Angeles Crest Highway

Golly gee.

What a week.

Do you ever have weeks where at the end you can only be glad you survived? Do you have weeks where the only chance of recovery involves a solid night's sleep and a moment of blessed silence?

That was my week. We are talking a handful of 12 hour work days, being choked out by a six year old,  and a newly developed eye twitch from too much documentation. At the end of my day on Thursday I indulged in a good cry, some bourbon, and like six hours of The Flash on netflix. 

Isn't Los Angles life so glamorous?

I think missing Justin has clouded my sunny skies of late. From LA to Chicago to San Antontio, he has been busy jetting off around the country. He has been gone a week. In that time summer had fled, heralding a bevy of chilly mornings and perfect days. The beautiful LA weather I was longing for has finally arrived. We are talking sunny and 75 with evenings that host enough nip in the air to warrant a sweater. 

On my days off I have been sewing like a mad woman, compiling a wardrobe full of stripes, corduroy, denim, and lace. I have this mental ideal of my fall wardrobe, with items from Reformation, Free People, and ASOS. However, my checkbook and I don't see eye-to-eye on these desires, so I guess I will keep sewing. I have reached the depth of self-deception that I tell myself my creations almost look store-bought. 

I have a lot of items awaiting their turn to be posted, but I need to get started on the backlog first. 

So, with Adele piping soulfully away in the background, I am going to post some pics from the Angeles Crest Highway and my crazy mixed-pattern boho mess dress. 

This dress was kind of a Frankenstein of desires. I wanted something bohemian and floaty, yet edgy and structured. This is what came out of it. I didn't use a pattern and the sleeves are definitely funky. I glance at it periodically inside my closet and think I may have to edit them a bit. Lace, I think to myself, it needs some navy lace. But for now it will have to do.

The fabric is a mixture of striped linen and a poly-mix dotted in multi-colored arrows. I bought the fabric at M and L Fabrics from the discount pile. Holla for $1.95 a yard. I love the bodice, particularly the back with its trio of lines keeping it together. The waist is quite loose and the whole dress can be slipped on over my shoulders. It is the kind of dress that invites an extra slice of pizza and beer around a flickering firepit.

The Angeles Crest Highway is a carousel of thrusting pines and spicy earth spun among blue-white skies. You can stand on the edge of a mountain and feel anonymous yet powerful as a deity. There is no doubt it will be the backdrop for posts to come. 

***

Vancouver, British Columbia

I am homesick for Kentucky.

I absolutely love Long Beach. I love the thriving metropolitan feel, the hugely diverse group of people who live here, and I love the glorious natural beauty of the beach and mountains. But there are definitely days when Kentucky tugs at my heart.

Particularly right now, as the autumnal air drifts through the trees as the leaves change their color and whisper along the ground. I want to sip black coffee as the chilly air whips the steam from my cup.

But, alas, it is in the mid-80s and sunny every day in LA.
So Justin Jones and I decided to chase the fall. We chose to go here.

For the first time, I got to use my Delta flight bennies. Justin and I booked stand-by tickets from LA to Vancouver. Of course, stand-by is never reliable. Unless a flight has open seats and no one else has higher stand-by seniority, you may not make the flight. Which was exactly the case for us. The flight from LA to Vancouver left totally packed on Thursday evening with me staring desolately at the boarding screen.

It was time to improvise. Justin and I hopped on a flight to Seattle instead, with plans to drive up to Vancouver the following morning. A lovely friend leant us keys to her apartment so we could crash for the night.

Our drive north from Seattle meant we would hop onto the Sea to Sky Highway 99 in British Columbia. This gorgeous strip of tarmac laces its way from northern Vancouver along the coast, dipping behind mountains and allowing drivers to glimpse icy ocean islands glimmering through the fog. It was an epic drive. 

We had planned to hike to the Brandywine Meadows when we arrived. However, international travel always means one thing: no cellar data use. Without google maps to help us on our way we were restricted to list directions I had downloaded the previous day. With me navigating, we invariably got lost. We ended up climbing the side of a mountain on a treachorous gravel road, passing coyotes and little else for almost 10 miles. When the dips and scraping grew too alarming on the exterior of our rental car, we decided we should probably turn around. 

A little ways down the road we pulled off again to hike to the Brandywine Falls. This seemed much more legit, with a proper parking lot and loads of other hikers. 

The forests around Brandywine Falls seemed like an enchanted forest, complete with mossy boulders, icy turquoise rivers, and trees gilded in gold and amber. We dined on brie and chocolate and sipped a 12-year scotch on the side of the mountain. We had just nearly made it back to our car when the low hanging clouds surrendered, releasing a torrent of rain. The rain kept us company as we hurried to Squamish for our first Canadian night.

This jewel of a cabin was rented through Air B&B by a charming family. We had the ground floor with its own private entrance, a fire pit for roasting s'mores, and the lush grounds complete with gardens, wild mushrooms and mums. It was legitimately chilly, the warm air swirling from our lungs, and frost crunching beneath our shoes. I have been fighting a cold all week (some little kid germs finally caught up with me), but thanks to a belly full of pasta and marshmallow I slept like a baby. 

Good thing too, because the next day was our hike to Garibaldi Lake. 

Justin and I discovered that we really are the most low maintenance hikers known to mankind. He had forgotten his jacket and hiked the entire distance in a cardigan and jeans while I staved off the cold with my $2 flea market coat. We set off with sandwiches and half a bottle of power-aid, with little knowledge of what lay before us. The hike to and from the lake was about 18 kilometers. Half was up the side of a mountain, the other half was down. I may not be able to walk comfortably for the next fortnight but it was so worth it. That water. It really is crystal turquoise.

For anyone considering a holiday in British Columbia, its a must. The scenery is an unending vista of epic grandeur with excellent and kind company. Vancouver itself is a matrix of hyper-modern glass skyscrapers sitting on the edge of the ocean. It is nature and mankind in a blessed union of light and water. Go.

Newcombs Ranch

I feel like it has been a few weeks since I last made a post.

Life is flying by. Between chasing after two-year-olds all day and and exploring this new city on the weekends, I find myself looking sadly at my growing pile of fabric. Sewing is so not "bada-bing bada-boom" and voila! there is a new creation. It takes time, patience, and usually ends up with me cursing in German and pulling out my seam ripper for the thousandth time.

But at last I took a few hours to whip up this little number: a gray jersey t-shirt dress with an open back.

I love this dress. It is simple, streamlined, and comfortable. It only took me about 2.5 hours to make. I did not use a pattern, instead just eye-balled it from shirt that I already own. I bought the gray jersey from M and L Fabrics. It was only $3.49/yard and I bought two yards. Holla for a $7.00 dress. 

Justin has been exploring LA much more than me. He is constantly discovering new cool places off the beaten path. This past Sunday, decked in my new threads, I hopped in his car and we drove up into the mountains to Newcombs Ranch.

Newcombs Ranch is a funky dive located in the heart of the Angeles National forest. Catering to bikers and hikers, it is a favorite haunt of Magnus Walker and Jay Leno. It is a sprawling pine building whose parking lot is speckled with a rainbow of motorcycles, moded-out imports, and the long lines of American muscle. When we arrived live music was playing on the patio from two gentlemen in chaps with waist-length hair. I felt immediately judged for my lack of ink and leather. 

Justin and I dined on a lunch of chicken strips, seasoned fries, and cinnamon-infused bbq sauce before settling back into the p-car and driving further up the mountain for amazing views. 

The wind rustled through the branches and air smelled like pine and petrol cooling in the engine bay of the flat 6. There were pine cones as big as my face and redwoods towering hundreds of feet above our heads. It is totally incredible that in 45 minutes of driving the hustle and bustle of Los Angeles can melt away to such rugged wilderness. 

Needless to say, I want to go back. Preferably armed with a picnic basket, blanket, and novel.