They’re apparently making me share Mt. Rainier…

IMG_1374I have a confession: in our two years here in Washington state, I have started to think of Mt. Rainier as mine.

Yes, I know that Mt. Rainier is a national park and, under duress, I will share it with America and the rest of the mountain-loving world. The problem is – or I guess it’s not a problem at all – that most times when we venture into the park, the crowds are light and we can end up on roads and paths and in spaces where we’re the only two people around. Just us and a waterfall rushing toward a creek below.

Add to this the fact that every visit to Mt. Rainier National Park is a religious experience to me. The mountains and valleys and acres of trees inside the park are my synagogue, my chapel, my spot to connect with the divine. There’s no place I’ve been with fresher, cleaner air, which seems to fill my lungs while simultaneously cleansing my spirit.

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Mornings of wonder and gratitude

I love mornings in the Pacific Northwest. There’s something about the chilliness in the air, even in July or August, and the crisp, clean smell of evergreens mixed with salt water that just infuses my soul with thankfulness. After two years here, I still find myself borrowing a few moments just to take it all in, observe the scene before me, and send up a prayer of gratitude.

Each new day here reminds me why I love this place so much. I have to do weird things here, things I never anticipated when I lived back east, like check the tide tables so that I know which foot ferry I want to use. When the tide is out, the ferry dock a quarter mile from my home has such a steep gangplank that is like climbing up and down a ladder to get to the float and on the boat. It’s not fun, especially since I’m in a medical walking boot right now due to tearing the fascia tendon in the bottom of my foot, so I’ll choose to use the ferry 1.5 miles away in town as it’s in a marina and doesn’t require feats of strength to get on the boat.

Who could anticipate a Midwestern woman worrying about tides?

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A shot of nostalgia… and ducks!

I’m going to confess up front that I’m riding a wave of nostalgia right now. It’s sharp, it’s somewhat piercing, and the memories are sometimes so sweet that they make me ache.

I created a Facebook group last night to spur conversation for my graduating high school class’ upcoming 20th year reunion next summer, so my mind is, for the most part, awhirl with memories of life in and around the small town of Hanover, Indiana. This morning on the hour-long ferry commute into Seattle, I pulled out the latest issue of MaryJanesFarm magazine, which is almost a spiritual text to me in its place of importance in my life, and discovered that this particular issue is all about chickens and eggs, with adorable ducks making a few appearances because Mary Jane is, obviously, a genius.

Chickens and ducks – namely the waddling waterfowl – send me right back into my spiral of whimsy.

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Point No Point – Hansville, WA

IMG_0200I often say that nature is my holy place. When I’m stressed or sad about something, the easiest place for me to get centered, think, and pray is outside. I love going to the mountains because being surrounded by towering peaks and spiking evergreens is truly a religious experience. Now that I live on the peninsula, it’s a lot easier to make it to the water than it is the mountains.  Fresh air tinged with salt and seaweed, loud-mouthed seagulls, and crashing waves are medicine for me. Not the kind I can swallow, but definitely the kind I can feel.

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In the kitchen: Smoky Lemon Chicken Stew

This recipe is AIP (autoimmune protocol) friendly.  All ingredients are rough-chopped, taking into account that many people on the AIP diet, as I am, suffer from joint-related illnesses, making it hard to spend time finely dicing veggies. An added bonus is that this recipe is also kosher if you follow Jewish dietary laws.

This was made utilizing leftover chicken that had been smoked/grilled the previous evening. We have a Char-Broil Tru-Infrared Grill/Smoker/Roaster and it has literally changed the way we eat. We grill out practically every day, have become wood chip connoisseurs (hickory is the way to go if you’re curious), and are always experimenting with grilling. If it can be put on a grate, wrapped in foil, or put on a skewer, we’re going to grill it!

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I adore you, Port Gamble!

30 miles further up the Kitsap peninsula from my home is the enchanting little historic town of Port Gamble, Washington.  This morning was our first trip to this town, but it will not be our last.  As we strolled down its main street (which is literally one block long, goes in one direction, and has a 10mph speed limit), I had visions of characters reminiscent of Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn. It reminded me of the river towns of my youth due to its position of sitting on a small hill overlooking the mouth of Hood Canal, which is part of greater Puget Sound. The little town is preserved and pays homage to its history in the logging industry, and it’s filled with cute little shops, antique stores, and even a museum and cafe. Take a look at this cutie-pie town – there is a reason it’s on the list of US National Historic Landmarks!

Historic homes everywhere! Now they're being utilized as businesses and tourist attractions.

Historic homes everywhere! Now they’re being utilized as businesses and tourist attractions.

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Before and after – the evolution of our property

We bought our cute little cottage-like house in Port Orchard, Washington last October.  Her insides were perfect and needed no updating, but the outside was in desperate need of some love.  Seven months later, the work is 95% complete and I am so happy with the outcome. I’m more in love with my cute little quarter-acre of solitude than ever.  So – some before and afters shots below!

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Album review – Nefesh Mountain

If I’m being honest, the hardest part about giving up Christianity was not the preaching or the Sunday services (or…you know…Jesus), but the music. I’ve been a massive fan of the contemporary Christian genre since I was in the sixth grade and listened to Michael W. Smith the first time.

The other genre I’ve always adored, thanks to both my father and Ricky Skaggs, is Bluegrass. I have sought out great Bluegrass for years, even when I was in my early 20s and my cohorts thought I was insane for jamming to “Country Boy” while they were listening to whatever ear-bleedingly awful pop song was popular at the time. With the new Broadway musical Bright Star out right now, Bluegrass is getting in front of fresh ears, as well as reigniting my love for the genre.

These past eight-odd months, first when I was distancing myself from Christianity and then later, when I realized that Judaism was it for me, I missed Christian music because, naturally, I gave it up. But a soulful melody has always been like a religious experience to me, and while I was finding snippets of music here and there that I liked in the Jewish world, I had yet to find something that made me sit upright and yell with glee.

What happens when you combine Bluegrass and Jewishness? Well, you get the self-titled debut album by Nefesh Mountain, and it is nothing short of MAGNIFICENT.

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