On the corner of Ranger Station Road and Powerline Drive

Every so often (and usually less often than we should), we find a place that slows us down. A place where our internal dialogue subsides and gives way to total sensory observations. This summer, I've discovered a quarter mile stretch of road near one of my many summer residencies. From my transient housing at the national park, a short walk along Ranger Station Rd takes me to a place underneath the powerlines where, amazingly enough, I find full cell phone service. The next place where cell phones works is over 100 miles to the east. For some reason, this one exact intersection of powerlines and road is open enough to catch a signal. And so it's become a ritual to walk from my house to the Cell Phone Spot each evening.

Usually I'm in flip flops and the road, while paved, is bumpy enough to feel the gravel pebbles on the soles of my feet (or perhaps, I've just worn my sandals too thin). The setting sun can be intense, but as soon as it drops below the mountains, a long sleeve shirt or hoodie is required. Blackberries, so ripe that they nearly burst when gently picked, line the sides of the roads in such abundance that it would require days of harvesting. The darkest ones are sweet enough that I swear someone had sprinkled them with sugar when I wasn't looking. A blast of chilled air lets me know that I'm crossing a creek and then the smell of cow manure reminds me that the water isn't as clean as it looks. A horse whinnies, a dog barks (and scares me briefly as it charges the fence), a car drives by and the person inside waves, of course. From below the powerlines, a distinct buzzing of electricity can be heard, a sound that makes me think of how the melting glaciers are powering hydroelectric dams that give Seattle 25% of its power and that we're melting glaciers faster than we think. It takes awhile for my cell phone to register the signal, but once acquired, has four bars. The sun continues to set and the mountains glow in red and orange hues. I've seen the moon rise on occasions and if I'm in a particularly good conversation, I'll stay out late enough to see shooting stars and the Milky Way. Another car passes, this time in the dark and because I'm blinded by the headlights, I can't tell if the driver waves. At this point, I usually realize that there are coyotes and meth users in the area and that I'm all by myself underneath powerlines in the middle of nowhere. I say my goodbyes and walk briskly back to my house in complete darkness, feeling the road underneath my feet even more distinctly than before.