I have been back from my trip for just eight days now–what a journey it was, both internal and external, through the farthest reaches of the Northwest and of my Heart!

2400 miles were driven in three states through a path both familiar and new that wound its way in a figure eight from here in the redwoods of Northern California, past the exact spot Josiah was killed and on to The Gorge Amphitheatre not far from the very center of Washington State. Then, to Yakima before Lopez Island and Port Orchard, both places to rest, connect and lick my still healing wounds from the meeting I had with Yakima County D.A., Joe Brusic.

10 days after our initial departure we headed back south, down Interstate 5 through Oregon, barreling towards the spine of California, following it to the delta where we headed west to San Francisco. We saw family and made family from friends, old and new, while attending four of the final five Dead & Company shows, completing Josiah’s journey after he first left home over four years ago. There would be so much to tell you if now was the time, but it’s being sussed out and sorted for the last chapter of the book I am writing, Remember the Birds.

I woke this past Sunday morning late, very late for me, as I did not fall asleep until near 1:00 a.m. Even the dogs chose to sleep in and Brian was away on the coast spending time with his daughter Karlie and the grandbabies before they return home to Eastern Europe later this week.

I had driven out to Shelter Cove the day before to spend time with them too, attempting to snuggle with the now very squirmy, on-the-move 8 month old by dangling a jangly toy llama above her face, giving her something to reach for.

I also played with the 3 year old, helping him to redirect some of his restlessness into imaginative play with plastic dragons who could duel it out, expelling frustration, rather than pouring water on the floor or coloring on objects less agreeable to toddler crayon art than the untouched coloring book I brought.

“It isn’t the feelings we have that are the problem,” I paused long enough to tell Karlie. “It’s what we do with them.”

Brian’s parents also made the trek down the 101 and out the very curvy Shelter Cove Road for some family time. The sun was unusually present and warm, the ocean unusually still as was the air and we were all worn out by the end of the day. I drove back to town well after 9:00 p.m. with a recording of Dead & Company’s final show playing loudly out of my speakers, filling the belly of the Whitethorn Valley as I wound my way back home to the dogs who were there patiently waiting.

Sunday morning, after an unheard of hour or more relaxing in bed, I ventured downstairs to get the coffee going and dogs fed. As I passed the still open windows of our two-story duplex, I slammed each shut wanting to keep the middle-of-the-night cool air in and the late morning swelling heat out. I reached behind the plethora of small objects that have lined the kitchen window sills of every home I’ve lived in for as long as I can remember, grabbing the metal edge of the vertical window pane and slid it shut. The sill is packed a little tighter than usual with a 3 1/2″ round pot shoved into the mix early last week after it was filled with fresh potting soil, sprinkled with marigold seeds, topped with a fine layer of dirt and moistened just enough to encourage them to pop. I didn’t stop there–I went as far as crafting a small tent for the top of the pot from a sandwich bag with a slit for a vent to keep the seeds warm during the day and cozy through the night.

I don’t usually plant seeds with such obsessive care, but these seeds were different.

Two weeks prior, I had gently lifted nary a teaspoon up off the barren soil from down an embankment that stretches to the west of Hwy 97 in Yakama territory, in the very spot where Josiah’s body once laid. I had gone there with Brian to both visit and tend to his grave.

We spent what little time we had caring for that space as the sun prepared to set below the horizon to the west. I tidied the many objects left over the past three years while Brian hand mowed the grass that had finally decided to grow after lying fallow ever since Josiah decomposed in that place. I set a large quartz crystal heart right in the middle along with an Eye of Shiva shell and lotus seed bracelet which intentionally matched the ones I would leave on Ari’s altar on Lopez Island two and a half days later.

As I knelt down ever so gently on top of Josiah’s grave, I looked down and mumbled, “What is that?” Beneath my knees laid marigold seeds, shed from a flower I left on one of my previous trips. Brian was still busy hand-mowing the grass behind me and the sun dipped even lower off to my left.

These seeds look tired, but those there in that little pile… do not.

“Hey baby, I’m going to go grab the dogs,” Brian announced, breaking my thought. Smokey and Dharma were still up on the side of the highway, waiting in the car.

I gently picked up a small cluster of seeds and tucked them into a scrap of one of my dog poop bags (unused, of course). I tied it together, then slipped the knotted green pouch into my pocket being ever so careful not to crush it.

The seeds weren’t the only thing I collected from the desert that evening. I also harvested a very small bundle of desert sage from the large bush which sits halfway up towards the road, still holding strong after being split in half by the car Josiah was riding in.

I carried those little seeds in that small green pouch nestled right next to the sage in my mother’s canvas monogrammed tote bag which came home with me last year after her death. The idea that they might sprout seemed a long shot as they had been lying exposed in the harsh elements for at least nine months, but I was willing to try.

Come Sunday morning, much to my absolute joyous surprise, I found one tiny green sprout pushing its arms towards the light while shouting Hug me! with all of its fragile might. My eyes widened as I let out an audible gasp followed by a laugh into my still silent house.

And in that moment, all of the details from the three previous weeks came together and expressed themselves in the form of one tiny sprout from one tiny seed.

There’s no telling what can happen when we open our hearts and say yes to life despite where it’s taken us.

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13 days, 2400 miles, 3 states, 6 hotels, one private home of a one time stranger who is now just a long lost friend.

Four out of the last five Dead & Company shows, 5 miracle tickets, a pile of seeds, one small bundle of sage, a massive thunderstorm along with intense heat all sewn together by huge hearts, not to mention the music that was the soundtrack for the entire lifespan of my child from his inception to his death.

Thank you to all of you who have followed along–some new, some old–to the ones who came and said hello whether at the Gorge, at Catalyst Coffee in Yakima, at Sightglass Coffee in SF or at Oracle Park and the thousands who have cheered me on from the comfort of their homes.

Thank you also to my new subscribers here at Remember the Birds.

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