Have you ever vacationed in a cute little quaint town and thought I could live here? Perhaps you idly checked real estate listings. You looked at job postings for your profession. And then you realized that half the charm of the place is that you are on vacation. The novelty is that you don’t live there. You don’t have to rise with your alarm every morning and go to work.
She found that often, when she put down roots and lived in a location, she overlooked its beauty. Why? Because she was so busy working and being dependable and trying to fix things and well, just engaging in basic survival, she didn’t have time to enjoy the place, to explore, to seek out the beauty and revel in it. Happy are those people who can live and love and recreate-daily- in the town they call home.
She loved to go to the wilderness, to climb every mountain, to see beautiful places and feel the sheer power of Nature. She loved the solitude, the being alone. She loved jagged, sheer cliffs and sandstone monoliths, and columbine and evening primrose and penstemon. She loved to feel the health and vitality that came from spending every day and quantities of minutes outside, breathing deep, testing her mettle, shedding her worries, actually enjoying herself. But did she want to live here in the wilderness permanently? To settle down, build a brick and mortar structure and try to make a home and scratch a garden out of grey granite? Maybe what she really wanted was to go steady, to see the rocks and trees and red sandstone and river and night sky and 360 degree views every day. She didn’t want to become fixed in one place. She wanted to be in the great outdoors every day. Yes, she loved the wilderness and the wilderness loved her back, with wildflowers and solid, dependable rock. The wilderness expected nothing of her, and she took nothing but fresh air and inspiration and beauty and memories. She took a few chances. She explored with inquisitive caution.
Mostly, she just wanted to date the wilderness – and she wanted the dating phase to last forever.
When the Universe speaks, I try to listen. Winter cometh. I offer this reprise:
A Trickle or a Flood, June 7, 2016 She sat on the banks of the muddy San Juan, in the shadow of a bighorn sculpture and watched the river roll away lazily to the Southwest. It made her long for the beach. That is where the river was headed, after all – to join the mighty Colorado at Lake Powell and finally empty into the Pacific Ocean.
But she knew something the river did not yet know; it would never make it to the ocean. It was headed for the beach, but along the way destined to recreate, irrigate, hydrate, relax and refresh millions of people. Somewhere, 50 miles or so short of the Gulf of California, the river would trickle to a stop.
So she pondered this truncation, this travesty, this unavoidable change of plans people foisted on the river and she asked herself, “How are you doing on your own bucket list? Are you headed for the beach? And whether you ever make it to the beach, will you restore and refresh and recreate and relax? How much of you will be absorbed and diverted into the schemes and needs of others? How much of the landscape of your life will you beautify along the way?”
Live. Love. Laugh. Learn. You do not know if your end will be part of a cataclysmic flood or simply trickle away.
You see, I tried washing my hair this morning to no avail.
October 18, 2020: Andrea and I traveled two hours up a dirt road yesterday – to a ridge dense with lodgepole along the Colorado Trail behind and beyond Purgatory Ski Area – almost to Rico. We hiked for a couple hours and then returned via the same dusty road, coughing and sputtering and sneezing whist reminding ourselves to keep sipping from hydration packs. Arriving home, we exited her trusty 4-wheel drive truck, stomped our feet at the door and entered our apartment. We smelled like dust. In our wake, the kitchen smelled like dust. My hair, freshly washed before setting out, was grey and smelled like dust. As I brushed out my hair – billows of dust scattered everywhere. I thought of my Mom and her stories of traveling the Alcan Highway in 1953. Her hair turned so gray from the dust – she said – that the inn keeper thought she was Dad’s mother when they found a room and stopped for the evening. She remedied this by washing her hair in water dipped from the nearby stream. Her hair returned to dark brunette. I tried washing my hair this morning to no avail. I’m still sporting long shimmering gray over light brown locks. Maybe I need to fetch water from a stream?
Friends don’t let friends miss out on all the good things in life – or – Purple Bliss is just an Emotion on the Water
The first thing you need to know about Janice is that she is older than I – by about four days. This is not the case with so many of my friends. I have a friend of 43 years who never lets me forget she is younger – by four months. Yet I will forgive her generously for this age bias because she accompanies me on beautiful hikes – even invites me. We have enjoyed many adventures together. Thank God for my newer friends who admit they are older. But the thing about friends – older and newer, younger or elder – is that friends don’t let friends miss out on all the good things in life.
Yes, I have friends with an uncanny ability to sniff out the best things in life and then foist them on me. Take Linda, for instance, she tracked me down in Canyonlands and proceeded to hike me to her favorite places in my own backyard. Then, she came to visit me at Glen Canyon and beguiled me with stories from her Lake Powell memories. But more importantly, we kayaked down 11 miles of the John Wesley Powell route of the Colorado River from Ferry Swale to Lee’s Ferry and I have pictures to prove it.
Janice and I have more things in common than just our June birthdays. I met her through Sweet Adelines so it may be safely assumed we both love to sing. But what, I ask you, is ever safe about singing? It is such a gateway drug. First you are sitting on chairs and then practicing on risers and before you know it you are preforming on stages and soon you find yourself not only singing in the streets, but dancing in the streets. I have made many unique friends in this way.
So yes, Janice and I have a June birthday month in common, we are both about 5 foot three or four depending on how you round it, we love to hike and travel, we share a love for singing – and we were both working in public schools at the time we first met – I as a music specialist and Janice as a resource teacher. But in one area, Janice and I are complementary opposites. Janice is a champion foister. I am the foisted upon. Definitely to my benefit.
After my first stint with Sweet Adelines, I moved to Seattle. Janice kept in touch. When she found out I was coming back to Colorado, she immediately engaged her recruiting persuasion. Why would I not want to sing tenor in a newly minted quartet? Sigh. Four of us made beautiful Musique together. But no. Singing and dressing alike was not enough. We must do bonding activities together – the chorus that plays together stays together. Janice and two other Sweet Adelines were going kayaking on the Colorado, would I come?
I was stubborn and full of lame excuses like not having a kayak or PFD. But Janice knows how to foist. She had an extra kayak and PFD. She told me when to show up. She gave me specific instructions on what to wear and what to bring. Those Adelines laced me into the PFD, seated me in a vessel, handed me a paddle and shoved me off. Up ahead, Janice led in her Purple Bliss. Bringing up the rear, I floated in Janice’s original hunter green kayak, taking to the water like a duck.
When I know it’s right, you don’t have to ask me twice – but they did. We also floated the Gunnison that summer. And I spent a fair amount of time kayak shopping in local sporting goods stores.
Seven years later I was still single and kayakless, but I now had a good deal of experience under my belt having rented all manner and style of kayaks for recreation. Sit in. Sit on. Inflate. Deflate. Lake. River. Back-haul. U-haul. Tie in the truck. Shove in the van. Mount in the kayak carrier. Kayak carrier – what a great concept! Janice bought one – a kayak rack – for her motorhome. The rack was second hand – and came with two kayaks. Worst of all for Janice – and best of all for me – Purple Bliss would not fit in the carrier. She was too skinny – at both ends.
And then Janice began her attempts to foist Purple Bliss on me. It took her two years. During that time she visited me twice at Lone Rock. She dined me, tried to wine me, hiked with me and once even lent me the hunter green kayak to go exploring slots in the nether regions of Lake Powell. Every time I mentioned kayaking on social media, she followed up by promoting Purple Bliss to me.
In early October I arranged to meet Janice at her place, ostensibly to sign two of my books which she had ordered on Amazon, but with a covert motive to kayak shop – to see if the purple kayak would ride on top my car. Janice let me do it myself. It fits and rides charmingly. We finally agreed on a price. The transfer took place ten days ago. Janice has released her favorite vessel and I am adoption happy. I have been on the water four times in less than a fortnight.
Purple Bliss is a specialty kayak built by Emotion and brokered by REI. She is designed especially for a small woman. She weighs only 34 pounds. She is a thing of both beauty and independence. I can hoist her to the rooftop of my Rav4 (aka Silvergirl) and take her down – after all, she weighs less than a grandchild – even if she is 10 feet long. We go everywhere together – just the two of us – with a step stool and a purple and red paddle and a red PFD. Friends don’t let friends miss out on all the good things in life.
I exited the dusty gravel road that leads to Mineral Campground and merged onto the smooth, paved road that would take me to Silverton and thus back to Durango. No more had I begun to gain speed then I had to slow down. Traffic up ahead. Cars stopped on both sides of the road. Some double-parked. Alertly my eyes scanned in all directions. No police car. No emergency vehicles. No herd of deer crossing the road. No bear scratching in the autumn undergrowth. Yet everyone had cameras in hand. It was the 4:00 pm autumnal glow. The sun perched on a westerly peak before making final descent. The aspen trees in various stages of green to orange and the weather perfect, just perfect. The cars – all thirteen – stopping for beauty. Nothing more.
How infrequently that happens anymore. Oh, I stop. I slow down. I move over for construction. I pull aside for emergency vehicles. I chose a different route to go around clogged traffic. But do I come to a full stop? Interrupt my headlong rush toward deadline – for beauty?
It was, perhaps, the most beautiful hike I had ever taken – and only four days after the outing previously mentioned where traffic was stalled for beauty. Maybe it was the season. The colors were at their apex in higher elevations and I was again outside Silverton, ravenously hiking leaf strewn trails before the snow flies. Maybe it was the time of day. I dithered around Durango trying to decide my destination until perilously close to noon. So, I found myself on the trail at midday, oooohing and ahhing and hiking a narrow steep trail. Something called Highland Mary. What a beautiful name. Obviously named for some woman like me a hundred years ago. Someone who loved to go a-wandering along a mountain path, someone who liked to sing. Maybe she sang to the sheep – or the cows. I wanted to bubble into spontaneous song, perhaps Loch Lomond, or Lonely Goatherd. A boulder strewn field demanded all my concentration to preserve my ankles and I ceased to sing. Soon thereafter a lake with a small island took my breath away. I followed the path to the next lake and found a flat rock on which to spread my lunch. I dined in silence and in beauty.
Someone asked a seasoned old-timer to name his favorite trail. “The one just taken,” he said. I couldn’t agree more. Returning home, I logged my distance and time for an outdoor challenge I have chosen to participate in. I am usually a faster hiker so I couldn’t help adding the following comment: This hike would take much less time if you didn’t have to stop for pictures so often.
Warning: Hiking may keep you from other social obligations such as social media. Is your love of beauty keeping you in a constant state of peace and contemplation rather than agonizing over the current societal situation? You may be addicted.
Addicted. And now I see my future. For the next 20 years I am going to chase beauty and truth. And I also know where I am most likely to find it. Nature. Music. Books.
She hikes. In sandals. She can’t get her hiking boots on anymore and she hasn’t found a suitable new pair. But she does have a new pair of sandals – with fresh tread – in the box on her closet shelf. Waiting for next season. End of summer sale. The wise woman is always prepared. She also bought a couple new pairs of wool socks – smart ones. Until the snow flies, her sandals will do just fine. Besides, with sandals you can walk right in and through the creek and keep moving forward. Well, if it’s a cool morning, you might want to stop and take off your wool socks first before you walk through the water so you can put them on warm and dry later.
With the right kind of sandals, one is always prepared. One can hike or walk or fish or kayak. One can shove a kayak off from the beach or drag a kayak back from the beach, right through the sand or mud or pooling water. When one wears sandals, she can rise in the morning and bathe and do her toenails after she straps on her sandals and go hike while her pedicure is drying. Sandals are so versatile they go with her shorts, her skirt, her tunic or her maxi-dress.
So it was that she rose on a typical Tuesday morning, made a quick toilette, pulled on her hiking clothes and sandals and took a four-mile hike to the Lion’s Den and back. The trail is well used by walkers, runners and bicyclists. It is quite dusty, though not unbearably hot this time of year. She strode through brush and trees at a good pace, gained 22 floors in elevation, stopped to enjoy the colors of the changing season, and met a masked art class spread out on the trail and sketching. She returned home having passed only a handful of bikers and joggers because it was nearing midday. “Whoof,” she said pulling off her socks and shaking them. She stepped into the bathtub and rinsed off her legs -the final twelve inches from calve down to the dirty feet. She shook her head and smiled wryly to herself. And they actually had to explain the practice and purpose of foot-washing to us in Sunday School when we were kids? I’m telling you, we must have been a pack of nature deprived and trail starved baby boomers growing up. But look at us now! Bicycles. Kayaks. Running shoes. Tents. Campers. Motorhomes. – and foot washing. We’re making up for lost time.
What are you doing the rest of your life? She was the up-lake, district interpretive ranger and had been a back-country ranger in Bullfrog for many years previous. We had several interactions during the three years I was with Glen Canyon Conservancy. Valerie and I were not close, but I knew her well enough to attend her retirement party last fall. It was there I heard long term officemates sing her praises. What a varied and adventurous life she lived! Valerie died on September 15 of this year. That knowledge has shaken me and made me reexamine my goals. Why? Valerie would have been 66 in October. She is four months younger than I. Valerie had only ten months of retirement.
Looking at my maternal line, I figure I have roughly 20 more years of life at most. My mother died this spring at the age of 86 outliving her older sister by nearly three years. Their mother died at 65. I’ve already outlived grandma and great grandma before her. So what will I do with that remaining fifteen or twenty years? What would I do if I knew I had only a year? I would retire. I would throw my efforts into the things I love to do and long to do. I would hike every day. I would write. I would make music. I would spend time with those I love and like. I would travel. How about you? What are you doing the rest of your life? Let’s do it!
She had been in the wilderness for 22 days, so I rose quietly at six and let her sleep. I realize 22 days is not the standard 40 days and 40 nights of biblical proportions, but 22 days of backpacking and hauling 50 pounds of Forest Service gear in 11 and 13-mile jaunts is enough to exhaust the hardiest of aging millennials. So, after 22 days in the wilderness and three days back in the office, she had a scheduled day off. She is a great roommate and I wanted to return the favor and give her the day all to herself. Besides, I had technology projects to pursue, an online store to open.
Before starting any project, technical, literary, or household; it is advisable to take your anti-depressants. My drug of choice is hiking. These days of sweltering August heat – even at an elevation of 6500 feet –I must be on the trail by 8:00 am. Once again, I was delayed by framing a response to a virtual musical project of which I have been part. Challenging and exhilarating, but a delay nonetheless.
She was awake and enjoying a hearty repast at 8:36 when I sighed and said, “It’s hot already, but it’s now or never and I need a hike today.”
“If you can wait 15 minutes while I finish breakfast,” she said, “we can go up to Crater Lake. I cleared the trail there yesterday but I didn’t get to go on up and see the lake.”
I made no objection and asked no questions. Quickly, I swapped my in-town bottle sling for my daypack and added a lunch and jacket.
She gleefully pulled on climbing shorts and a tank top rather than regulation full- length uniform pants and long-sleeved shirt. The daypack she swung to her shoulder seemed feather-weight compared to the 60 pounds of gear plus Pulaski with which she exited the wilderness at the end of last week.
Yesterday, I didn’t make any progress on the website I am building. But I did swim in an alpine lake at 11,000 feet. I did complete a 12-mile-hike. I did engage in long conversations about the terrain and the great outdoors and contemporary issues. We did converse about plot line and character building and where I am going next with my writing. It was altogether a very satisfying day.
Let me tell you a story; Let me spin you a yarn; Let me relate how my life has been going; And you can write back and share yours!
I’ve been patient and impatient; Happy and sad; But mostly my life has been fabulous; When I remember not to dwell on the bad.
My box of books finally arrived! Originally printed in 2009, The Pancake Cat was rereleased June 24, 2020 with an all new cover featuring the artwork of Andrea Shellabarger. Four new illustrations grace the inside chapters along with content updates.
Did I say released on June 24? Though the book has been available at Amazon, Barnes Noble and Target since that date – and now even Books A Million, Indie Bound, Powell’s, and Walmart – I did not hold an actual copy in my hands until yesterday, July 31, 2020. Thirty-seven days is the embodiment of line five of that little ditty above: I’ve been patient and impatient.
Patient and impatient I may have been, but I have not been idle. Oh no. During that time I have been working on a fresh new professional website. It’s been coming along swimmingly – and about as fast as running through knee deep water. But then what is life if you can’t feel like you are at the beach? We all like to float away now and then. Anyway, I was running through thigh deep water, spending hours and hours with Youtube tutorials and I added Woo Commerce and opened a web store complete with T-shirts and book bags and books. I have lots of experience selling T-shirts and books so it seemed like a good idea. And then, I fell flat on the beach and was immediately buried in sand and the tide came in and washed over me. The new amateur looking web store completely over wrote the three professional looking pages I had just given six weeks of my wonderful life in the mountains to establish.
I did the only sensible thing a woman in my position can do: I took a fast-thinking hike. In fact, I took several fast thinking hikes. I slept on it for a couple nights. I contemplated retail therapy – I believe a kayak is in my future. My good health and sanity demands I get on the water. And then I called my web host and retrieved the professional pages and dismissed the new experiment. We are not completely starting over. We only have to go back a few paces.
Meanwhile, I finished an eight-minute slideshow – complete with four old hymns piano tracked by myself- for my mother’s upcoming memorial service. And then, the instructor for the virtual choir class I am taking assigned me to re-record some tracks. Apparently I am supposed to sing doot doot doot as opposed to doo doot doot – or, heaven forbid, dooT dooT dooTT.
My Dad is wondering why I don’t come see him more often now that I am retired and COVID is keeping me from a steady job.
Actually, my life is pretty fabulous when I remember to eat right, sleep right, hike, make music and let it go. How about you?
I don’t often read or quote the Bible anymore, but verses learned at a young age, like any other classic recitation, frequently pop into my mind unbidden to inform and motivate.
“Every place where you set your foot will be yours!”(Deuteronomy 12:24)
“I will give you every place where you set your foot.” (Joshua 1:3)
These words have pushed me to get out every day, to hike harder, farther – to persevere and claim.
My name is not Abraham or Moses or Joshua and though I would love to own a little postage stamp of this land (and my own four walls), I am perfectly aware this land has been deeded to someone else for decades.
But the health that rises up to meet me on the trail, the whole health; mind, soul, body? That I claim. And the beauty? All of it is given me-every place I set my foot. All is mine. Each and every gift of the hike. The gifts of putting one foot in front of another are numerous:
Inspiration
Insight into myself, and to others
Perseverance
Peace
Balance
Dopamine, Endorphins, Serotonin
Empathy
Independence
Resolution
Application
Stamina
Perspective
These are gifts the trail gives to me, and I must walk the length and breadth to claim the gifts. The best gifts are to be coveted, not out of greed, but out of wanting well; and if you are going to do to others as you would be done to and love your neighbor as you love yourself, shouldn’t you be about the business of loving yourself – taking care of yourself as much as you possibly can? Go ahead. Raise the bar. Claim your gifts from the trail.
