Welcome to the world in grae.

The story of some weirdo attempting to start something.

Forward: This isn't meant to necessarily a "blog." I have no Idea what I will be talking about. This first one is a story. The rest? Who knows. It's just intended to get me to write something other people can tell me sucks/doesn't suck, once a month. Because writing is supposed to be good for you or something....

I cannot promise it will be good, or useful, educational, entertaining, interesting, or even contain any value what so ever. But it's free to put things on the internet, sooo read it. Don't. It'll be here. Feel free to harass and heckle me for my silly mistakes, and especially if I miss a month. That's kind of the point. Otherwise Welcome, to the world through my eyes. The world in grae.

You could say this story started 25 years ago, but we'll skip to the good part.

The spring of 2017 I graduated university. For most of the 20 years I spent in academia, I was a low B- /C student. I'm not stupid, getting good grades just seemed unimportant to me. However in my 7 year stint at design school (yes, that's correct, 7 years) I had a lot of sobering moments. A big one being me missing an EXTREMELY important mid-program review. I rushed in, just a couple minutes late, making excuses and trying to save face to a circle of professors. My program director, known for being a ruthless, no-bullshit, but effective leader, said amidst my excuses, "Maybe you just need to get your fucking shit together. Figure out what your priorities are. Because this obviously isn't one." He was right. I had no direction and no focus. Unfortunately, I didn't learn my lesson that time. Or the next one, or probably the three after that...some of which included various interaction with law enforcement, being robbed, getting my heart broken, more law enforcement, and nearly being homeless (All of which I actually recommend to someone in their 20's. They teach you what you're really made of.) I'm not sure if it was me getting older and more mature, my brain finally settling into it's adult structure, or if I'd finally fucked up enough times that I'd gotten sick of it. I think they might be a little bit the same thing. But by the summer I turned 23, I'd found some focus and some love for myself. I read some books that inspired a direction in life that I really felt passionate about (Shout out to the 4 Hour Work Week). So much so, that the last two years of school were some of the best of my life.

The final semester of my college career was Senior Show. It is the thing that every design freshman dreams about when they first start. The final project at the end of all that work and practice. You get to show off everything you learned and make whatever you want. The whole art building puts on a massive event where every senior displays work in a showroom for their major: Graphic Design, Interior Design, Apparel Design, Industrial Design, Drawing, Painting, Sculpture, the whole shebang. In my 7 seven years of school, I got, maybe five A's. Two of them were gym classes.... The other was my Senior Studio. It was the highlight and proudest moment of my life. Not only was it the best work I had ever done, it was one of the better projects in the class. My peers told me what a good job I did and my teacher told me how proud of me she was.

Oh yeah, and did I mention that a week later I turn 25, and a week after that I left for a year in Fiji and New Zealand? Spring 2017 was a pretty good time for me.

Step back: Fall 2016, I was sitting in Ecology, and a girl spoke before class started. She was a representative of VESA, Volunteer Eco Students Abroad, and told us about the opportunity to volunteer in some exotic place the following summer. I figured that I was graduating, and a trip to an exotic place for a coupl ofe weeks sounded like a great graduation present to myself before getting a job and starting "real life." So I spent the last few months before graduation saving all my money and selling all my stuff. Around March, some industry professionals came into the senior studio class to give us some critique on a project. After class, people were mingling and talking about what we would be doing after graduation. I mentioned that I was going to Fiji, and one of the professionals remarked that I should check out New Zealand. It was a short flight from Fiji and it was easy to get a visa. "Better to do it now before getting entrenched in a job," he said. 72 hours and $100 later I had one year visa to stay in New Zealand.

So: Senior Show, College Graduation, 25th Birthday, packing what was left of my shit into my parents van to take to their house, leaving the country on my own for the first time, and coming to terms with the fact that I had just turned a major chapter in my life and that nothing was ever going to be the same. May is my favorite time of year.

The NEXT three weeks were spent in tropical paradise. Living in a village and experiencing Fijian life, traveling among the islands, and getting to understand what "tropical paradise" means. Finally, staying on an island with a sea turtle reserve and getting to help care for them. It was a beautiful experience. Not only the landscape: which was either rolling, misty, mountainous jungle or white beaches licked with crystal clear, sapphire waves; but the experience with the people.

Fiji is a poor country and the infrastructure is not great. However the people are more vibrant and friendly than any other nationality I've met. Bula! in Fijian means hello (it also means thank you.. and possibly at least 3 other things.) We spent 4 hours on a bus from the port to the village we would be staying in. We had our windows open and every single person we passed said BULA! Every. Single. One. Not in a "Hello, how do you do?" way either. But a "HELLO OLD FRIEND!!" kind of way.

For a week we lived in a rural village, 4 hours inland and tucked into the mountains.Two students wouldd stay with one of the local families: sleeping, eating breakfast with them, and painting their school buildings during the day while the kids were in class. We ended our days dancing, singing, and drinking kava (a mildly intoxicating drink made from the kava root) into the night. Leaving the village was heartbreaking for everyone. In that short week, strong bonds had formed, along with that appreciation that comes from living with someone who has less than you. (Apparently every single one of us shit our pants though. Don't eat the chicken that's been running around a couple of days ago, and has now been sitting in a pot for two days, sans-refrigerator.) There is still a strong desire to stay, throw off the busy-ness and complexity of modern life, and trade it in for the simple joy of basic communal living.

But at the end of the week, the bus came and the chaperones weren't going to leave anyone. The small army of volunteers (42 girls and 9 guys) climbed on, shouting their teary goodbyes from the windows. Six hours later we were back at the port, watching the sunrise, and like all good college students on vacation, getting ready to party.

Fiji was less of the volunteer eco and more students abroad than I expected, but it was unbelievable nonetheless. It was hard too. I had just left everyone I had spent the last 7 years getting to know. Now I had to leave the people I had just spent every moment of the last three weeks with, sharing some of the greatest experiences of my life. I watched them all go through the tunnel to their gate, as I got ready to curl up on a bench with an in-flight blanket for the night. To wait alone for my flight in the morning. Where I would once again be flying into a foreign country by myself.

On June 19th, 2018 I arrived in the land before time, the land of the silver fern. My time spent in New Zealand was of such epic proportions, that I cannot go into it fully here. It would make this post too long while simultaneously not doing the story justice. It was 365 days of adventure and growth. Of wonder, beauty, love, and of things so deep to my soul there are no words to express them. I spent time with people from all over the world, learning of things foreign beyond my imagination, as well that even the most foreign things can feel like home. (Cheesy yes, but seriously, all that hallmark-y bullshit you hear really happens.)

My first month in Auckland, I was staying at myfirst-everr Hostel. The residents were out in the courtyard, under the stars, having beers and sharing stories. At the table sat: a Kiwi, a Mauri (Indigenous New Zealanders), an Irishman, a Scot, a Frenchwoman, a Belgian woman, a Japanese-Canadian, a German, and three Englishmen. It sounds like the beginning of a bad joke, but it was a great night. And only one of countless other similar stories. My first few weeks were spent dumbfounded, wandering around Auckland, spending all my money on all the exotic things to spend money on (drinking gallons of coffee. Kiwi's love coffee so it's everywhere. Every gas station I went into, even in the middle of nowhere, had an espresso machine. And it's way better than American.) I was totally overwhelmed by so many options of where to go and what to do. I'd never had such freedom before. It's paralyzing. Through one, of a mind-boggling number of serendipitous pieces of grace, my innocent little mid-western ass, was given a hand to hold as I figured out what the hell was going on.

My second month was spent with a Kiwi family (The Griffin's). First in the city and then on their farm in the Coromandel (think rolling,jungle-coveredd, mini-mountains.) They were kind enough to teach and show me how incredible their country is. Theyallowed mey to get a real taste of what being a Kiwi is like, and it was the best welcome into the country I could have asked for. I still ask myself: How could I be so lucky?

Oh yeah, I was also sleeping in my hammock in a shipping container for a week or two.

After working for them and saving some money. I took a bus to Rotorua, the town of sulfur and hot springs (the whole place smells like ass.) Where I got to mountain bike down a volcano through a redwood forest. I've never really done any downhill biking before and the Rotorua Redwoods is world-renowned for it. I had a blast. Unfortunately, I haven't spent a lot of time mountain biking, and my legsneeded to recover for the next few days. So while it rained outside, I stayed in with everyone in the hostel: playing cards, sitting in front of the fire, and learning all the good foreign swear words when someone would lose.

A week later and another bus, to Wellington, the Capital of NZ. Incredibly, the city is carved into the steep surrounding hillsides, and is intimately interwoven into the nature of the hills. Parks overflow from with in the city. Mount Victoria is a massive park nearly 3 miles long, containing 100's of trails, and is essentially downtown.

From Wellington, the 4 hour ferry ride between the North and South Islands that make up NZ. The north Island is the land of beaches, paddocks, rolling hills, and the occasional dead volcano. The "Winter-less North." The South Island is the land of Lord of the Rings. Steep, jagged mountains. Dense, glowing jungles. Gatorade-blue glaciers and rivers. The ferry arrives in the little town of Picton, a short 2.5 hours hitchhike to the first real city of the South Island, Nelson.

From Nelson, the Abel Tasman trail, one of the Great Walks of New Zealand, and a taste of the Tasman bay (that would bring me back later in my adventure...)

Back to Nelson, then two days down the West Coast. A road comprised of narrow ribbons of concrete, writhing through dense, glowingly vibrant jungles, precariously attached high up the sides of cliffs that drop off into a blue and foamy abyss of the south Pacific.

Three quarters of the way down the island the road veers East, inland, away from the jungle and ocean. Into the great spiked land and spires of the mountains, fjords, and glaciers.

Amongst these is a town called Wanaka. I had heard of Wanaka, from other friends who had traveled New Zealand, and by the lore that passes through hostels. I arrived in Wanaka for the first time early September. It was the end of winter there, and I just happened to catch the last snowfall of the year. I fell in love immediately.

But it was to be short lived. I was scheduled to keep moving South. All the way to the bottom of New Zealand. I started (almost) all the way at the top, in Auckland, and managed to make it (almost) all the way to the bottom, to Dunedin. I spent a couple weeks in Dunedin, thinking I might settle for a while. I was road weary... but Wanaka pulled at my heart. It was too perfect.

My First Mountain Town

(Whew. This is taking a lot longer than I thought, and I feel like I'm skipping so much. Thanks for bearing with me.)

When I finally got to Wanaka, I was once again decision-locked. I was in paradise, but I was about to run out of money. What do I do? Where do I go? Even at $2 a night, staying in backpackers (hostels) used up cash fast. (Wandering around, still buying way too much food and coffee doesn't help either. But hey, I'm on vacation.) Taking random odd jobs off of the Facebook Wanaka Yard-sale page, I was able to find some part time work for an arborist couple, feeding a wood chipper. It was hard work, but it pays well, it's nice to be outside, and once again I found myself in the hands of someof the kindest and most giving people I could have imagined. The couple I worked for werebadassess: in their late forties, they were rock climbers, mountaineers, snowboarders, and they owned their own business climbing trees with chainsaws...Bad-asses. Not only that, theyhelpedp me find a room in house with a friend of theirs (another paradise) but they also gave me rope and climbing gear to use while I stayed in Wanaka. Thank you so much Jean and Milo.

However the work was only part time. My goal had been to find a town to settle into, stay for a while, get to know and explore while I saved money, and fund the rest of my trip. So I looked for work to do on nights and weekends. I had been a cook for a few years now, and liked the hustle of a kitchen... (Fun fact: being a cook is a drug and I am a junkie. More on this in another blog.)

This is where the story of Alivate begins. I'm not going to tell that story here though. Once again, I don't know that I could do it justice. It changed me. It was only six months, but it is a part of who I am. Alivate was a restaurant. The time I spent there and the people I spent it with were incredible. We went to heaven and hell together. I am forever grateful.

However Alivate has another very important role to play in this story. It was one day in the kitchen when we all were talking. See, Wanaka is a ski town in the winter and a lake town in the summer. We had all arrived in the spring and sadly watched the snow melt. (Don't get me wrong, spending summer there was one of the best decisions of my trip. Have I mentioned how beautiful it is? I have a couple hundred more pictures.) We had gotten to talking about how we should all meet up sometime and go skiing somewhere in North America. Most of us were either American, Canadian, or Aussi/Kiwi. (It's easy for Aussis and Kiwis to go to Canada because of some lady on all their money...) We decided that we would find another ski town like Wanaka to meet up in. We couldn't go to Colorado, California, or B.C. There were too many people and it was too expensive. So we decided, "let's go to the middle of nowhere." Someone joked There'ss nothing but potatoes in Idaho right?" Very wrong. We looked up Idaho and were blown away.

*This is the importance of this story. January 2018. I was 6 months into my one-year visa. I was starting to think about what I was going to do when I went back. I couldn't go back to the Midwest. The mountains were in my blood. But I had noideaa what that meant for me. The first time I looked up pictures of Idaho, a story started to form. I looked up ski resorts in Idaho thinking maybe I could work on developing my mask project, and stumbled upon an article about the best small resorts in America. 3 were in Idaho. Getting Warmer. I did a little research on each. Two were in Southern Idaho, in the more desert part of the state, bordering Wyoming. The other one was in the panhandle, about 50 miles from Washington, 50 miles from Canada, and 50 miles from Montana. A little mountain town in the winter. A big beautiful lake in the summertime. That town, was Sandpoint. Suddenly it crystalized, with a nearly audible crack, and my uncertainty turned to solid footing. I had a direction.

In March a new chef was hired and took over my position at Alivate. I bought a car and set off to spend the last few months wandering the country on my way back to Auckland. Eventually, Sandpoint bound.

This is Beth. We fell in love.

I'm going to end the story here or I would retell every moment second by second. It continues with some amazing and some death defying tales. I appreciate every moment though. They made me, and led me to the next chapter: Sandpoint.

In June of 2018, my visa expired and I had to leave. I had made plans for extending my visa but the universe had other plans. I ended up in Auckland with just 8 days until my visa expired. I had to sell my beautiful Beth and all the things I had accumulated living out of the car over the last six months. I also had to figure out where I was going when I left. Schweitzer Mountain. The ski resort in Sandpoint had summer jobs listed. I sent them an email. The next morning, at 4 am, with the Germans shouting at the soccer match in the other room, I had my interview over Skype. Exactly 365 days after arriving in New Zealand I got on a plane to Seattle. 24 hours later I was getting on the Amtrak that would take me to Sandpoint Station. At 4:30 am the next day I stepped off the train into the next chapter, my new home, Sandpoint Idaho.