I got a phone call this past spring inviting me into a group of writers again, and at first, I thought it might be The Thing I was looking for. And by that I mean a “new thing.” And by that I mean learning something new that might lead to something else in the Hobby Job realm of my life.

Now seven months later, I realize it was not a good time for me to try a writing group again because of the summer season and its glories of backpacking. And what a season it was! One of my best backpacking seasons ever, and as much as I am glad to see the rains, I understand how precious the time is for being in the high alpine mountains on foot. How precious this time is that my body can do these things. How there is still so much to see and time seems to slip away faster each season.

This last backpacking trip I hiked in Ross Gay’s The Book of (More) Delights, and I love that at a time when we’re all seemingly navel gazing with and about robots, passively being manipulated by algorithms, and fetishizing digital content that undermines our democracy that a poet can bring such joy into the world. My world. And he is a teacher who influences students. Human beings doing things for other human beings. A precious delightful thing.

So here are a few delights from this season:
Delight 1:

I discovered that the book I’ve been writing in earnest for 10 years and thinking about for 20 is this person inside me trying to process the fast quick relentless years of change in my 20s. I tore up the journal that I kept during that era in an argument with a boyfriend who had read what I wrote without my permission. And I remembered this via a nightmare, and I awoke to the memory of a journal that had all of my thoughts and dreams as I was discovering backpacking and hiking for the first time. How I loved to climb on a mountain bike. How I did not want to be 40 year old waitress in a mountain town. How “The Mud Season” was code for “Poverty.” Writing this book has been a return to that story of who I was then. I was delighted when I shared this journal ripping story and an older-than-me woman told me she had a similar experience. She said, “We all dated that dickhead. I think this book is you forgiving yourself for being so stupid. Good for you. We were all fucking dumber than we realized.” Yes, Wise One, so true.

Delight 2:

I returned to three pieces that I wrote ten years ago, and it is funny to see how journalistic I was trying to be. So cute! How devoid of anything personal (so academic). And now I am so present in what I write, I prolly slide into TMI Town too much and I no longer want to encourage or empower anyone to do what I do. I just want to be left alone. The pandemic introduced a lot of people to the outdoors who really need learn how to respect others’ desires for silence and solitude. Every time I see (hear) annoying people, I want to ask them who they voted for, who their grandparents voted for, and what they do to maintain the trails they all feel so fucking entitled to now. I digress.

Returning to this old work, I now see more clearly who I was then and what I thought this book might be. It’s more essaying than linear storytelling. It’s turned more humorous after I made it through seasons of menopause-fueled depression. It’s written more for folks who are not backpackers, but my ideal audience knows the difference between moleskin and a band aid, why you need to always know where the direction west is, and how to read a map that does not require WiFi. A delight has been a reader who shared that she has lived the shadow of a mountain range her whole life and never thought to climb up them. My brain was like “You live THAT close to the Sierra Nevadas and you don’t hike?!” But then she said, I still really enjoy reading your story, but it has never occurred to me that I could walk in those mountains.

And that’s when I saw a new audience for my story. One that won’t judge the size of my pack or the weight that I carry. One that won’t have strong opinions about how to be in the backcountry. One that won’t jack it about “bagging miles” at speed. One that may be forgiving about the hard things I learned on my own because I did not have a family support system who taught me how to backpack. A reader who may just enjoy the story.

The way I enjoyed Ross Gay’s stories of delight. His experience is far from mine and yet there is a stitch that holds us together as reader and writer. At the end of his book he lists a series of delights that I think are short reflections that did not make it into the book in long form, and one it’s my favorite part of the book. One delight that made laugh out loud? Somebody said he looks like a person who makes his own deodorant. Wonderful! My people!

Delight 3:

I find great joy when a reader finds sentences that I loved writing. When I hear somebody read aloud something that I wrote because they liked it (common practice in this group) my soul floats above us and soars with happiness. Pure delight. Mary Oliver described one of her poems as pouring out of her without trying in an interview with Krista Tippett, and I understand how that feels. It does not happen enough nor does this mysterious force deliver the kind of beauty that Mary received, but I’ll take what I can get. A few of my favorite sentences came about this way. Others have been a long labor of revision. Others I did not see as good until somebody else read them.

Delight 4: People who do trail work.

My first trip of the season I hiked in 7 miles to gorgeous camping spot, and then day hiked 12 miles the next day. A favorite way to find solitude get further into mountains easier. I had read a report about a part of the trail that had been washed out but was well-marked with tape. I brought my map and my compass feeling ready to way-find if I needed to and since the trail followed a creek, I thought it would be okay. Well, holymoly the winter storms had torn up the trail and destroyed bridges, moved boulders, and knocked down trees. I had moment where I wondered if I should continue or if I was risking ending up on the evening news as a missing solo woman, and I saw a pink plastic ribbon with black markered words: Trail this way. Thank you, Dear Trailcrew.

I followed the tape, slid in the mud, and climbed way higher than the original trail back to the established way. All along the trail, I saw notes for future trail work and felt thankful I could easily see where to go and I did not have to negotiate blown down trees. I plan to return to trailcrew work in upcoming year. Clearing the trail for others is remarkably rewarding.

Delight 5:

Limiting my time on the social media and focusing instead on writers and artists that, you guessed it, delight me. That rich fuckface who bought The Blue Bird platform from other rich shithead just killed it for me. InstaSpam has also turned into a swamp of advertisements and I feel existential dread on the Linked Into Capitalism, so I try to keep aware what’s happening, but I rarely engage. I joined FaceCrook again because this writing group loves it so much, and I deleted my account for the third and final time. Nothing there delights me.

So, who does delight me? A list of folks whom I try to support monetarily while I am able to. A small amount that I think of as tossing money into the hat of a busker. I truly believe, and this has not changed from the era where I was a dumb young girl tearing up her journal, that if you love something you have to support it. If something brings you delight, then pay to see more of it in the world. It may be “free” from any of the platforms above, but we pay in other ways. Before you tell me why I’m wrong, do the math on the labor of The Thing. Before you give me examples of The Things that are “free” trace the funding back to who does support it. But you know, I don’t really give a shit, so I’ll use the word “free” in quotes, because I know everything has a cost in capitalism. Bless your heart if you live in a different reality. Must be delightful.

So let’s just talk about the art I love and support with the money I am eternally grateful for when it appears in my bank account.

Delights Worth Funding:

1. My husband’s bike racing. This delightful man hated PE in high school because it was a pain in the ass to unlace his Docs, and now he will slaughter dudes half his age on a bike. I jokingly said I’d sponsor his racing and he could put my face on his kit as a sponsor. Check out our bike team’s sponsor and buy something cool from him if you can. Our team’s three requirements delight me: Race your bike, hang out together, and don’t be a dick. I’ve retired from organizing bikey teams and events and these “requirements” are just what I need.
2. Audrey Watters new focus is pure delight . I love everything she is doing and her focus on fitness tech is cosmic boom in the universe for me. And really, when you look at the arc of her writerly work, she’s always been a story-telling-historian-teacher. She’s always been a bit more Minerva than Cassandra to me, and her new work delights me while making me smarter. Also for being so new to running, she is fucking crushing it and her recipes are as wonderful as her partner’s Insta posts about their dog. Pure joy.
3. Ella Sanders is the type of artist I want to be. She makes me think I might be an illustrator writer(!) and there are more ways to tell stories than just with words. Her writing, painting, observations, and everything that she does is a bit of a north star. A wonder. Her latest book is in the “Delights” section of my library, and I’ve read it, marked it up, and given it as a gift several times.
4. Sarah Cray saved me when I was trying to see if I would love watercolor painting. The oath she does before she paints sums up her entire pedagogy, and I love it. I hold up my dog’s right paw and I repeat after her. I promise to not to compare my work, I promise to be kind to myself, and I promise to have fun. Yes! She is a great teacher, and I so enjoy her perspective on learning about art. I plan to preorder her new book because I know how much that helps authors in the book bidniss. Pre-order books if you can or place a hold on a new book so the glorious librarians can carve out their budget for patron copies. Or we’ll end up in a world where the only writers are shitty robots.
5. And lastly, Inga Buividavice blew my mind with her online course. She advised that you can find your color palette and buy your favorites instead of spending time blending. Genius! I get it that the act of mixing colors helps you sell paint if you are a sponsored artist, but her very matter-factly advice along with her lovely Russian accent, sold me on just buying colors I want. I was fucking around and finding nothing delightful with muddy colors. Mixing colors is still fun and I’ve improved, but her perspective on just getting to the painting and finding your palette was the permission I needed.

Here’s a shot of one of the most beautiful spots I saw this summer.

Okay, so to wrap this up, let me share a delight from Ralph Caplan:

“All art, and most knowledge, entails either seeing connections or making them. Until it is hooked up with what you already know, nothing can be learned or assimilated.”

A memoir.