tips of the pine

i don’t pray
i don’t think to pray
but when i saw this place
i said God, we need to talk

i know someday my flesh + bone will tire
it will sleep for years and years
until it turns to the soil to say
breathe me

when that day comes
and my soul stretches for the sun
wakes up the way my mother did,
the day after we were born
inhaling an air of freedom
we’ve never felt before

on that day, make me a bird

not just any bird
but a bird who lives here
where the waterfalls sound as familiar as
laughter by the sea shore
as forbidden as a mid-day whiskey pour
as quiet as Cuyama nightfall

make me a bird
so I can see the tips of the pine
whisper sweet nothings
whistle through the air
as useless to the humans
as the paintbrush to the handyman
the hammer to the artist
something meaningless.

i want to see the bead of sweat
resting lightly on the eyelid
of an El Capitan free climber
let me hear his breath
let me feel his quiver
let me be his air mate
something meaningful.

make me a bird
so I can see this place
through his eyes
so I can follow the two lovers
hand in hand
who are seeing it for the first time

i want to feel the heat of the sun
blanket the back of my tired wings
a warmth that feels like knowing
you’re exactly where you should be

i don’t pray
i don’t think to pray
but when I saw this place

make me a bird.

the continuum

I try to approach spontaneous adventures the same way I do pulling into the gym parking lot full of piranha cars at 6PM on a Monday: a calm demeanor and a little faith that if you think it’ll work out, then it will.

When we booked a two night stay at the Dakota Tipi Village in the middle of Cuyama Valley three days before 4th of July weekend, that’s where my head was at. I was unsure with the fairly inexpensive booking and merely two reviews. Seemed too good to be true. But we had nothing to lose—except for a six hour round trip drive. Even that proved to be worth it.

Maxiwo’s (Mah-Hee-Woah) texts to Oliver were hard to decipher at first, which made us weary as we approached Highway 33, the right turn Maxiwo tried to explain over the telephone two hours earlier. We were arguably, as two city dwellers for the summer, in the middle of nowhere. We arrived to see two giant tipis and that there was, in fact, truth to the photos posted online.

We’re told that we are the fourth booking ever to stay in the tipis since Maxiwo built them on his proud piece of land in the valley, and that the beautiful photos on the listing were graciously taken and submitted by talented guest number one.

Simply put, my uncertainties were put to rest.

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Maxiwo showed us around briefly, introduced us to the couple staying in the tipi next door, and started telling us his story. He was drinking a Peace Tea, lemon flavored, and asked the couple to grab him another one as they left for the only market still open 20 minutes down the road. We spoke with Maxiwo for well over an hour, enough time for the couple to leave, return, and watch Maxiwo crack open his second round of Peace Tea.

He is a Chumash native. The Chumash are Native Americans who historically inhabited the central and southern coastal regions of California, in portions of what is now San Luis Obispo, Santa Barbara, Ventura and Los Angeles counties, extending from Morro Bay in the North to Malibu in the South. And apparently we are all saying Malibu wrong.

He spoke about the ancient spirituality of the land mostly – the vortex mountains – and even noted that if we see some sort of oval light beam above the mountain line, it’s probably a UFO. I can’t speak for myself, but our tipi mates Matt and Sarah swore they saw something eerily similar on two separate occasions that weekend.

Maxiwo’s a simple man and takes a gruntled breath before saying anything. He’s not in a rush to get somewhere and I like that.

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Maxiwo: You can take your car off-roading over there to the creek.
Me: My Honda Civic? That thing won’t last a minute.
Maxiwo: *pauses* But, that minute…

We really liked our tipi mates. They met traveling, too. We finagled dinner on the grill with limited kitchen supplies, drank good whiskey, exchanged travel stories, saw a couple shooting stars, and even gave Matt – from the UK – his first S’More experience.

The next day, we took a magical drive to Ojai, through hills and valleys so diverse and beautiful I couldn’t believe we were still in the United States. We made a pit stop at a Pistachio farm, an Olive tree farm, and a mossy waterfall. We slept in a freakin’ tipi. It was so cool.

Maxiwo was the topic at hand for our three hour drive home. We were in awe by his storytelling and his passion to share it with as many people as possible. He believes the nature of storytelling is to pass on knowledge and share your personal journey to those who may not have the chance to experience the same.

And he listened so carefully to our own stories, even while we spoke amongst ourselves and seemingly forgot he was there. Around the fire pit, he encouraged us to weave our stories into a roadmap for generations to come, to always speak proudly of our tales and use them to create a storyboard that is our life.

This piece of advice couldn’t have come at a more opportune time for me.

If you want to get to know Maxiwo and his small tipi village, book with him. As of right now, it’s still a bit of a hidden gem. A work in progress if you will. Embrace that aspect of it. If everything was in perfect order, it wouldn’t be nearly the same.


I’m working long hours. By long hours I mean the same hours 95% of this population works. So, take my exaggerations lightly. Waze has taken me a different route to and from work every day since I started, so I have no idea where I’m going. I can’t wait for my data to be cut off, which will undoubtedly happen within the next couple weeks. Then this gets really fun.

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i’m moving to la

This time last year I said yeah I’m definitely moving to Los Angeles. Then Winterline happened and changed my life plan in all sorts of incredible ways. The nine-month travel program around the world was the only thing that could possibly come between me and SoCal at the time. Now here I am, one year later, and pretty sure Winterline isn’t happening again. So, it looks like LA is.  Unless someone tells me I can go travel the world again for free, then it’s a done deal.  Continue reading