Been there, done that

Modoc National Forest Access Road 2, border of Oregon and California
We spend an incredible amount in a Catholic charities thrift store and again at Goodwill, but we are well-outfitted for the burn. I have several pairs of outrageous boots, comfortable and stylish lingerie, and a silk shawl (warm and sexy at the same time for cold-cold nights in the desert). Skip has a pair of tux pants and a pair of khaki Gap cargo pants he will chop up into cut-offs. I could list and list and list. We will be way more prepared with a plethora of outfits to choose from. I love buying skirts that are 'too tight' for the real world but perfect for the Burn. I love being able to bicycle in a short, tight skirt and not have to worry about showing my panties.

Yesterday we worried about not having gifts to give at the Burn. We didn't realize what a big deal gifts were last year but we caught a break as virgins. We wanted to have BM thongs printed up this year, but the funds ran out so soon...

So today we collect sage, first from a rest area high on a desert hill in the hot Washington state desert (no, Virginia, it is not all wet and foggy and soggy like Seattle), then from beside the wild road just over the river into Oregon. We clip and snip (not the blossoms, the leaves) and offer the plants Reiki energy and tobacco from a cigar we smoked at Kekuli Bay. We gather plastic bags full of sage, not Big Sage, some other species. The whole van reeks of sage, we are a rolling herb drying barn. I drive and Skip bunches the sage, tying pieces together to make smudges, medium-size smudges. We giggle as if we are rolling giant Cheech and Chong joints. We laugh about getting stopped, and we get high on the cleansing the van full of sage provides. We end up with shoe boxes full of wet sage smudges, and we put the boxes in the sun so they'll dry out in time to set on fire at the Burn. Our gifts. Perfect. We didn't pay a thing for them, they carry the karma and message of the trip, they'll help people harmonize with their environment, and they are consumable -- someone will not have to store them or collect them, they're made to use.

One eerie scene today: we found Stone Henge on a high hill over the river that seperates Washington from Oregon. The wind blew so hard that hats left heads, skirts flew up to the Goddess, and the dust left the earth in thick, swirling clouds. Too windy to take pictures, actually, but I tried anyway and both sets of batteries died. Not meant to be documented, this World War I memorial built by a local Quaker. Cast perfectly, full-size Stone Henge on the edge of a windy river road. We walk through it and say outloud the names of the local dead. Say them to the strong wind. Who knows where they are now, or if any will follow us down the road.