Travel To Washington State

By Isa Wuhn

I was blessed this past month to be able to travel the long way in the sky from New Orleans to Seattle, to see a bit of the country over the air and explore new land (for me) with my own two feet on the ground. I had vaguely heard that there had been fires, something that happens in your peripheral vision, like a million other things that go in and out of our minds during the day. Flying into SeaTac airport, a haze of smoke enveloping the region like a red blanket, I realized that my periphery had become very very real. The beauty of the cool blue water, deep green trees, contrasted with the wildfire smoke was a surreal and strangely beautiful experience. Being outside felt like a mixture of inhaling cigarettes, standing too close to a campfire, and drowning, so we ended up wearing masks while walking around town.

But we still picked fresh blackberries in the park, stood there for hours feasting on free food, cutting ourselves on the thorns and wondering if that dark purple mark was a juice stain or a blood stain. Probably a bit of both. Those berries were the sweetest I’ve ever tasted.

My friend and I decided we needed to ditch the city, maybe head out for Mt. Rainier, go camping, explore. We were right to ditch the city, but we were wrong to head to the mountain. After Spokane had been almost wiped off the map, we thought that must be it, because it feels like it should be it. But no, a fresh new fire had popped up in Mt. Rainier, and as we pumped gas in the strangely bustling, searingly warm, orange mountain town of Packwood, our lungs and our bodies told us no, we need to leave. We booked it for the coast.

As the smoke cleared so did our minds, and the drive evolved into a beautiful, impromptu expedition across almost the entirety of the state, finding free campsites online using websites like iOverlander, stopping at Lytle Seafoods on a whim to shuck oysters outside, the air clean and blue, the oyster cages bobbing up and down in the distance. Finding fields of dandelions and lady bugs, feeling as fresh and open as the sky, but with the tinge of grief dripping slowly down our throats. A grief of experiencing this broken world, and watching it break, and knowing that the beauty in front of your eyes will transform and shatter, reorganize and maybe come back again, and maybe not. 

We wandered through the rainforest and slept in its old, mossy embrace. We saw landscapes of desolation and of vibrancy. We saw jails hidden in the forest, ragged stumps of ancient trees, and a coast made out of the bones of dreams.