Matchmaker, matchmaker,
Make me a match,
Find me a find,
Catch me a catch
She wants someone from her generation; taller, dark-haired, maybe olive-skinned; someone who wears skinny jeans – as long as they are in fashion; someone who loves the out of doors and has all the right gear for camping and skiing and climbing and travel; someone resourceful who could be a survivalist if necessary; someone who loves music. And I? I am her mother. I want someone who will be good to her – love her – appreciate her brain and skills and qualities. All those other things? May they be so as well, but there are many, many things wrapped up in the phrase be good to her.
She reached out her hand to turn the handle, leaned in to give a gentle push with a shoulder, and plunged her face into the donut hole of the fresh wreath on the administrative office door. Suddenly she was falling, falling down the rabbit hole of memory, back more than three decades, to the Christmas she got engaged. Now that was a Christmas to remember! Who needs mistletoe? Evening after evening spent caressing under the Christmas tree -post Christmas show rehearsals – like a cast party of only two. Promises and proposals and a ring followed. Forgotten were his memories of rocky childhood Christmases; redacted her years of rejection before he entered her life.
Pine, spruce, cedar, fir. It’s beginning to smell a lot like Christmas, everywhere you go. All in all, what we love best about Christmas is the trip down memory lane, the nostalgia of Christmases past, the promise of generosity and good surprises. The hope, the belief, that hard times can be suspended for 24 hours – or 48 – or 12 days-or an entire month.
Some Christmases are so rich we forget the tough times that came before. This season, may you forget the tough times that came after as well! Few of us are granted happily ever after. There will be grief and pain of loss.
Here’s the thing about trips down memory lane. You may savor a good memory one instant and the next moment be rear-ended by grief because that person or those good times will never come again.
Consider: “She reached out her hand to turn the handle, leaned in to give a gentle push with a shoulder, and plunged her face into the donut hole of the fresh wreath on the administrative office door. Suddenly she was falling, falling down the rabbit hole of memory,” And those good times are her right – they are a reality – something that really happened – they belong to her as much as any of the negative realities or rippings and tearings of the ensuing 30 years.
Embrace the memories. Let them enfold and warm you. Choose to engrave that small cameo permanently in your heart. Love it. Savor it. Linger over it. Don’t let all the hardship or misunderstanding of following years dull this singular memory.
Here’s to Christmas and many trips down memory lane!
Ouray Colorado: A couple years ago I was so profoundly moved in my spirit by the beauty and the healing that I typed a post, “Take me to Church.” Yes. Ouray is both my church and my hospital. I am revived here. I receive healing from the same waters Chief Ouray found healthful. Out of the earth come comforting, purifying hot springs and gratitude wells up. The nature of gratitude is to heal our spirits.
It was a perfect morning. I woke at five and stayed in bed until six. No schedule to meet. In my spa robe I procured a cup of tea from the dark lobby. I read. I wrote. I texted a happy birthday greeting to my youngest. I pulled on my bathing suit and headed outside. It is so cold the clock battery has ceased. Snow is piled 6 inches high on the pool furniture. The pool perimeter has accumulated another half inch since yesterday’s shoveling. There is ice on the pool stair rail and frost on the entry handle to the hotel lobby. Please know that it was -2 when I crossed Dallas Divide last night. So cold that when nature called I dared not stop and answer but pushed onward to the gas station in Ridgway. This morning I kick off my flip flops, grasp the handrail and am reminded of that crazy kid who was dared to lick a frozen pump handle. I stick. I freeze. I get myself into the water as quickly as possible. I lean on the edge of the pool and my hair takes on frost. I bask and survey the mountain surroundings. I am alone in all this beauty and the only word that comes to mind is “Mercy!”
Not “have mercy,” just “Mercy!” – a Roy Orbison kind of mercy. I am overwhelmed. I swim. I float. I swim again. My hair is now too thoroughly wet to keep my head long out of the pool. I exit onto the frosted flagstone. My towel has frozen stiff. I proceed to the vapor cave. The healing power of gratitude is granted. This used to be a hospital. It is still mine. Mercy!
It is now 10:00 am. The sun is up! The thermometer has risen to 8 degrees. Grandma used to say, “Make hay while the sun shines.” I must make hike while the sun shines.
To begin with, She didn’t turn the heat on until October 30. October was a very beautiful month.
Beautiful in that she got out a record number of times – every weekend – to hike or kayak or hug the trees – the beautiful, blazing- fall-festooned trees. She travelled a little bit for work and saw other communities adorned with yellows, golds, orange hues, and sometimes even reds.
She ate right. She planned lunches and cleaned up left-overs.
She made every effort to sleep right.
She got away from work and outside a record number of times.
She even got outside with her work a few times.
She was not often alone in her outdoor exercise.
There were friends.
Quality friends who came to visit; kindred spirits to host.
Yes. It was a very good October. Not often did she wake with that sinking feeling – that feeling of dread.
Never did she have to say, “It is too hot to hike.”
Often did she say, “It is so beautiful, my spirit is refreshed.”
Frequently she said yes to kayaks and hiking sticks and shorts and sandals. This is a good thing, a very good thing, for winter is coming and soon it will be too cold to slosh through calve- deep creeks on a trek to somewhere beautiful. She didn’t do any canning this year, but she did prepare for winter. She stored up the good times.
Sun warmed the trailhead and I discussed with myself whether to take my down jacket. The name of the destination – Mossy Cave – evoked a feeling of coolness. It was not yet mid-March. I left the down behind and donned my paper-thin athletic jacket pulled from my daypack. Fifty strides ahead, mounds of snow lay in the shadows. Half mile brought me to a frozen waterfall. The sun still shone and Nature was gloriously beautiful. I was moderately high – in elevation. I began to think of dying.
You see, my bucket list consists primarily of visiting as many National Parks, Monuments and other naturally beautiful spots as possible – with a hearty helping of music and ethnic food, and love thrown in along the way. The grand finale item of my bucket list states: Die in a beautiful place. Therefore, I am careful not to linger long in barren places. One never knows the day or hour. The litmus test of the beauty of any place becomes, “Am I content to die here?”
The entirety of Highway 12 is a scenic byway. Highway 12 cuts right through a corner of Bryce Canyon; a large chunk of the Kaiparowits and Canyons districts of Grand Staircase-Escalante; and ends only after threading its way through Capitol Reef. I have been eyeing a hike in the Bryce Canyon corner of Highway 12 for an entire year. Today, with perfect timing, I discovered a vacant parking space at the trailhead.
Hiking never ceases to make me grateful to be alive, thankful for my life. To hike in warm sun, beneath blue skies makes me fall in love again – with Nature and Life. When you love Nature, Nature loves you back. I hugged a tree, just because it smelled so good. It was a Ponderosa. Essence of vanilla sap was my companion for the rest of the day. Every bend in the trail, every switchback felt like an old friend. My internal compass experienced déjà vu, evoked memories of other trails with this exact angle.
Yes, Nature loves me back, but hiking does not stave off the yearning and longing. I longed to lay myself down on slickrock and bake in the sun, to roll in the grasses and shrubs, to be wrapped up in sandstone dirt and pine needles. And that is why I know; when my time comes and those humans who love me scatter my ashes in a beautiful place; I will rest in peace.
Bridge to Mossy Cave, Bryce CanyonSnowmelt feeds a waterfallHoodoos have arches too
Without slacking my pace I turned and headed back up the wash the way I had come. I was at least an hour out from the car and the sun would set before six. Twenty-five minutes later I arrived at the spot where I first said, “Just one more bend, I’ll just go around one more bend and see what’s up ahead. We wouldn’t want to turn back now, Self, when there might be a lake inlet just around the bend.”
It was Super Hike Sunday and I started my hike late, very late, after lunching with friends. Once I circumvented the white pothole pour-off via the mini-talus slopes, I set off at a good clip down the level wash that is Wire Grass Trail. I wanted to hike until I saw something beautiful, until I felt good, until I was winded, until I no longer felt fat from lunch and the many desserts I have comforted myself with this week.
I did see something beautiful. An arch. I interrupted my momentum only long enough to take a picture. More beauty. I wanted more. I began to feel good again. I never did get winded so I kept on, chasing the sunlight and then chasing the shadow, always, always aware of where the sun was on the horizon.
At 5:58 pm on my return trip I reached the slope where I first clocked the sun at 3:45 pm to gauge if I really had time to do the hike. That was the moment I realized I needed two headlamps. I know, I know, one should be enough, but I have been using my headlamp for early morning walks and I left it setting on the table when I shouldered my daypack; that daypack where the headlamp should -and usually does-reside. Knowing that it is still too early in the year to get much daylight after 4:00 pm, I thought to turn back near the beginning of the trailhead when I first realized my headlamp was home in the kitchen. But I also knew I carried a small flashlight tucked into the first aid kit.
6:03 pm said my cell phone when I arrived at the car. The sun was down, yet still remained the daylight. Whew! It’s not that I am afraid of the dark, I’m just afraid of feeling helpless, afraid of causing someone the bother of coming to find me. I am feeling fine. My toes are sore. My biceps ache from swinging my hiking poles, but I am not winded. It’s going to be a great spring for hiking! For putting one foot in front of the other; for not slackening my pace. How about you?
I walked over to the liquor store today to post some letters and when I came out the door and headed toward home, the lake water was so blue it called to me. So I took a big sip from my bottle, and seeing there were no cows on the other side today; crawled through the fence onto National Park System property. Actually, I am not quite sure if I was hiking on NPS managed land or ranchland as I made my way toward the lake, but I have a park pass so I figure I am legal. I am only about a mile from Lake Powell as the crow flies. As often happens in Page, the lines are a little blurred.
Only one paragraph in and if you know me at all, I bet I have some explaining to do.
Page Arizona has no residential door-to-door mail delivery, nor rural routes. Everyone has a PO box. I live in an upscale community about 9 miles north of Page. The two communities share the same zip code. We are each assigned a post office box. The Greenehaven boxes are housed in the last convenience store before the highway enters Utah. And it so happens; being this convenience store is in close proximity to Lake Powell and Lone Rock, and Lone Rock is a location famous for spring breaks and arrests; the most convenient item the store-turned-post office panders is liquor.
I had planned to return straight home and write but the weather was delightful. A light spring breeze was blowing. Birds were chirping. I was prepared with my water bottle and cell-phone because I had walked to the mart. The lake was beckoning me. The water was blue, Air Force blue. And so I crawled through the fence.
Crawled through the fence? Yes. Without ripping my shirt or my pants on the barbed wire. When I first got to Page I was afraid to do this so I spent my time hiking on roads; paved, gravel, dirt; seeing nothing but dust and hearing nothing but off-road vehicles. Over the months I found that National Recreation Areas are managed differently than National Parks. Cattle still graze here. I have met the grazing ranger for the Park Service. Plus, BLM rangers basically say, “This land is your land. Go make your own trail. Be sure and take a map.”
Today, I hiked about a mile cross-desert toward the lake. I meandered along the rim of an arroyo turned slot canyon. I saw no cattle, but bovine hoof-prints were fresh – as were coyote, rabbit, and assorted rodent prints. I saw two tiny lizards scurrying to re-provision on the opportune sunny day.
On the way back, it was warm and I rolled up my pant legs, wishing I had worn zip-offs and sandals rather than skinny leg levis and smart wool socks. Then it was hot and I removed my shirt, tied it around my waist and hiked on in my short-sleeve T-shirt. Imagine that, so warm on February 3 that I am sweaty and will need another shower when I get home.
Arriving at the fence once again, I turned around and looked at the lake. The water now appeared shimmering pearl gray. You can almost tell what time of day it is – or what season – by the shade of blue reflected in the water.
It took less than two hours, and I have benefitted greatly by crawling through a fence and putting one foot in front of the other. Did you remember to get outside today?
The Lone Rock / Wahweap area of Lake Powell looking uplake and toward Navajo Mountain in the distance
The first time in a long time, I really felt like writing a Christmas letter. Looking back, there were so many landmark accomplishments in 2017, we don’t even need to talk about toils, trials and setbacks.
For location, location, location, you can’t beat sleeping in a beautiful place whether in the company vehicle or your own camp worthy conveyance. Here’s a sampling of my favorite, beautiful, sleeping in the car locations:
Ouray Colorado
Notom Road just outside Capitol Reef
Moki Dugway near Muley Point
Williams Arizona near the Grand Canyon Railway
Bluff Utah for a star party
Dixie National Forrest
The main difficulty with sleeping in the company vehicle lies in remembering to transfer all the necessary items from your own, perfectly outfitted Subaru, into the company car while still leaving room for the merchandise you are delivering or the event you are supporting. I spent the night in the company vehicle four times in 2017. I matched that number in my Outback. Though smaller, my Subaru has lots of little niceties- things like curtains, a sleeping mat, a fuller range of hiking gear.
You make discoveries when you sleep in a car – whether the company vehicle or your own. You acknowledge things like:
Burrrr it’s cold. All I really want for Christmas is a zero degree, down sleeping bag.
I spent the first two and a half months of 2017 at Natural Bridges National Monument where I am pleased to say I hiked all the trails. On March 15th I arrived in Page AZ. I waited through a long hot summer in Page for a chance to really get out and hike and explore the area. With temperatures often breaching 100 degrees, all hikes had to be completed before 8:00 am. While I waited – not so patiently – I swam in Lake Powell every night after work just to lower my core body temperature to a comfortable state.
September temperatures slacked off enough to start seeking beautiful trails. In October came reward in a big way for a tedious and difficult summer. With my daughter, Andrea, I hiked the South Kaibab Trail into Grand Canyon, stayed the night at Phantom Ranch and hiked out the next day via Bright Angel Trail.
In November I got the serendipitous chance to drive to Kanab and spend a few hours with son Philip. Also in November, I spent a weekend near Torrey with my brother and sister-in-law. There have been scattered trips to Grand Junction to visit family, friends, son Kevin and grandkids, though not enough to satisfy my parents.
I continue to write and make music-mostly for my own fulfillment. A few more experiences are in my inspirational arsenal and a few more guitar chords under my belt.
I wish you a Merry Christmas 2017!
In the coming New Year, I wish you the healing tonic of getting out in Nature. Nature is beautiful. Nature heals. Nature is God’s gift of love to those of us who are unable to find solace in the arms of a human lover. Whether you hike, bike or drive; camp, glamp, or pamper, I wish you Beauty – and the Great Outdoors.
Sipapu Bridge largest of the Natural BridgesLake Powell from the airAndrea heading down the steep and multitudinous switch backs of the South Kaibab.Me smiling at Bright Angel Bridge
It was just another work related reconnaissance field trip. Three administrative staff in a well-equipped Jeep picked up a designated Park photographer and headed off into the dust. After a circuitous and scenic route past Wiregrass Canyon and Warm Creek Bay and a bumpy crawl over some slick rock we arrived at our destination: Alstrom Point. From the point we could look toward Gunsight Butte, Tower Butte, Castle Rock, or overlook the Crossing of the Fathers.
Silently we fanned out in all directions, each seeking our own favorite perspective and meditative silence.
30 minutes later I made a panoramic scan of the edges of the perimeter of the peninsula. There we sat in the vastness and lengthening shadows, four Parcheesi players, little round knobs for heads, Hersey kiss-shaped bodies perched on ledges 200 yards away, spread out across the landscape of Alstrom Point, waiting for sunset photos and the magic light.
Twilight advanced bringing us all closer to the common shelter of the Jeep. We talked some, traded tidbits of information, listened to the click of a dark sky camera, toured the night-sky via a phone ap, enjoyed each and every constellation, satellite and planet we could identify. Down layers kept us comfortably warm until time to efficiently fold and stow all the gear.
There are places of great beauty in this world. Sometimes it is too hot, or too cold, or too difficult to get there. Other times, serendipity smiles on you and a magic carpet rings your doorbell.
This year I am not at Needles Canyonlands near Creeksgiving. I am not near Colorado National Monument with many options for a morning hike. I am not near a beach in the Northwest for a misty morning walk. In fact, I am not near anything or anyone with whom I usually spend this fourth Thursday in November. No one is coming to visit me. Yet, I had an incredible Thanksgiving Eve.
Wishing you the blessing of beauty for all your holidays!
I am unpacking my daypack today for the last time. It has become an old wineskin, unable to hold the wine of new adventure without bursting. The seams are frayed. The entire shell is pocked with evidence of tight squeezes and adventurous crawls.
A compact and stuffable travel model, it was designed to be carried in a suitcase, pulled out and quickly packed for spontaneous day hikes; it was never intended for backcountry trips or overnighters-but it served.
There came a time in my hiking life when I knew I needed to graduate from a simple drawstring pack to something with shoulder strap padding. Hikes were getting longer, the climate more strenuous. A water bottle sling fit the bill for morning walks around the neighborhood but not for six-mile hikes down Monument Canyon.
And so, I splurged. In October of 2013, smack dab in the middle of a government shutdown, I used my employee discount and invested in a Chico Travel Pack. Red, of course, to match my adventurous Subaru. Soon I added a 2 liter water reservoir. An emergency rain poncho. Three or four bandanas. A small first aid kit. Then, a change of socks. And still more recently; a pop can stove, matches, a box of soup.
The daypack became my poster child for “Oh the Places You Will Go.” Here are some of the places it has been:
ALL the trails and more at Colorado National Monument
Crag Crest and snowshoe trails on The Grand Mesa
ALL the (non-permit required) marked trails in the Needles District of Canyonlands National Park – those under 11 miles
The Ouray Perimeter Trail – again and again
Most trails in the south rim of Black Canyon of the Gunnison
ALL the marked trails of Natural Bridges National Monument
Two trails in Zion and two trails in Bryce
And this week -as one last hurrah- the South Kaibab and Bright Angel trails in Grand Canyon
So today, with great ceremony, I unpack the frayed and worn and torn body glove of my past outdoor adventures, snap a photo, and retire the side.
My red Chico travel pack daypack must be replaced immediately with a nearly identical new model. Spontaneity happens. Opportunity knocks. I need to be packed and ready. Yet, neither my red Chico travel pack or its successor is built for overnight backpacking, so I will invest in some additional expensive outdoor gear, something properly framed and fitted to my body type and build. I am in need of more straps for jackets and bedrolls – and I need a brain. Hiking in the great outdoors is habit forming – and it is a very healthy habit, this habit of putting one foot in front of the other.
Putting One Foot in Front of the Other, Hiking for Life!
