoint, it became clear that the path continued up the hill and through the trees. We took it, eventually connecting with the Communications Hill Trail, which I’d been on a few times before. It’s actually a service road to the cell tower at the top. We were rewarded with a view of the southern side of the hill, with Agate Beach and the greater part of Newport in the distance.
Why do I write about this today? It was no big deal, just a minor adventure with my dog, but I’ve been thinking about that walk the past few days. It was nothing much, really. A bit of exploring. Some pressing on with no map to guide me. But I’ve been thinking about how that little walk is a lot like the creative process. You have some sort of destination in mind, even a vague one, and you think there’s a way to get there, but you’re not really sure. You press on anyway. Beforehand, it might seem like it takes more courage than it really does, but after you’ve made the journey, it doesn’t seem like that big of a deal. You just put one foot in front of the other, and what did you risk, really? A little bit of time? The possibility of a dead end? Fine, you hit a dead end. You got some exercise and saw some scenery, which what artists of all stripes call practice. So many creative people work themselves into a tizzy making their work important, and the pitfalls in the way to success are certainly many, but as long as you just focus on putting one foot in front of the other and doing your best, a path often often opens up, both to completing a project and maybe even to a career.
And if nothing else, make sure you stop to enjoy the view once in a while.
