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on an island
April 17, 2014

I wrote an essay about the last week and then left, my laptop open on the couch, to get my daughter from school. I returned to my 20 pound cat purring on the keyboard with pages and pages of

ΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩ ΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩ ΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩ

It autosaved and previous drafts vanished. It’s pretty perfect, really. My time away had an enigmatic pulse.

When I was pregnant with my first daughter, I read hundreds and hundreds of birth stories. I was hungry for the information in others’ experiences. I wanted to feel prepared for anything, to know the possibility of everything from orgasm to death.

When my body was swollen with a Margot, my doula grabbed my 29 year-old hands and locked eyes with me, just a few inches from my face.

She said, “Your experience will be different than every other person’s experience. EVER.”

I had a unique recipe cooking inside of me when I boarded the first plane, as the sun set and Ruby clutched the hem of my shirt in despair. “I will miss you TOO much mama,” she sobbed over and over.

“We will miss each other the perfect amount.” I hugged her, believing her sentence more than mine.

I jumped into a stretch of firsts, the two biggest being my first time away from my children for more than a night and first time hosting a workshop.

Planes, layovers, cars and a little bit of sleep landed my travel companion and I in Washington. Twenty hours after we left Missoula, we arrived at the ferry terminal. I thought about the word terminal. It’s an end. But there’s a boat, a swim to somewhere else.

There, as we awaited our transport to an island I met friends, new and old. Through instagram handles, recounted email exchanges and hugs we settled into our space. Together, we found our sea legs and stepped on the boat to somewhere else.

My daughters suggested I find either a shark or an orca. Both would be best, but one would be alright. A photograph was requested, preferably with me in it next to the shark and/or orca. On that boat, I studied the navy expanse for any underwater movement, any breech. I only saw a gull hover at my temple, a loon dive for an alarming amount of time, four bald eagles atop island trees and a very different horizon.

I never stopped searching.

With my excitement, I also carried insecure thoughts of traveling away from the comfort of mountains and my family. I practiced positively shifting my internal language: I travel toward an ocean of new experience. I travel into potential. I was open and in solid company of others journeying from all corners of our country and Canada. They were in planes, cars and boats pointed to the same bay on the same tiny pacific island.

Being on an island can mean entrapment and it can mean self-discovery. These things are not mutually exclusive and I felt them both. I am changed by the people I met, deeply moved by their trust, honesty and storytelling. Together conduits to something greater, we wrote and shared and listened. We ran through emerald jungles, soaked in deep tubs of hot water, squished cold toes into sand and shoved full glasses of wine together in earnest toasts.

^^ I baked during part of my presentation on storytelling about the ritual of everyday experiences. Photo by Jenn Furber. ^^

^^ photo by Jesse Michener ^^

I never did see a whale or shark. Instead I brought my daughters the sincerest hugs I have ever given. We have been touching ever since: piggie backing, lap sitting, hand holding, shoulder riding, hugging, spooning. We missed each other too much, which was the perfect amount.

Margot and Ruby pushed into my torso as I told them about the seal I saw on my run one morning. I found a seaside bench at the end of a private trail. I sat, my body quiet and mind racing. I scanned the level blue for a fin and found him instead. Right in front of me, he silently pushed through the dark water. Just his head, the rest of his body vertical beneath the surface. We held gaze for a longer time than I’d imagined possible. And then he winked at me. Twice, just to be sure I understood.

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25 Comments


Chrissy
April 17, 2014 at 1:45 PM

This made me FEEL just the right amount. You are the kind of writer- that midway makes me never want to write again because your words are just so good. But by the end makes me want to write and write after watching you dance because you made it look so fun. Entrapment & self-discovery. The meaning of terminal. Simmering in your words. Xo



    dig
    April 21, 2014 at 10:02 AM

    I am glad by the end you want to write and write because we need to hear from YOU.

Kelli
April 17, 2014 at 1:54 PM

Beautiful!



Leanna
April 17, 2014 at 2:03 PM

Thank you for sharing your experience. I am so glad that you will be there in October when I get to come. I will be one of the Canadians in her car 🙂



trbholt
April 17, 2014 at 2:08 PM

What a wonderful adventure, I look forward to hearing all about it in person!

xoxo, Love you Burb! Mom



SmithShack71
April 17, 2014 at 2:58 PM

I just love you too much! Which is the perfect amount.
God, I wish I could’a been there.

-Angie



Laura
April 17, 2014 at 3:30 PM

Beautiful. And the last part reminds me of an exercise someone had me do at a retreat or maybe I read it somewhere in a book! Either way – it had an effect on me…
Imagine yourself sitting where the ocean meets the land. The vastness of it. It it you and then a beautiful whale appears. It stops still in front of you. Imagine the beauty. Now. Pretend you are the whale. Looking back at the woman….



Flower Patch Farmgirl
April 17, 2014 at 4:13 PM

What Chrissy said.

Also: You have the best freaking curls in the history.



Doug Sandsatd
April 17, 2014 at 4:19 PM

My kids are grown and independent, and my 2 grandsons are Super Cute and Smart ! But, you make me wish I had spent much more time with them in the early years. Keep up your excellent parenting.



    dig
    April 21, 2014 at 10:01 AM

    Doug, I imagine we all have wishes like that. I think back on my kids when they were babies…memories are fuzzy and I wonder if I was as present as I could have been. Did I pay enough attention? I then remind myself that we have this moment, now. You do too. How lucky we are!

Doug Sandstad
April 17, 2014 at 4:20 PM

(spelling correction)



Meghanssj
April 17, 2014 at 4:53 PM

Beeeeautiful! I love your pictures and I feel your feelings. Is it weird that I think I would miss home and my husband and my daily calls with Mom as much as you missed your daughters? I would. I can’t wait to hear more of what comes out of this experience. It sound so wonderful!



    dig
    April 21, 2014 at 9:58 AM

    Well, I don’t think it’s weird at all! I missed my family so much. I recognize the goodness is going away for my own adventure and I recognize the comfort and love in coming home. Andy and I have been snuggling a la teenage years since I’ve been back. The ole ‘absence makes the heart grow fonder’ rings true over here. 🙂

Nicolette
April 17, 2014 at 7:38 PM

you are just beauty from the inside out.



Michelle
April 17, 2014 at 9:24 PM

Oh, how absolutely lovely, Nici. I am going to re-read it at once because of the way it made me feel and remember our weekend.
I’m beyond excited to read the rest of your blog. You’re a new treasure for me and a true gift for all.
xoxo



In Their Own Words
April 18, 2014 at 12:35 AM

[…] Dig This Chick “On An Island” by Nici Holt Cline […]



Christa
April 18, 2014 at 1:15 AM

This looks like it was amazing. During the summers when I was in college I worked at a summer camp on Orcas teaching writing and photography. It is a magical place. I’ve always wanted to take my kids over to the islands. One of these summers….



Sandra
April 20, 2014 at 7:14 PM

Sounds beautiful Nici.
I too have journeyed to new territory. My 4 yr old had open heart surgery last week. That was the most intense 4 hrs of my life. I hope never to see, hear, feel or taste that ever again in my life for any of my 4 children. My girl is string, brave, funny , resilient and beautifully pure.
We are all nestled in our house again, together and repaired. .
I drink to that.
Sandra
My three faeries and a Prince



    dig
    April 21, 2014 at 9:56 AM

    Oh Sandra, I know that feeling of helplessness when your child is unconscious and not in your arms. I love the image of you all at home together now.

    Much love mama,
    Nici

    jennie
    April 26, 2014 at 9:10 PM

    Sandra,

    So glad your daughter is doing well and that your family is back together. There’s a lot of worry and anguish that leads up to the days of OHS and recovery can send you to your knees over and over again. Breathe a sigh of relief and enjoy these days!

    Hoping for continued healing and echos that are spread farther and farther apart for your little one.

    Enjoy that drink!

    – A fellow heart mama

Tammi
April 21, 2014 at 10:05 PM

It was such a mixture of pleasure & awkwardness to finally meet you. I didn’t want to seem overly eager, but I was. I didn’t want to freak you out with how much I knew about your life, but I did (from reading every single blog post since Grady started going to kindergarten). Your words have always made me want to know you and what a sweet gift I gave myself with this retreat. It was more than I signed up for and I wouldn’t trade it for the world. I thought my small circle of friends was closed at this age, but BOY was I wrong! I’m grateful to learn that even at my age I have so much to learn from others. Thank you for your blog. Thank you for your cooking lessons (I still make your Seedy Bread!). Thank you for helping me see that’s it’s okay to be a mom and enjoy my home, my husband and my forays into art, nature and whatever else strikes my fancy. You are so real and when you looked at me…well, I think I looked away. I’ve never been looked at so intently, Nici. You are an incredible listener and it’s no wonder you are a magnificent storyteller. Please keep sharing your beautiful world. Oh, and thanks for the specialty cocktail in your cabin. You really should consider a Dig This Drink series! I hope to cross paths with you again in the future. xoxo



    dig
    April 26, 2014 at 10:27 PM

    Tammi! I am so thankful to have finally met you. Our time together made a remarkable impression on me. You, mama, are someone I look forward to knowing more and more…I love that we have the northern California zone in common and look forward to deeper connection over better-made cocktails! (although essential oils do work in a pinch ;)) xoxoxoxoxoxoxooooooooooo

Lori
April 26, 2014 at 5:04 PM

Hi Nici,

I was the fellow Montanan-turned-Orcas-ite sitting next to you at the Darvill’s reading — went home and looked up your blog and then life sent some distraction or another. I didn’t get over to Doe Bay for any of the other events, but so happy we met! Love, love how you put words together!

Hope you got to do a little island exploring. Next time you’re out this way, you’ll have to come see our little homestead in the woods. I think we have a few more things in common!

xxoo
Lori



    dig
    April 26, 2014 at 10:23 PM

    Deal! I’ll be back in October and would love to see you again! 🙂

Wendy
May 11, 2014 at 11:30 PM

Nici, Beautiful post about Doe Bay. I really enjoyed meeting you and wished we had more time together. You have many gifts and I loved being in your presence. I think that seal felt it too, that’s why he winked twice at you. xo



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