one week in.

Flying Day - Tuesday the 30th.  Notes written in the back of Speaker for the Dead by Orson Scott Card (thanks Donald!):
"As the plane eased towards its runway I closed my eyes sitting next to the Sikh gentleman of full beard and hawk nose.  I pushed my awareness down from the head to heart and felt it pulsate outward. And then we were up.  As the plane levels out my smile hits full with the flying away of the stomach butterflies.  It's done.  I did it.  I'm really on my way, and the only thing to stop it now is a fiery death (a risk I've signed up for before).  I'm really on my way.
"Watched the lines of the Blue Ridge become the whole of Appalachia.  It is remarkable how straight some of those ridges run.  The border of West Virginia was a solid mass of immutable green, soft mountain.  Soon, though, that unending green was not pockmarked, but deeply scarred - and frequently - with massive mining sites.  Often many would be connected along a similarly brown smear of road too large for anything but massive earth moving machines.  Anger and sadness.  
Kentucky had a lot more houses than I expected.  Then I slept.
"to wake entering New Mexico.  What a change a nap makes.  From green to dusty tan, and countless circles of crop rivetted along highway 40.  The in-seat TV is my map.  Following the road with circle after circle when suddenly the neat lines of man's etching fall away is the wrinkled precipice cutting like spilled ink on a napkin.  Those farms were all, it seems, on a plateau which falls south of 40.  Such beautiful asymmetry.
"Still following the road we find the first green in NM, the line of mountains running north to Albuquerque.  A sudden huddle of civilization crowds the river beyond, extending not far from the slow water's edge.  From here the landscape varies  anew with ridges and shrub lands and even more winding runoff stream beds."
"I look at the map again to see that all that green down there is Arizona.  Such state to state differences!  And sand!  Such wonderful, exhaustive attractive wastes reaching up rocky spines and punctuated by, of all things, lakes!  Huge lakes.  SE California is my Arakis.
"These California mountains are dirty sand peppered with tree and shrub.  Expansive, deeper, taller, brutish instead of subtle.  I do not love them.  Appalachia feels of home, not this youthful grandeur.  
"Washington is green and beautiful.  Its blue fabric under legion white clouds running streamers.  This could be home."


8 - 31 - 11.
I got scouted so hard today.  To get scouted:  don't notice that person too close for you to have any excuse to not know about.  It's like rolling a 2 or 3 on a spot check.  Sometimes there are others around, too.  Then it's even better (or worse).  Sometimes this person has come up to you within sight of others and you have simply not paid the attention to know.  I was standing in a circle of three talking about a bow quiver and wondering what the insects were doing flying into my hair and somehow not getting stuck.  That would be Steve, standing behind me, fiddling with the top of my head.  Now, before I turn around, see me, talking with Gordon and another student, thinking that I should go get a fork before heading down to the fire for dinner.  See me glancing up (not back) at the mosquitoes, see me shifting from side to side (but not back) and see Steve walking silently up to me to stand directly behind me.  For minutes.  I got scouted hard.  
Gordon got me later with a clothes pin.  That's nothing new, though.  He and I will go back and forth sometimes.  The clothes pin needs to be on the front of a person to really count, and the pinner needs to get away scott free before the pinee notices.  These are awareness games.  Know your surroundings, know your environment.  Theoretically this translates into someone who will notice details, notice sounds, notice small movements, and not fail to see what is right in front of you.  That's the idea.  And in the mean time: it's fun.  
After dinner, cooked over the fire at the Outdoor Classroom down a trail in the woods:  Sign language.  What an amazing tool.  Sitting around with apprentices learning from someone quite advanced and a gaggle of novices (where I am) watching and picking up pieces, trying to make bridges.  Some of my favorite things to say now include: you're paranoid; goodnight, teacher; I climb the moon ladder.  Obviously it was a fun evening.  




9 - 5 - 11.  
It has now been nearly a week in Washington.  I like the people living here with me on the farm very much.  They are all either instructors, interns, or students from the summer classes who are continuing with the same program as I.  In other words, I am surrounded by motivated, experienced, and active individuals who spend their leisure time canning, tanning hides, making bows, creating cordage, working in the garden, and of course, stalksneakscouting.  I have been picking up some of these activities, but as of yet I am hardly as self-directed as everyone around me.  The new students that come to the farm see me living in one of the houses and being chummy with the interns so they assume that I am one of them.  I am not.  I am ignorant waiting for the shoe to drop.  It drops tomorrow, the first day of class.  I am ready to get assignments, to be directed, to be guided for a time, so that I can find my own niche.
I somewhat hesitate to name everyone I'm around, as they aren't asking to have their lives broadcast to an anonymous audience.  We'll see what I think about this as I start describing more things in greater and greater detail.  False names sounds silly, but it may be what I do.  
This is an inherently intimate environment, I am coming to realize.  There are seven of us sharing this house - four living in it and three more using its kitchen, living room, and baths.  Two have girlfriends, and since two interns and an instructor are among the seven, this house is a bit of a hub for activity.  I anticipate it being difficult to separate many experiences from the greater context we are all sharing.  Awareness games are always going on.  One is never alone if outside, it can be safely assumed (or should, lest you be scouted unawares or caught with your fly down).  

The last few days have been a mix of explorations of the woods, the surrounding towns, and the constant process of meeting new and interesting people.  The day before yesterday (Saturday) a group of eight of us hiked up Index Mountain.  Three miles up, three miles down.  A lot of up and then a lot of down.  A lot more hiking like this is going to be necessary to get these legs and lungs into the shape they need to be.  The terminus of the hike was a lake with sheets of snow laying down to the water's edge in the Northern shade of an even taller peak.  Two were brave enough for the water.  Oh, and if you didn't know, 

THE TREES ARE HUGE.  
Really huge.  And this part of Washington doesn't even have the really big ones.  Red Ceder, Hemlock, and Spruce form a ridiculously soft and undulating forest floor.  Ferns abound and downed trees provide raised highways for quicker travel.  It is a magical place.  There will be a more directed and concise description of the lands here and the surrounding area in the near future.  I miss many friends and family now, but I am so busy being back in the absurd (and good) feeling of being Gordon's roommate with new people everywhere that it is hard to feel so many emotions at once.  The music jamming is good.  Everyone plays, and everyone plays differently.  There is a drum kit in the house, a billion guitarists, a cello is coming, and the harp is getting ready.  Kalimbas are never far from my hands.  I missed Cornstalk.  I know it was a strappling good time for everyone.  
More later, and more.
Enjoy your Labor(less) Day
Love.