Learning life lessons from nature

Photo by Susan Parrish/From the ranch on Wolf Creek Reservoir

You know that creepy feeling that you're being watched? You don't see anyone, but you sense someone staring at you?

That's how I felt as I stood outside on a remote ranch in eastern Oregon as I worked out with my weighted hula hoop. It's a great core workout. And it's fun.

All around me were miles of sagebrush-covered hills. In the distance, the Elkhorn Range was to the west, the snow-capped Wallowa Mountains to the east. The closest farmhouse was quite a spell down the gravel road. No other people were about. So why were the hairs on the back of my neck standing up?

"There's no one watching you," I told myself. And I kept hooping. 

But that creepy feeling persisted. There definitely was someone watching me! I scanned the landscape in front of me: Breathtaking natural beauty, but no one in sight. 

Someone must be standing behind me! I stopped hooping and spun around to catch the Peeping Tom.

It wasn't just one Peeping Tom--but four! Yes--four! 

Standing only thirty feet away from me were four mule deer. Four does staring at me, their large ears upright and at attention. They seemed to be entranced by my hula hoop action. Now that I'd stopped hooping, they stood motionless, their eyes fixed on me. Perhaps they were waiting to see if the hula hoop entertainment would continue. After a couple of minutes, my deer admirers wandered over the hill in search of breakfast. 

Mule deer in sagebrush and snow. Photo by Tom Koerner/USFWS
Photo in public domain. See license here.

On another morning shortly after that, I faced the glorious mountain view, stepped into my hoop, planted my feet shoulder-width apart, pulled the hoop to my waist, and gave it a spin. Then I gyrated my waist and hips to keep the hoop spinning. After a few seconds, I found my groove and no longer had to focus on keeping the hoop moving. My mind wandered.

A loud whinny interrupted my thoughts. I stopped hooping and spun around. 

One of the horses grazing in the upper pasture had spotted my spinning hula hoop. Galloping down the hilly pasture, she made a beeline for me and my fascinating hoop. She stopped abruptly at the fence that separated us. Then she stood watching me with her lovely horsey eyes. Transfixed, she stared at me. She stared at my hula hoop. (I believe that in her own horsey way, she was smiling.)

Photo by Susan Parrish/Heather and Ryleigh's horse,
Simply Red Robin, aka "Red" entranced by my hula hoop

I laughed and asked her, "Would you like to hula hoop, too?"

Then still facing the horse, I spun my hoop again. My horse admirer watched the spinning hoop for several minutes. Maybe she was imagining her own hula hooping fun. Ranch horses in eastern Oregon aren't accustomed to seeing rugged ranchers and mountain men hula hooping amongst the sagebrush.

After these two animal-hula hoop encounters, I realized that some animals seemed intrigued by watching my spinning hula hoop. 

"I must be some kind of animal whisperer," I told myself. "I entrance animals with my hula hoop."  

Fast forward three years. I'd moved back to the city, where I am blessed to live in a cozy home at the edge of the woods. I regularly encounter rabbits, raccoons, deer, coyotes and many kinds of birds. I hadn't hooped in a long time, but I was ready to start again. So one morning I stepped onto the front porch, where large evergreen trees only 20 feet away. 

Facing the trees, I spun my hoop around my waist started hooping. Almost immediately, small birds flew to a large evergreen nearby, landed in the tree and began chattering. More and more little birds flew to join them. Their chattering grew louder and more insistent.

I recalled my hula hooping attracting deer and a horse. Were birds also intrigued with the rotating hoop? I kept hooping to find out what would happen next.

Soon the smaller birds were joined by a bright blue Steller's jay who landed in the tree and began urgently calling "Wek! Wek! Wek!"

Steller's jay photo by Alan D. Wilson www.naturespicsonline.com
Photo in public domain. See license here. 

The Steller's jay was joined by another jay. Then another. Soon many jays had gathered in the evergreen tree and were squawking loudly in accompaniment to the chorus of smaller birds.

"Wow!" I thought. "These birds are really curious about my hula hoop!"

I smiled and kept hooping.

Next, a crow landed in the tree and squawked, "Caw! Caw! Caw!" 

Northwestern crow photo by Alan Leggett
Photo in public domain. See license here.

Then about a dozen crows joined him in the tree. All joined their raspy voices to the avian choir. 

"Even the crows are curious about my hoop," I told myself.

But when the murder of crows lifted off and began circling the tree and making lots of noise, I realized this attention was not about my hula hoop. There was something else in that tree. Sliding my hoop to the ground, I walked toward the evergreen where dozens of agitated birds were squawking, chirping and flitting about. 

As I approached the base of the tree, an enormous owl that had been perching in the tree silently lifted off and flew away. The noisy crows chased it across the sky until it was out of sight.

Great Horned Owl photo by Jon Nelson
Photo in public domain. See license here.

Here's the lesson I learned: Sometimes what I'm doing might interest others. But most of the time, everyone else is so focused on their own issues--like an enormous predator hanging out in neighborhood and making them feel unsafe. They're so concerned about their own problems that they don't even see me or my magnificent hula hoop.

Going forward, I vowed three things: 

1. Be open to learning from nature and the natural world. I miss so many lessons because my eyes and heart aren't open to recognize them and receive them.

2. Recognize I'm not the center of the universe. My adventures with my hula hoop aren't that compelling to anyone but me and me alone. Everyone is focused on  their own issues. I'm going to pay better attention to other people and their issues.

3. I will keep doing my own thing and not worry about whether what I'm doing is interesting or sanctioned by others. You do you. I'll do me. And as for me, I'll keep on hooping and adventuring.

Photo by Susan Parrish/Heather's horses in the sage at the ranch

Susan Parrish hula hooping while giving a presentation
about learning new lessons in midlife

For the first time since my ATV accident, I went skiing

Today for the first time since my horrible ATV accident, I got back on alpine skis. And much to my mother’s relief as well as my own, I didn’t break any bones. 

It’s been two years since I last skied. I was a beginner who had just taken my first solo ski runs—and my first solo chair lift rides. When I first started skiing at age 54, the chair lift was the most traumatizing part of skiing (due to an unfortunate chair lift episode when I was 19). The Mountain Man had assured me that skiers do not fall off the chair lift. But trust me, if anyone could fall off the chair lift, it would be me. The klutz.

My saving grace is that I’m an adventurous klutz. So even though I had been terrified of falling off the chair lift, I wanted to learn to ski. So I forced myself to sit down on that chair lift seat and ride it to the top of the mountain. It wasn’t technically good skiing or confident skiing. I fell multiple times. And I was so slow that when I watched a video of one of my runs that first year, I seemed to be skiing in slow motion as other skiers flew past me. Despite my lack of speed, it was fun.

Then the fun ended 18 months ago when I crashed a four-wheeler while crossing a bridge. Despite the fact that people had crossed that bridge on ATVs for decades, I was the first person to ever crash on that bridge. But leave it to me, on my maiden voyage driving an ATV, to crash spectacularly on that bridge. I crushed both wrists. Now I have titanium plates holding my wrists together. I’m the Bionic Woman. Well, maybe the Klutzy Bionic Woman.

After my accident, my orthopedic surgeon and physical therapist sidelined me for an entire ski season while I continued healing and regaining my fine motor skills. My surgeon said I could eventually return to skiing and other adventurous pursuits. He said my titanium wrists would be fine—as long as I didn’t take another forceful fall rivaling my spectacular somersault over the ATV handlebars.

Still, I was nervous about skiing. Last night when I laid out my ski clothes and gear, I worried that I might get hurt. I imagine myself falling so hard that the titanium plates would poke out of my skin.

I awoke in the middle of the night and my mind started playing the “what if” game. What if my wrists weren’t capable of holding myself up on the handle tow? What if my now-arthritic left wrist and thumb couldn’t hold the ski pole firmly? What if I fell off the chair lift? What if I fell on the mountain and wasn’t strong enough to get back up again?

But here’s the question that was at the forefront of my mind: What if my accident had so paralyzed me that I’d lost sight of the adventurous woman who had given me so much confidence and transformed me in midlife? I didn’t want my fear to paralyze me.

Sometimes, when I begin to doubt myself, my old, bitter soccer mom persona pays a visit just to taunt me and throw doubt on my self-confidence. Last night, uninvited, she threw open my door and made me question myself, my abilities, and my existence. In her sarcastic voice she asked: “What makes you think you can ski again? You broke your body. You are 57 years old. Maybe it’s time to take up knitting from a rocking chair. What makes you think you can do this?”

Wow. That woman loves stealing my joy. 

But I won’t let her do it anymore. I’ve learned to shush her quickly and put her in her place—far away from my Adventure Woman ears. Now I am the Dragon Diva. The Woman with the Dragon Tattoo. Yes, I also happened to have a klutzy, horrific accident that crushed both wrists and sidelined me for many months. But now I have two titanium wrists. They are strong. And so am I.

I thumbed my nose at Soccer Mom and told myself: “You can do this. You can do anything you put your mind to.”

Then I climbed back into bed and slept soundly.

Thankfully, the Mountain Man is not only a ski instructor, but a calm man who inspires calmness and confidence in me. First, he gave me a quick beginner’s lesson to remind me of the basics: turning, controlling my speed, stopping. Then we skied down a small hill and headed for the handle tow to take a couple of turns on the bunny hill. Would my once-broken wrists be strong enough to hold myself up? Would I fall? Would I get hurt again?

But here’s a fact: My wrists are titanium. They were strong enough to hold myself up on the handle tow. We made two runs down the bunny hill. My body and my mind remembered how to ski. The Mountain Man asked if I wanted to make another bunny hill run.

“No. Let’s get on the chair lift and go skiing up on top!” I said.

So we did. The chair lift wasn’t as scary as it had been before. On my first run, I fell once, almost right after we started down the hill. But it wasn’t a spectacular fall. I wasn’t hurt. No broken bones. I didn’t have titanium poking out of my skin.

But I did need to take control of my self-talk. Although skiing is very physical, it’s also a mental sport. You must believe that you can maneuver your way down the mountain—or you won’t be able to do it. Sprawled on my back in the snow, I tried to get up by pushing myself up with my ski poles, but my arms didn’t have the strength to do it. So with my ski pole, I released my right ski and stood up, and snapped my ski back into the binding.

“You can do this,” I told myself. “You’re the Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. The Dragon Diva.”

Then I skied down the mountain—and I didn’t fall again. I had fun. Although my 57-year-old body is exhausted and my legs feel as wobbly as Jell-o, I am glowing. I conquered my fear, and I experienced joy at 8,000 feet. 

Confident that I will return to the ski hill next weekend and the weekend after that and the weekend after that, I bought a season pass that’s good for the rest of this ski season and all of next ski season.

Dragon Diva has returned! 

Tiny living secrets

Here's my cozy writing/reading/daydreaming spot: our little couch topped
 with a beautiful quilt made by my dear friend, Kathleen Brown.
Out this window is an amazing view of the Elkhorn Mountains and the lake.

Sitting on the diminutive couch in our tiny living room, my stocking feet are curled against an electric heater. My fingers, also seeking warmth, are wrapped around my coffee mug. I’m wearing three layers of clothing, including an old cashmere sweater and a thick flannel shirt lined with fleece. We've had weeks of sub-freezing weather, and even sub-zero weather. After six months of living tiny in the Eastern Oregon high desert, my body is still adjusting to the colder temperatures.

Four years ago, after some unsuccessful and mostly depressing attempts at online dating, I’d sworn off men and any hope of a romantic relationship. Instead, I concentrated on becoming an adventurous, joyful woman. But then—so very unexpectedly—I fell in love with an adventure-seeking Mountain Man who lived 300 miles away. Tired of cultivating our long-distance relationship, we decided to bridge the gap between us.


At the end of last summer, I left my newspaper reporter job and my old life in the city. Now I’m settling into my new life: living large in 323 square feet in the foothills of the Elkhorn Mountains in Eastern Oregon with the Mountain Man. 

Living in a small space fits who we are now. Both of us have owned houses requiring hefty mortgage payments and endless maintenance and yard work. We are both at the point in our lives that we don’t want to be tied down by possessions or lengthy to-do lists. We’ve decided to live simply while enjoying a bountiful life rich in experiences rather than material things.

We’re well on our way to succeeding. In the six months I’ve lived here, we’ve soaked in a hot springs, performed as the musical entertainment at Anthony Lakes Mountain Resort, hiked in the Elkhorn Mountains, had a picnic while perched on a log on the banks of an alpine lake and then did some fly fishing, paddled kayaks, danced to live music at Ten Depot in La Grande, dined at the Barley Browne’s in Baker City, visited the Oregon Trail Interpretive Center in Baker, and much more.

We’ve also spent a lot of time editing possessions and determining what's essential and what isn't. What do we really need for our comfort in our tiny space? As I write, my laptop rests on the tiny red table I found at an estate sale more than a decade ago. It takes up little floor space, but is useful for holding a laptop computer, a cup of coffee or a bowl of popcorn. In my old apartment, I had an antique desk for my laptop, but truthfully, I usually write curled up on the couch. So the little worn table with chipped red paint fits perfectly into our tiny space.

Tiny home tip: Use floor space sparingly. Use tiny furniture with multiple uses.

 

Here are some tiny kitchen tips we've gleaned after living tiny for six months. 

Tiny home tip: Size--and numbers--matter. Four mugs. When you live tiny, you must scrutinize every item you bring into the house and justify it taking up precious space. We have space for four mugs. When I painted this lace-covered leaf mug at a fun ceramic shop in Gig Harbor recently, I had to give the boot to my cracked Star Trek Jean-Luc Picard mug. But I couldn't completely give up Jean-Luc. He's in storage.

If you had cupboard space for only four mugs, which mugs would you choose?

Tiny home tip: Use smaller dessert plates rather than larger dinner plates. We use my dessert-size English Spode plates as dinner plates. They fit in the narrow cupboard better and it's harder to overeat. The larger dinner plates didn’t fit in the cupboard, so we are storing them.

Tiny home tip: Use vertical space to double the number of spices in the spice rack. We could fit only nine spice bottles in our tiny home’s built-in spice rack, so the Mountain Man took the built-in spice rack to his wood shop and built a second tier, essentially doubling the number of spices it holds without increasing its footprint on the counter. It allows us to keep our essential, every-day spices at hand. The rest we store in a box in an overhead cabinet in our living/dining/kitchen.

The Mountain Man took the spice rack to the wood shop
and doubled the vertical space.  Notice my kitchen towel
embellished by friend Rhona. Even in a tiny space, display
favorite, beautiful, useful things.

Tiny home tip: Edit your appliances to the essential. We use our hotpot daily to make coffee and tea. It's the only appliance that gets real estate on the tiny kitchen counter. I donated my bread machine and toaster and am storing our crock pot and blender. But lately, I’ve been hankering for one of my childhood comfort foods: cinnamon toast. Do I find a tiny toaster or toaster oven? If so, where would we store it when we aren't using it? Or do I forgo toast altogether?

Essential appliances:our hot pot plus microwave, propane range
and  oven and refrigerator. I can live without a dishwasher, but
I can't live without my morning coffee.

Tiny home tip: Tuck the cutting board away when not in use. To eliminate counter top clutter, the Mountain Man built a holder for our cutting board. When we aren’t using our 12 x 12 cutting board, it’s neatly tucked below a kitchen cabinet.

Tiny home tip: Hang the broom on the wall. We have no broom closet, so the Mountain Man built a wooden holder to hang a broom high on the wall near the ceiling. It’s out of the way, but easy to reach.

Tiny home tip:  Place the dish drainer over one side of the double sink. And wash dishes as you get them dirty. Even if you're just eating a bowl of cereal and drinking a cup of coffee, wash up after yourself. Keep your tiny counters uncluttered and ready to use. We have no dishwasher, but I don't mind hand-washing dishes.

Our tiny kitchen has a double sink. We found a stainless steel
dish drainer that fits perfectly in one sink. 

 Tiny home tip: Keep clutter off kitchen counters so you have space for cooking and meal prep--even  if it's just making a simple peanut butter sandwich. 

A bigger view of our tiny kitchen. 

 Tiny home tip: Unbreakable dishes that stack are practical and help stretch your cupboard space further.

Vintage and practical: our 1950s Italian Bascal aluminum cups and
tiny bowls stack neatly in the cupboard and take up a tiny footprint
 in our tiny kitchen.  I snagged them at an estate sale years ago.

Tiny home tip: Keep your silverware drawer neat by keeping only six knives, forks and spoons. Even though tiny home drawers are--well--tiny--measure them to find silverware trays to organize your drawers. Our trays are individual plastic trays that snap together. My standard silverware tray was much too large for our new drawers.

A bare bones silverware drawer: six forks, knives and spoons. 

Tiny home tip: Extend vertical space in cupboards with rubber-coated stackable shelving.

Two narrow shelves hold most of our dishes, including
our Spode plates and Fiestaware bowls.

Tiny home tip: Consider it a treasure hunt. Find tiny items that also are beautiful and inspiring. While browsing in Bella Main Street Market, a fantastic kitchen shop in downtown Baker City, I found these lovely little bowls hand painted in Tunisia. They were on sale, and I got three for $6. These stackable bowls are perfect for sauces, yogurt, applesauce or tomato soup.They're not dishwasher safe. No problem. No dishwasher.

Tiny home tip: Where possible, incorporate whimsy--and your personality--in practical tools.

R2-D2 egg timer at the ready in an old enamel bowl above the sink.
The droid egg timer was a gift from the Mountain Man,
I also display a Millennium Falcon serving platter.