L’Heure Bleue

Forgive me, Blogger, it has been three weeks since my last confession.  But springtime is when many schools host their Young Authors Conferences and Writing Weeks.  I’ve been busy telling stories, often in tandem performance with my son Eli.

 

That means rehearsing, planning, travel.  Last Wednesday I had to hit the road early to spend the day at Helen Haller Elementary in Sequim, WA. With all its water, Washington State has marine highways, with ferries to carry cars along waterways and crossings.  I was up by 5AM, caught the 6:20AM ferry from Edmonds to Kingston, and drove from there to the Olympic Peninsula.

Edmonds is my neck of the woods. I’ve admired many a sunset over the dock, like this impromptu shot I once took by cellphone, when caught without my camera.  But sunrise is another matter entirely.  The night before, I took care of all the details, laying out my clothes, Mapquesting school and ferry schedules, and arranging with my old friend, Mr. Coffee, to have a cuppa joe brewed and ready to go when I was.

It was still pitch black when I pulled into the ferry line.

The incoming ferry disgorged bikes, motorcycles, and cars, all scurrying off to follow the Pied Piper’s call to the city.  After the last car drove off, we bleary-eyed travelers were loaded onto The Spokane.

As I pulled up, with a view of the water before me, I realized that l’Heure Bleue, The Blue Hour, was upon us.

Nothing is more fleeting than those precious moments between night and day, just at twilight and just before dawn. I even remembered to bring my camera to catch the details of my day.

We passed another ferry–two boats passing in the not-quite-night…

I couldn’t get quite the crisp shot I aimed for, because the camera started flashing the dreaded ‘change battery’ signal.  Feeling smug, I loaded the extra battery I always carry in my case, and went to shoot my green van on the car deck from above.

The boat was practically deserted…

…but I saw beautiful patterns and details everywhere.

I had just enough time for a self-portrait…

… before heading back down to the car deck.

My camera started flashing again!  Dang!  My newly changed battery was out of juice!  Bad dog!  I had forgotten to recharge it.

I caught one last photo of our disembarkation, stashed my camera, and determined to enjoy a day without a lens between me and my world.  Undocumented, but not forgotten, are the details of that day.  The smell of salt in the air, the mist on the mountains, a dusting of fresh snow in the heights, cows grazing in the golden foothills.  Best of all, 600 eager children, kindergarten through fifth grade, with bandaids on their knees, mismatched socks, shining eyes and open hearts.  I wish I could show you the little guy with the buzz cut who came up after my last show and stammered, “You…you…you’re a beautiful girl!”  It’s been a long time since this fiftysomething has heard that, and it made me smile from ear to ear.  As I walked through the hall, big kids grinned and waved, or shyly asked for my autograph. Younger ones came running for a hug, and stuck to me like little velcro teddy bears.

I still had a long drive from the peninsula to catch the ferry home. I expected to just miss the 4:10, even without my camera to slow me down. They were loading when I pulled up.  I didn’t even ask–the guy in the booth grinned and said, “You’re gonna make it.”

It had been The Blue Day, filled from start to finish with precious fleeting moments.  It seemed fitting that The Spokane, which delivered me across the water, had come to take me home.  I glanced at the dashboard clock.  Even the tiniest detail fell into place, as if I had just come full circle.  I took out my camera and, yes! it had recharged just enough to squeeze one more photo from a very tired battery.
All words and images copyright Naomi Baltuck.
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A Peace of My Mind

Last September my son Eli and I went on a great road trip with my daughter Bea, to deliver her, an incoming freshman, to Stanford University.

Then all of a sudden Bea was at school…

…and Eli and I were back in the van on the long drive home to Seattle.

For our trip down, we’d booked nice hotels in advance.  It was all about our last hurrah before saying goodbye to Bea.  Maybe because we didn’t want to think about coming back without her, we forgot to plan the trip home.  We were unprepared, disorganized, and we both kept looking around for Bea.

It was after midnight when we pulled into Redding, CA.

We found a place that simple, but clean, and woke refreshed and ready to move on–from Redding, and from Stanford.  We were going to write ourselves a new story.

We explored a delightfully shabby gold rush town, browsed its antique stores, and bought some dusty old tomes.  Back on the road, Eli read aloud from  The Last of the Plainsmen, Zane Grey’s 1908 memoir of a Western adventure–about the end of an era and the start of a new one.

Perhaps inspired by Zane, Eli suggested swinging by Crater Lake National Park.  It was out of our way, and we didn’t know how far because we hadn’t brought a proper map.  We hadn’t been since the kids were young enough to earn Junior Ranger Badges.  I recalled Crater Lake as a one trick pony, with one view of a lake, gorgeous, but unaccessible.  If we couldn’t get there before dark, the trip would be pointless.

It was a gamble.

We decided to go for it.  We had a few ‘Where are we going, Carl?’ moments.  Like at a crossroads, where two roads both had signage pointing to Crater Lake. The sun was sinking, and we couldn’t afford to get lost.  I kicked myself for not stopping earlier for directions.  This was a remote wilderness, without even another car to flag down.

Do you believe in spirit helpers?   I took this handsome creature’s greeting as positive reinforcement.

Upon leaving the endless forest to begin our ascent, we decided that, whatever happened, the view on the way to the crater was worth the drive.

At last we arrived at the crater rim, with sunshine to spare, but not for long.

As the sun sank behind us, the shadows crept up the side of Wizard Island, until it looked like it was wearing a little sun hat.

While we looked down on shadow, on the far side of the crater, the sun still shone.

Our goal was to visit as many viewpoints as possible before we lost the light.

Crater Lake was not a one trick pony.  It was a Horse of a Different Color.  With the constantly changing light, the landscape changed dramatically too.

Each viewpoint highlighted different sights and inspired different insights.

Whether looking from a distance…

…or close up.

We were alone on the top of the world, awestruck by the beauty surrounding us, not just of the lake, but the valley as well.

Eli captured the color and detail of an alpine meadow in this shot….

…while I had to borrow back the camera to photograph the big picture…

Feverishly, we passed the camera back and forth.  Where one of us recognized the stark beauty of an outcrop…

…the other saw a sleeping lady, perhaps turned to stone by an evil wizard.

Eli and I discovered our new superpower…

We had learned to spin straw into gold.

Golden moments.

Golden Memories.

Peace of mind.

All words and images copyright Naomi Baltuck

Sunrise in Gibraltar

This sunrise was our reward for an early start on a big day.  We were staying near Gibraltar, and taking the ferry over to Tangier in Morocco to spend the day.  It was our first time ever in Africa, and we were a little nervous to step through that door.

Our driver Rashid was very helpful.   Rashid was a good son, who lived with and cared for his elderly mother.  His English was difficult to understand, so he and the kids communicated in Spanish.  If I had a question, I could make myself understood in my rusty French, but his replies came too quickly for me.  We worked out a system in which Rashid would reply to my French questions in Spanish, which the kids would then translate into English for me.

We were typical tourists.  We went to the market and did what most day trippers do.

We felt grateful for a quick peek into another world.

A glimpse down a dark alley could shed light on another way of life.

We walked past little shops and businesses. People work so hard to put bread in the mouths of their children.

Amizagh women sold vegetables in the market.  They are called Berbers by the Arabs and most of the world now.  Descended from prehistoric dwellers of the land, they are now a minority, but they retain the language and traditions of their ancestors.

I saw this cat in a narrow passageway, and it occurred to me that cats all over the world speak the same language.  I wondered what would happen if people did too.  Something would be gained, but much would be lost as well.

In Tangier we were given a taste of new flavors, colors, music, and customs.

It was time to cross back over the Straits.  The  kids will never let me live down the fact that I accidentally bought a rug, my only souvenir of that trip.  I wanted to bring home some of the vivid colors of a world so very different, and yet so much the same as ours.

Sunrise to sunset, long after the threads on my rug have faded, that day will stay with me.

All words and images Copyright Naomi Baltuck

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