This morning finds me most pleasantly content in an exceedingly comfortable wingback chair. To my right the burbling flow of the Clearwater River is my ever-present companion, and I have a stack of books waiting to be read on my left.
That’s right, the Kat is actually on vacation! It’s such a weird feeling, so foreign, but I’m starting to settle in to this pause for rest, relaxation, and celebration.
For right in front of me is the hubs. He and I made it down to our glorious suite on the river. It being us there was of course a bit of weirdness, we laughed because there always is.
I should have known the freak dust storm the night before was the harbinger for the slightly off kilter existential flow that is our timeline. Our drive down here was incredibly pleasant, we stopped in Moscow at the traditional A&W food stop and met the most outgoing and helpful server in existence, Sequoia was a gem!
As we dropped into Lewiston and traversed the bit of Highway 12 heading out of that burg that I refer to as the Forbidden Cabbage Passage (Pulp mills Blech), I should have known things would get strange.
After spending a bit of time at the most excellent Dworshak Dam (a whole post is getting done on that place), we rolled into Orofino, Idaho, our destination. I had noticed quite a bit of debris on the roads, and figured it was for the preceding night’s storm, but it didn’t look too bad.
We had a bit of time before checkin, so we decided to check out the town. Orofino is a charming old logging town that is full of small Ma and Pa businesses and visiting anglers. I’m pretty sure it’s the fall Steelhead run right now so there are a plethora of dudes and boats.
Upon arriving downtown we discovered that we arrived right when their downtown farmers market started. I love farmers markets! As we meandered though, I sensed a thread of communal sadness wafting through the community.
After checking out the small market, we spied an old store. The kind of store most small towns once had, that smelled of must and hardship and penny candy. The hubs’ uncle had owned such a store and my grandma had worked in one, so we were drawn into the store like moths to a nostalgia flame.
Its interior struck us mute.
The store was open, but there were debris everywhere. It appeared to be mostly a liquor store, but the remnants of its past were visible in every corner. One end was defunct deli, there was an abandoned produce section decaying at the other. Honestly, it looked like a tornado had swept through the interior. The hubs and I looked at each other with a sense of aroused curiosity as we moved further in.
As we were inspecting the respectable selection of ciders, and older gentleman shuffled towards us. He emanated hurt, to the point that I wanted to hug him and leave the store immediately. He asked if he could help us find something. We told him we found it and began to follow him to the register.
“I’m sorry for the mess in here, the storm caved my roof in last night,” he began as he shuffled towards the checkout stand.
Before I could murmur a sorry he continued, ”Yep, I fell off the roof.”
He turned and looked at me and says, “I lost my son last night too.”
The man’s eyes were a glaze of shock and haunted. I was rendered speechless for a moment as I was hit with the full force of his loss.
“I’m so sorry,” I replied as I handed him some cash for the cider. What I really wanted to do was hug him and clean up his store, it was such a surreal, painful moment.
What I did instead was donate some money at another store for his son’s funeral, as we ran into his son’s best friend a short while later.
Life always keeps lifing. The hubs and I are celebrating 25 years of living together, a few blocks over some very fine folks are mourning the loss of one of their own. It’s pretty much my permanent state to feel existential joy and depths of empathy for those who are hurting around me.
Because comfort is a state of mind, and even in times of rest and celebration our calling awaits.
Explanatory note of explanation: I wrote this on my phone, please pardon the lack of normal formatting.
And as most of the time all of the images in this post were taken on the author’s marked safe from having been dropped in the Clearwater River, iPhone