More than once on our trip through northern California, Cass and I have wondered out loud, "is that smoke, or is it fog?" I set out on this trip with several questions wandering around in the back of my mind. Namely, "will we want to come back?" and "what the hell are we doing anyway?" Those questions, like the question of smoke or fog, will almost certainly never truly be answered, but I am beginning to wonder if the questions aren't more important than the answers.
We have had some wonderful little adventures so far; camping among the ageless redwoods, getting a headache on 'Confusion Hill', making friends with a bear-dog in the coastal town of Crescent City, trying to take pictures of adventurous cows grazing on impossibly high cliffs, not being able to buy ice on Highway 1 because it had all been allocated to the cause of fighting fires. And I have set myself upon some precursory objectives for the trip; I will accept any offer from a stranger (so long as it does not cause me harm), I will read War and Peace for its greatness and so that I can remember how to truly read - how to absorb the page the word the idea, and I will always work toward being a better man for myself and also for Cassandra.
Why the honeymoon anyway? A further celebration of the union I suppose - just in case the newlyweds don't get a chance to celebrate during the rest of their lives spent together. The thing is, and I can't write this without coming off as conceited, everyday really is a celebration for Cass and I. Which is not to say that we are that couple who spend every moment staring lost in each other's eyes, unable to tear ourselves away from our profound love even long enough to acknowledge the other people we are having dinner with. Those moments may exist, but ours is a more grounded love. The moments of frustration matter just as much as those of bliss. We are in love with each other, and we are almost equally in love with life and all that it entails - all of its unforeseen pitfalls and undeniable currents.
So maybe what we saw was smoke, a remnant of the devastation being wreaked upon the breathtaking scenery around us, and maybe it was just fog, harmless and unquestioning. But maybe it was something else entirely, some unknown in between thing that defies naming or meaning. Either way, it is much like us - drifting across the complex landscape with no particular direction or purpose, having an affect on everything it touches and also being affected by those things.
Why are we on this trip? I would respond to that question with another, "smoke or fog?" Which is to say, does it really matter?
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