river journal

These bullet points outline what could happen with your energetic self, but we all know that nothing is that simple. There are all sorts of other things at play with our energy levels. Everything from what we eat to how much sleep we got last night to what physical or emotional wounds we’re healing can impact our energy. I get that. I’m not saying everyone can or should or does follow this cycle that the moon influences. I do think, though, that more of us could flow in this way if we let ourselves.

Earlier I said that I don’t feel like less, even though I recognize myself as a tiny part of the rhythms of our solar system. Tuning in to the moon’s energetic cycle has helped me to feel like more. I feel like I’m more myself. I see that I have more to offer. I know that my tiny part in the really big picture is an important one. It’s empowering and amazing.

A few years ago I did what a lot of people did - pushed through. When I was tired, I’d drink more caffeine. When I wanted to take a nap I’d tell myself I could after I got everything else done. I told myself that I was being lazy if I had the urge to take a bath in the middle of the day, and wouldn’t take one. Now, though, I begin each day asking myself what I need. I listen to the answers and do my best to make it happen. Clearly a week’s vacation isn’t always in the cards, but I can bring a little vacation into my daily life.

What changed? For me, it was connecting with the moon. I realized that I was more exhausted during the waning and dark moon portions of her cycle. And, rather than fighting that, I allowed myself to nap, to take a bath, to lay on the couch and watch a movie at 9:30 on a Tuesday morning. I saw that when I did that, my new moon and especially my waxing moon energy was excited and inquisitive energy. During these weeks I was eager to see what would happen if I tried something new, which was much more fulfilling than having an idea and feeling like it wasn’t worth putting thought into because I knew I’d be too tired to see it through. It might seem as simple as learning how to listen to my own needs and wants and fulfilling them. I get that. My muse was the moon’s cycle, though. Leaning into her phases and letting mine match gave me what I needed to stop listening to societal ‘shoulds’ and outdated rules for how to live my life. What would happen if you allowed yourself to rest with the moon too?

The world is set up to rise and shine with the sun, and I do love a good sunny day, but now those sunny days aren’t all the same. If the moon is dark, I’m probably soaking up the sun with a good book. If the moon is full, I might hike or get together with friends. I definitely get more house cleaning and meal prepping done during the full moon too! So, you can use your energy cycles however you’re called. But wouldn’t it be nice to give it a try?

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River Journal

Jacqueline Cruver 1978

Summer was one long stretch of well spent days on the newly purchased piece of property. Located on the other side of a river, it had only been recently used for a hunting spot, but a cable crossing was grandfathered in from the original homestead and rightfully came with the property. The novelty of riding the rusty cable car across to the remote building site seemed to draw enough adventurous and able bodied friends to help us construct our first primitive structures and repair the one existing cabin. Jim, Peter and I wore the white foreman hats and held the title to the twenty acre triangle of land surrounded by Forest Service Land.

I had spent a few days away in the city and was anxious to get back to the cabin and enjoy some time there alone. I left much later than I meant to so the two hour drive was mostly in the dark but a stunning full moon was lighting the way up the seldom traveled mountain highway. When I reached the empty parking spot, the darkness was thick beneath the tall fir trees filtering the moonlight. I flung my trusty red JanSport backpack onto my shoulder and stood quietly still as I shut my car door and watched the dome light fade out.

The jarring sound of my door gently soaked into the soft, black forest floor as my eyes steadily grew accustomed to the dark. Lightly setting each step before shifting my weight, I made my way down the now familiar path toward the sound of the river and the landing. The moonlight allowed me to clearly see the boards nailed to the old growth tree stump we had managed to top with a sturdy platform and up I climbed. I skillfully yanked the chain brake from its resting place in front of the rear wheel that rolled atop the hefty old cable and began my ride. Gravity is a dependable toll free form of energy and it careened my weight toward the lowest point spanning the river. Before momentum slowed I began the hand over hand pull that would get me up the gentle slope to the other landing. As soon as my feet felt the solid deck, I grabbed and jammed the chain brake over the cable and securely behind the forward wheel in one smooth clank before it could roll back. I leaned back against the angle iron upright of the cable car frame, breathing heavy and feeling a nudge of self achievement. I just sat there wrapped in the darkness, smiling to the night and the audience of stars.

1979 Winter snow melt in the mountains revealed a completely different river. The calming, peaceful span of slow moving water became whitewater rapids. It transformed into a boulder crashing, angry force of nature. It lapped within five feet of our dangling boots when we crossed over it and we had to be careful to not carry excessive, unnecessary weight on the limited trips across.

The rains pounded on the green metal roof of the cabin in the upper meadow. As I tried to fall back to sleep after a midnight feeding of the glowing wood stove, the sound of boulders being relocated in the riverbed below was accompanied by the sense of the saturated ground bumping and thudding. Waking to the dreary wet morning, my first glance out the front window presented a sight which began a day of challenges I could not have imagined. The log tripod that normally held the cable twenty feet off of the ground was splintered and in the mud, still attached to a very slack cable.

Jim had gone on a road trip, and would not be in his cabin down on the edge of the swollen river but we bolted down there, not knowing what kind of disaster we would find. On the second switchback in the trail we had to climb over two uprooted trees that had been released from their places of grandeur on the slippery muddy slope. When the river came into view, the cable car was on its side next to the landing and the cable was beneath the whitecaps of the water and was snagging passing debris on the nearest shoreline but not visible at the far shore. We could not see the deadman anchor-system on the other side but assumed fallen trees had taken the cable down. Confused but decidedly trapped, we just needed to determine our next steps. Convinced that the water had reached its high mark and Jim’s cabin was not threatened we returned to the upper meadow to make a plan. We were checking the map to determine how many tributaries we would have to cross if we hiked out down river to the nearest town, as opposed to a shorter trek up river to a bridge that may or may not have been washed out. Our dog Phaedrus gave a bark and was off the porch in one leap, headed down the hill to the sound of a horn from the other side of the river, our doorbell system. Back down to the river we went. There was no possible way to hear much over the furious river, but Jim was over there trying to communicate something unsuccessfully. I held on to Phaedrus with a good grip, as he often swam the river in high water but I knew this would be too much for him to make it across. He barked at Jim with his nose in the air and jumping around as though it was a really fun game. Peter gave a wild pointing gesture suggesting up river or down river and Jim gave us the signal to head up. We were not sure he had checked the status of the bridge but the game of charades with him was too difficult. We just signaled back with a pointing gesture up river. Before we parted we could see he was holding something up that looked like it was shiny metal but could not tell what it was. We waved and parted and got back to the cabin shaking with the reality of our situation beginning to sink in.

We had never made the hike off the property on our side of the river. Other hikers had approached from both directions on two random occasions, so we only knew it was possible from their accounts. I packed a few things but kept it light. Some snacks, dry clothes and Phaedrus’s leash in the positive mindset that we would be safely staying in a warm dry house elsewhere by nightfall. Peter was outside securing things in case the storms continued and we could not return for a while when I heard an unfamiliar noise growing louder and louder. I dashed out of the cabin to see a helicopter landing in our tiny mountain meadow and Peter shaking his head back and forth yelling “NO” over the top of the loud and frightening wop-wop of of the blades. The pilot seemed stunned and put down anyway momentarily, but Peter did not approach the helicopter and continued his dismissal of a rescue. I watched with shock as the helicopter ascended and nearly brushing the treetops, left us there. My next glance at Peter was a wordless scowl and I headed into the woods with the dog, not able to comprehend why I was not consulted about a ride to safety in this unfolding nightmare of an adventure.

Phaedrus led us through the dense woods, always excited for a walk and constantly looking behind to be sure we were still following him. Hiking was not easy through the thick brush reclaiming the vague remnants of an old railcar track that we were attempting to follow. Left from the area’s mining days, it had been long ago abandoned, causing me to often completely lose the trail and have to peer ahead into the forest to determine a sign of a less hindered route or clearing. The sound of the confluence of a large tributary was becoming audible and I was not pleased when it ended my forward progress with the sight of a seriously raging waterfall a good thirty feet wide blocking us from the bridge that we still had not reached. I had not exchanged words with the person crashing behind me now for what seemed like hours. As he joined me at the site of the swollen obstacle halting us, words were still not easily found. Pheadrus was circling us with his tail wagging as we stood in our tracks trying not to feel beaten in our quest. I acquiesced in his choice to speak to Phaedrus and not me. I finally turned to Peter just as he simultaneously shot a look across the waterfall at something. Turning to follow his gaze, there was Jim with a rope tied to a large piece of wood. He was smiling and began swinging the weighted rope and attempting to get it to reach us. Once it was secured on our side, he tightened it with a come-a-long and sent-a block across which we attached a rope and makeshift t-bar to sit on. It was decided that Peter would have the honor of the first crossing, holding Phaedrus tightly on his lap. A fifty pound wild-eyed white husky would not be a passenger that I could carry. It was impossible for Peter to pull himself across with one arm so Jim helped with a second rope attached to another block on his side. My turn was less complicated and less frightening after the system had proven safe. Much excited talk was then shared and within a mile we were safely walking across the bridge that had not washed out and safely into Jim’s pick-up. The only injury of that epic day occurred on the road back to town. While engaged in our frantic discussion in the cab, we took our attention away from the poor confused Phaedrus riding in the bed of the truck. He must have assumed we were heading to the familiar parking place at the cable landing and as we passed it going about twenty five miles an hour, he jumped out. Hearing the sound of his claws leave the truck bed, we helplessly looked back to see him tumble and roll when he hit the road. He was scraped up but nothing was broken. He was not happy about driving away from the river. None of us were.