Tag Archives: Nature Heals

Holidays and Traditions

So you want a Christmas tree

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“I’ll just wait in the car,” he said. “I didn’t bring footwear for hiking.” He flew in from Seattle the day before Thanksgiving with the requisite winter coat on his back and a small backpack to stow under the seat of the plane. It was now two and a half days past Thanksgiving and four hours before departure time. “No problem,” we said, Christmas Tree permit in hand. “It will be fun.” “We know the area. We’ll find a good place to park and a perfect tree 101 feet away.”

But first: First the wilderness ranger went to church to be the drummer for the praise band. First I went to the French Bakery to play the piano for three hours and a half. Then he and I ate lunch and waited for the drummer to come home. Time to go. But first he pulled on wool socks over the cotton pair. First the wilderness ranger had to unload the camping gear from her four-wheel-drive truck. Then she ate lunch. And that is how it came to be we set out four hours before departure time to find the perfect Christmas tree.

But first: We needed to stop by the One Acre Wood to get the tree saw and hatchet. No problem. We were at the One Acre Wood only three days ago on Thanksgiving afternoon. Eight inches of new snow had fallen in the interim. With full confidence she drove her knobby tires over the snowy barricade caused by the neighborhood snowplow and began the descent to the camping shed and tool chest. I jumped out and loaded tools onboard. Jumped in, buckled my seatbelt and after slippery attempts at each of the ramps out of the circle drive, and critical assessment, we found we were – – stuck.  

Gentle Reader, he did not – he did not wait in the car. Nor did I. Shovel by shovel, bucket of gravel by bucket of gravel, mud mat by transferred mud mat; we advanced car length by car length up the slippery incline until the angle of ascent became manageable. 90 minutes of intense workout for three persons each well-conditioned for their respective ages. Some will not need to go to the gym for a few days. All will need a hot tub. And, yes, thanks to forethought and planning, we made it to the airport on time – but we didn’t pass home. And we don’t have a Christmas tree.

Success! A week later. The wilderness ranger completed the mission alone.

Home and Hearth

Tree Hugging: His name is Gus

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His name is Gus and he is appropriately named for the journey he has been on. You see, Gus was a Christmas tree in December of 2022, confined in a pot, possibly root bound, maybe over-watered and not well drained; or perhaps over-heated and parched. We’re not exactly sure. But I am getting ahead of myself here.

In 2010 I helped my cousin tear down a log house that had not only belonged to, but been built by my grandfather. It was built from 1936 to 1938 by hand from windfall logs hauled from the backside of Grand Mesa – the largest flattop mountain in the United States. Had the building happened on site in the mountains where the trees fell, I would call it a cabin. But, the logs were hauled down by wagon to the outskirts of a city in the valley, so we always referred to it as a log house. Uncle Willis did the bulk of the collecting and hauling with Granddad. Uncles Emil and Milton helped build. My dad, being only five or six had not much hand in the work but he did grow up in the log house from the age of six through graduation from high school.

During the years I was growing up we paid Sunday visits to Granddad at the log house. In the summertime, we frequently paid visits to Granddad at the cabin on Grand Mesa – by Eggleston Lake. Granddad took great pride in showing off all the little projects around the mountain cabin. At a young age I knew where the spring was located to go for a bucket of water and also how to clean fish in the driveway of the cabin. Granddad had stripped a lodgepole and constructed a flagpole. Off to the side of the cabin he transplanted other conifers, tended them, watched them grow and- most importantly-gave them names. He named them after his children. “Look how Willis is growing this year!” “Emil is not doing so well, I need to give him more water….” “This little guy is David.”

Have I said recently that I love to hug trees? And pat rocks? Well, I do. I love to see the little pine trees with their new growth shoots. I call them Musha trees because the new shoots remind me so much of the wagging tail of our long time departed malamute. Musha trees. Willis. Emil. I think we have a tree-naming trend going on here.

A fine Musha tree still clad in Christmas decorations and putting out new growth

In November 2022 my roommate (aka my daughter) and I went shopping at a local nursery and for several pretty pennies came home with a lovely three or four foot blue spruce tree in a four gallon bucket. We loved the tree, watered the tree, decorated the tree, undecorated the tree and then subsequently moved it outside when February arrived. Once the snow finally melted at 7,680 feet this year; once the ground had thawed and we could actually get a 4-wheel drive truck into the One-Acre-Wood; we continued with the goal to replant our Christmas Tree out in the forest where he belonged.

Even when bringing the tree home in November we had used the truck with the tailgate hatch open. By April the tree was significantly heavier and more difficult to move despite one side having dried out and died. Andrea called a friend from the gym. The two of them lifted the tree into the truck, positioned it through the hatch and commenced what should have been a mere 16-mile journey. But a bridge was out. Detours were made. Finally, the tree was returned to the ground as originally requested. Andrea’s friend stood back and said, “His name is Gus. Gus from Lonesome Dove, my favorite movie. We’ve had a long and circuitous journey to return him to the ground. His name is Gus.”

By the way, Gus is quite happy in his new habitat. We may even see new life coming from the dead side.

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the quiet and rest of holidays

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“I will go lie down,” she said, “for just a few moments in that hammock strung between two ponderosa pines.” No matter where you are, there is work to do. She could be downloading photos from her phone to her laptop at the table in the little mini camping cabin. There is no internet at the One -Acre Wood, but she could be formatting a manuscript. “No need,” she said. “It is a holiday. I will lie down in the hammock and do nothing and watch for stars. I will stay until the first star comes out.” She purchased the hammock several years ago from a clearance bin. Five dollars, how could she resist? It was red. Red like the Outback she enjoyed camping in at the time. She hasn’t had the Subaru for three years and three months. She has only used the hammock for two seasons – after the wilderness ranger taught her how to tie a secure hitch knot and she no longer feared “down will come baby, hammock and all.” So she hoisted herself up, straddled the hammock, drew in her feet, covered herself with a light blanket and gazed at the dusky sky. The stars were delayed in coming out because there was a moon overhead. Straight up she looked. One hundred feet through the branches, maybe 200 feet. It was an old, old forest. She basked in the moonlight. By and by she thought she saw a twinkle slightly off to the left, somewhat obscured by boughs.  Was it a star? A plane? A planet? It did not move perceptibly. Not a plane. But that buzzing near her ear? That was definitely the first mosquito of the season. May 29th – not even June yet and here were the mosquitoes at 8,000 ft. Dusk deepened and even with the competition of the moon she could faintly see star clusters in the deep heavens. Millions of stars. Also mosquitos two, three and four. She rolled out of the hammock and into the back of her Rav4 and her trusty sleeping bag – the one she bought herself for a birthday three years ago.

Emotional Health, Health and Long Life, Spiritual Well Being

In My Opinion; Hot Springs

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In her opinion (and her opinions seem to have grown stronger in recent years); a decent vacation needs to start or end with a visit to a hot springs. She has been known to lengthen trips – both business and pleasure -just to soak at Glenwood Springs, Ouray or Pagosa. Her favorite detour for the past 10 years has been the Wiesbaden in Ouray. This former hospital, and previous sacred place for Chief Ouray, is her happy place, a place of healing and spiritual renewal.

But happy places have a downside. If one goes there too often, the place may lose its effectiveness -a body may become somewhat immune. If one goes too infrequently, the feelings of nostalgia, the memories of the past may delay and belay you in sadness on the way to recovery from the current stress. One’s memory bank will offer up such tidbits as: Here is the hot springs where I stopped and soaked when my boss was acting as a cantankerous addict. Here is where I came for reenergizing when my mother was in her declining months. Ah, but here is where I first found emotional health after the rending of a marriage. 

Perhaps she took a little long floating on her back and gazing at the stars sprinkled sky. Long enough to notice that most of the stars that night were actually fast-moving satellites and not the beloved twinkling stars she had enjoyed the precious visit. Perhaps she indulged the grief and took too many steps down the path of memory lane. In any case the warm waters of the outdoor pool did not feel effective. She was disappointed. This was to be a short stay, only one night. She rose from the pool, shivering as she wrapped herself in a cold towel and padded across the frozen flagstones. Down she went, into the lower depths of the spa, to the vapor caves. And there in the semi-darkness and echoing steam; once again was rung from her lips the hallelujah-the acknowledgement that something greater than herself was coming through Nature, rolling like a gentle tsunami and straight to her soul. Once again she felt royal – like Chief Ouray – cared for, protected, rejuvenated, clear-headed. She felt like every mile she had ever walked, every move forward she had ever made – was worth it.

Pro tips for hot springs:

If you are cool by the time you get back to your room, you didn’t stay in the vapor cave long enough.

Bring two swimsuits. You will want to go in the pool frequently and no one likes pulling on a clammy bathing suit.

Whenever possible, stay at the hotel adjacent to the hot springs. I view this in much the same way as hiking. Who wants to drive several minutes to a hot springs, find a parking space, enjoy the springs and then drive back to their lodging?

Conversely, don’t write off a hot springs just because there is no lodging nearby or because you can’t afford lodging. You can’t afford not to at least dip your toes in every hot springs you can find. So don’t write off the Hippy Dip in Pagosa or the tiny Rico Hot Springs or Penny Hot Springs or that one in Yellowstone flowing into the river just because there is no building or development. You should even stop at Pinkerton, even though you can only touch your toes in the hot water these days.

Carry a beach towel in your car and dip your toes and your entire body (skinny or not) into every hot springs you can find. Once will be enough for some. Others will become your happy place and you will long to return again and again. Just do it! And sing your oms and your hallelujahs!

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The Flowers That Bloom In The Fall

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What can I say about the onset of autumn? What words are there to describe such beauty? How can I make you understand the glorious beauty and the way it makes me feel? Will it help if I confess that for eight weeks from the middle of August to the middle of October I rose each morning with happiness and purpose? That’s a record to be proud of. Will it help your understanding when I say I did not feel that sinking feeling in my chest, that hollow sucking down that makes one wonder about the health of her heart, during that entire eight weeks. In addition, I had no qualms, no anxiety regarding all the music activities and performances in which I was involved. Let me repeat; no debilitating, paralyzing anxiety for two months! If autumn be the fount of long life and happiness; linger on oh many colored leaves and sooth my heartstrings!

What a joyous season this has been! It takes me back, oh so many years, to a heartache fraught time in my early 20s. Yes, relational stress was mine in abundance. Nevertheless, fall came on and with it an ebullience so strong a neighbor remarked, “Wow Cherry, you really bloom in the fall, don’t you?” Affirmative. And now, just a few millimeter marks beyond my mid-sixties, I can say the same. It is truly the autumn of my life. It is the now or never season. Time to complete the bucket list and finish strong. May I bloom like never before. May I revel in the season and embrace the beauty of fall in perpetuity. May the glorious colors, the golds and reds and yellows and orange refresh you as well and may the health and glory of fall linger on and on in memory and add warmth and glow to your winter. And if you are in the autumn of your life? – May it be your best season ever!

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Wisdom from Age

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Here is what I have learned from experience:

There is not enough food in your pantry or fridge to make you feel better when you are lonely. There is not enough chocolate in the world or wine in the bottle to cover your inherent fear or embarrassment. You will not find, anywhere in your job or relationships, enough sex or affirmation to give you the confidence you need to hold your head up every day and face the world. Ultimately, no amount of success nor excess of work hours will make you feel perfect and secure.

There are four antidotes I know of to assuage your anxiety:

*Take a hike in the out of doors.

*Make some music.

*Write about whatever is troubling you.

*Go work outside, move some rocks around, garden, pull weeds.

Think or pray or meditate while you are administering the antidote.

I have never had one antidote work consistently 100% of the time; nor are they instant. You can augment the effect by drinking liberally from your water bottle and engaging in thoughts of gratitude.

This is the wisdom and acknowledgement that comes with age. These are the gifts and remedies that come from the Earth, or Mother Nature, or Life, or the Universe. Use them well, but use them you must if you wish to live.

Emotional Health, Health and Long Life, Hiking and outdoor beauty, Spiritual Well Being

October

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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.

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Emotional Health

I’d Rather Cry at Beauty, Than to Cry at Ugly

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That’s the trouble with getting outside, it’s as bad a reading a good book. It’s dangerous. It fills you with longing. But at some point, getting outside or reading a good book also fills the longing.

I’d rather go hiking than pay for 50 minutes of therapy.

Either way, the first 45 minutes consist of working through stress and with hiking you usually get a bonus hour or two of enjoyment after that.

Sometimes, when I go hiking, I am so overcome by the beauty of my surroundings that it makes me weep. Sometimes, when I go hiking, my thoughts are so deep they make me weep. Sometimes, when I make music – or hear music – it makes me weep with the sheer beauty of it all.

But I’d rather cry at beauty, than to cry at ugly.

A couple weeks ago I staffed an outdoor event for a weekend in Escalante. On the way home, I stopped at a public piano in Tropic, pulled out the chair and proceeded to play my heart out for about 10 minutes. A woman of my generation – a gracefully aging flower child – sat on the park bench close by and applauded encouragingly.

When I had done and went inside the market to purchase a snack, the woman found me and engaged in conversation. She was touched by the beauty of music and confessed to videoing my mini concert – seemed to ask permission. We talked about beauty – the unexpected beauty of music in surprising places – the beauty of the world and her habit of picking up ten pieces of trash each day – the beauty of the souls who had allowed her to sleep in her car in their parking lot overnight.

We exited the door together and as I cut diagonally toward my waiting auto I heard her squeal of delight at discovering a large praying mantis. It was indeed a magical day. But what happened next was ugly. A large overall-clad man (Overalls on a Sunday morning – so don’t blame the Mormons for what I am about to relate) descended from his big truck and called, “What is it?”

“A praying mantis,” she replied in wonder.

“Well, step on it!” he snapped, “they don’t do anybody any good.”

I know this is not true. I have also learned that I am not called to set the whole world straight; to backtrack 30 feet across parking lots to be a know-it-all because of something I overheard. All the same, I felt guilty about abandoning that lovely hippie to the ugliness of yet another stranger.

Subdued, I continued miles on down the road, contemplating. I hung a left into Bryce Canyon City and on into a park where natural beauty and wildlife are respected and protected. I took a hike – a long hike – and my spirit was restored.

I would so much rather cry at beauty than at ugly.

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Nature’s Treadmill

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We get outside for health.
We get outside for confidence – to pit ourselves against nature for a moment, test our skills, return victorious.
We get outside for a change of pace and a change of scenery – literally.
We get outside to escape the office treadmill, to defy the hamster wheel, the monotonous, repetitive activity in which no progress is achieved – the treadmill of people we cannot fix and things we can’t control.

I think the expression, “I wanted to die,” comes from the following sources: embarrassment, rejection, failure, things of the heart and emotion, societal expectations. And those are the precise feelings I am seeking to heal when I venture, nay, when I go boldly, out into Nature.

I have said that I want to die in a beautiful place. I have also said that day is not today. And it is not. In Nature, the old will to live still kicks in. My reflex is to fight for my life. I don’t want to numb that instinctive will. When the day comes that I die in a beautiful place – I hope it will be decisive – a sudden occurrence. No choice of whether to give up or fight. But until that day, I will struggle. There is no, “lay me down and will myself to die.” While I still live, I will fight for my life.

I go out into Nature for the healing, but sometimes what I get is the scalpel. Other times the treadmill. Yesterday a friend and I floated the Colorado River from Fairy Swale (it is actually Ferry Swale, but Fairy has more scope for the imagination) to Lee’s Ferry. The word floated is misleading. True, sometimes we floated. True it was downstream. Words like halcyon, bucolic, tranquil, serene, placid – even chillaxing came to mind. But there is also wind on the river, wind that blows upstream. Wind that makes white caps of the water. Wind that grabs the nose of your kayak and turns you 180 degrees and makes you feel helpless. Wind that once again puts you on a treadmill of life you find yourself expending herculean energy but going nowhere.

The wind is regularly expected for the last mile of the route from Ferry Swale to Lee’s Ferry. Yesterday it happened three times in the last three miles of the journey. It was a three condor, three osprey, three heron, 99-duck, three extended wind-gusts with white caps and reversals up-river sort of day. And yes, the random half miles of calm beautiful floats were very worth it!

I go out into Nature for the healing, but sometimes what I get is the scalpel. Other times the treadmill. But that doesn’t stop me from returning, over and over again for the healing – the healing that comes after the scalpel has done its work.

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Emotional Health

A long and winding road that leads – to beauty.

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It was a long and winding road that lead to – who knows where? She had never been there before. But she had just passed through the Kaibab – 41 miles of rolling, forested hills – mountains kneeling, mountains lying down and covered with ponderosa, aspen and mountain meadows. She saw the sign that directed to Point Imperial and Cape Royale. She didn’t need a picture to paint 1,000 words. Those four words were irresistible and she turned left. According to the pocket map provided her by the Park Service Ranger, one has to get a permit to have a wedding at Cape Royale. A wedding? Then it must be beautiful.

Beauty restores. Beauty heals. Beauty comes in many different forms. She needed restoration, healing, beauty, self-care. That morning, she stopped to see friends and acquaintances; a kind word here, an act of service there. But she was empty and it soon became apparent she needed to refill her own tank if she was to serve others. So she sniffed out some nutritional fuel.

The meal was excellent. She tucked a portion away – to go – and planned to polish it off in a beautiful place as dinner. Thirty-seven miles later she stopped at Jacob Lake and then proceeded through Kaibab National Forest and the Grand Canyon North Rim entrance gate. It was then she saw the sign: Cape Royale Road. The road forks after five miles. To the left another three miles is Point Imperial. She tried that first as an appetizer. 8, 800 feet – the highest overlook on the North Rim of the Grand Canyon. Her optimum altitude. Ponderosa pines. Beauty in every direction. Painted Desert to the east. Far below, views of Marble Canyon, and the eastern portion of the Grand Canyon. Returning to the fork, she headed up the right hand branch. Fifteen miles – a long and winding road – not suitable for trailers or long vehicles – plenty of time for a bride to consider her destination. She drove as far as a car can go and parked. On her own two feet she entered the avenue, a paved trail lined with piñon pine and tall, thriving, cliff rose. Until that day, she had never wanted to be a June Bride. June seems so conforming and usual somehow. But oh, if one is going to be a bride at Cape Royale, June is the month to be that bride. Every cliff rose was in bloom. As she walked, she noticed a wall of rock jutting into the canyon on the left. In that wall, nature had chiseled a window, Angel’s Window.

And through that window, in the distance, she could see the Colorado River. Her River. It was a breath-taking discovery.

It was not a difficult hike, nor a difficult drive, but it was a long, long and winding road; and it led to beauty. Her soul was satisfied for another hour, another day, another week. She would survive.

Presentation is part of the nourishment
Presentation is part of the nourishment

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