July 11th, from Jane. Sherrie and Jason and Jenna have gone climbing up a shaley vertical hill across from Kagbeni, affectionately knwn as the "zig zag," visible from a two days' walk up toward the Thorung-la. Supposedly this walk takes two hours, and I took my trekking poles to climb as well, but was called by the song of the river. I abandoned the morning walk immediately and went to the river's edge, to hunt for rocks. I couldn't help thinking of my father all morning, since he is who taught me how to walk, stoop, look, pick up, turn over, and think about small objects. I also couldn't help thinking of Joe Fox, who loves rocks, and of Sammy Robbins, who would go positively insane here, having to leave behind HUNDREDS of perfect rocks. I do have a pocket full, several "circle rocks" that have a perfect circle of quartz running arounf them, but also a few dozen tiny black and whie "tiger rocks," with little circles and tiger stripes making them look like eyes and string wrapped around a dark round core. I also found a rock I had never seen anywhere on earth except for the Rajasthani Indian Thar Desert, outside of Jaislamer. This rock is curry and brown, a curly, detailed mixture of fossil impressions that looks like Arabic script. And on the mountain I studied the slate-blue, brick-red, and camel-yellow shards of crumbly shale in their dozens of miniature rockslide piles--as Jenna and Sherrie and Jason ascended like goats--and looked at the "sugar" (miniature crystals) that sparkled on each of these colors.

No one was near me, not even an animal, on my side of the Kali-Gandaki. It is treacherous to reach the shore, because one has to walk on angular landslide bits and pieces, but I did go down to the water, to see that the silt is a sensuous dark indigo color, richer than gray, and molded by the winds into fantastic damp repeating curls of shadow: this is Kali's skin, I thought; the Hindu Fierce and Dark Mother's body. At some point, I heard what sounded like an eagle calling--black ones fly here--and I turned to see one Indian sadhu with his hair matted into a Dairy Queen spiral and his bright orange thin robe waving like feathers in the breeze. He was on the trail above me, and just wanted to call out a greeting. I yelled up, "Namaskar, Sadhu!" and he beamed at the respectful greeting, waved heartily, and disappeared around the bend.

For two hours I hunted along the riverbank and filled my pockets with these exquisite rocks, and then sat and watched the other side of the river, where our medieval village is perched on the very edge of the pebbly cliff. I saw Tibetan women whose profiles showed their Navajo cheekbones even from a distance. I saw Hindu wanderers washing themselves at a tap. I saw old grandmothers squatting to use the toilet outside, and laboring to stand upright again. Had any of these people looked over to where I was, they would have seen me only as another rock, or as a shadow. This landscape is made for thoughts as long as rivers, for prayers that can withstand the tattering brutality of this gorge-wind, and for people who do not expect to be any more important than a few beautiful seasons and a few productive fields.

Beth Macy, Tom Landon's wife and our friend, has forwarded to me a great article about our trip that I hope she or Tom can post and link to this blog-spot of ours, a feature article in Roanoke City Magazine on-line. Thank you, Beth. We know you and Carl and Ken and your families are all very excited to get your people back home. We loved having them here and look forward to more of their posts and to your comments. In a few hours, Cy and Tsampa and his sn Tsewang will be here with us in Kagbeni, and so will our certified and insured guide Narayan, whose presence is required for us to have permission to go into Upper Mustang, Nepal's most remote and most restricted area. We begin this trek tomorrow, as I have said, and we will be gone for twelve days. All of you please take good care of yourselves, as we will, and Iris and Emerson, know that I am sending you my love.