And now we hike 14-ers: Long's Peak

And now we hike 14-ers.

Will and I made it to the top of Long's Peak this weekend.  His silhouette on the highest point seems to reflect the dreams and ambitions of a strong, capable young man in his sixteenth year.

Meanwhile, my own silhouette would not likely evoke the same adjectives.  Maybe "ambitious" would fit...

But, we both made it.

We hit the summit at 8:26am.  Glorious.  I conquered some fears.  And my advanced years gave me patience and confidence to take it one step at a time.

Now onward.

Ghosts

I know I saw whooping cranes.  We were in Montana, between Missoula and Bozeman.   I'd been driving for a couple of hours, but the sun was just coming up.  There were two of them, on my right.  The kids were fast asleep.  I wish I could go back, stop on the side of the road, and wake everyone up to see.

But the cranes were so still, and quiet.  So unbelievably tall.  They faced the sun, as if in worship.  At a glimpse, they looked human.  About 5 feet tall, arms/wings tucked in.  Motionless in a field.

All I have is a picture of the sunrise, so they remain as ghosts.  But, that moment.  Catching my breath as I saw them.  Knowing it was dreamlike, but real.  I'll remember them forever.

Backroads

The backroads of Montana. This photo will stand alone.

New Chickens, First Eggs

It is a special day when new chickens begin laying eggs. We all guessed late January or February, but they jumpstarted in 2016.  Make no mistake:  the chickens are our pets.  Lemon, Fluffers, Flight, Twilight, Cupcake, and Mo, Jr.  But, the fact that they give us these gifts every day feels like a small miracle.  

Lined Up Colorful

Just before the holidays, my family took a trip.  We combined a cheap flight to Vegas with a road trip to Southern California, to put our feet in the ocean in 2016.

Our hours driving through the desert did the trick to strip us down, of something.  There aren't many variables in the desert.  But lots of raw beauty.  The earth sits so still and dry, conserving all its energy, while this band of highway cuts through, cars and trucks speeding with abandon.   At a rest stop, Will and John kicked the soccer ball, the only kinetic energy around, while locals sat and watched.  We left food for someone there who's mind had left her, but she had much to say.  I wonder how she survives.  

Bits of color create such contrast.  The blue sky gets the glory, but at one point, we saw a row of bright balloons, lined up like tourists beside the train tracks.  They stood witness to all the traffic, foreground to the desert scene.  Hours later, my family lined up in just the same fashion on the beach, witnessing the awe of the ocean.  Bobbing beings, looking out on a stark landscape of sand and sea and sky.  

In Their Hands

Currently, at my household, there is a serious nail-biting habit.  Every time I look, someone is furiously chewing at whatever is left of their fingers.  I try to hold their hands a lot.  Those hands, so engaged with the world.

Stardust in Paper Bags

June and some friends are spreading stardust around town, in the form of paper bags filled with gifts for the homeless.

One parent gathered toiletries from generous dentists and hotels.  Others contributed food and drinks.  The girls took paint to the bags, with words and art.  

Despite all this goodness, I worried about our words.  The words written on the bags, and the tenuous connection between young privileged white girls and people without food or shelter.

The girls wrote:

Believe in Your Dreams
Today Will be a Good Day
Thank Happy Be Happy
It's Always Too Early to Give Up
Live Love Laugh
May Your Day Be Happy

But why focus on the weight of our differences?  We can all embrace these thoughts.  Why anticipate resentment?  Why overthink it?  The kids sure didn't.

Again, I am wiser to think like a child.

                          

                         

A Coop in the Dark

After years of trying to set routines and create predictability for my kids (to a questionable degree of success), I am now trying to open up to the opposite.  Our habits and our noise sure give a me sense of security, but what I value now is energy.  And bravery.  To meet our days, and to break out of safe spaces.

So if June and I have the energy to paint a chicken coop in the dark, then great.  A bedtime routine, and darkness, need not stand in the way.  Tonight, it's the coop.  Tomorrow, hopefully we will look beyond our back yard.

Welcome That

Welcome that.  I haven’t written here with that spirit in mind in a long time.  I continue to reach for the feeling, though, to welcome things that come with growing children, new challenges, new conflicts, life's responsibilities.

But today, I cannot find gratitude for Hilliary’s loss, or for Trump’s “victory.”  No “well this can be good because….”  Gratitude for the elevation of racism, sexism, violence, the abuse of our planet? 

No.  Today, here is what I welcome:

Hillary's speech.  The words of a heart-wrenching champion.  

Tears of parents at my school who care so much.

Friends who, after a day of mourning, will mobilize and inspire.

The chance to feed chickens, a dog, a cat, and horses next door.

The soft morning faces of my children.

Teachers whom I trust.

A loving family, husband, sister, and mother.

Forever, the sun, the sky, the mountains and the trees.

Today, I am breaking open to find the space to welcome.  Tomorrow I will plant bulbs, and a manifesto with motivated friends.  No more complacency.  No more missing chances.  We have to love and love and love.  Plant seeds for our children and love.

Off the Beaten Path: The Kansas Prairie

  

Not all road trips are created equal.  I mean, the drive from Arkansas to Boulder is nothing like  Highway 1 on the California Coast.  But there are highlights: the stockyards / slaughterhouses right after you cross the Arkansas River into Oklahoma, the one island on the Muskogee Turnpike where my dad always stopped for a Coke, the Tulsa tollbooths, the truckstop at the Kansas border with pay showers in the bathrooms, Wichita's lonesome canal, the woods at the rest stop near Salina, the windmills when you first turn West, the Starbucks near Colby, the strip with the fake palm trees, the first sight of the Rocky Mountains.  That about covers it.

Early February, I got behind the wheel of my mother's car.  I had my girls in tow as well as a sense giddiness that did not seem to match what lay ahead.  One year, despite a sense of urgency to move forward fast, I turned off the Interstate.  It was summertime, and I had my kids but no husband.  I felt free to cut a corner before turning South.  We came across a dam, which led to a beach and a state park.  We threw on our bathing suits, swam and made castles in dirty landlocked sand for hours.  

This time, when we reached that same exit, we knew a storm was coming from the West.  I even anticipated camping out in a hotel for a couple of nights.  But, we turned, without regret. 

Instantly, the plains became bigger, and smaller at the same time.  They were someone's land, with evidence in the hay bales, the fences, the houses, even the deserted houses. We turned off our book on tape, cracked our windows.  Instead of cruising at 75 m.p.h., I pulled over time after time for photos.  Clara took out her camera.  June just got out.

In the photos, everything is big white sky, big brown field, and then some desolate figure in the bottom corner.  Against the greedy landscape, everything looks like bones:  tree bones, house bones, hay bale bones, windmill bones, even playground bones.  In life, there were thousands of birds.  It was a postcard for the Nature Conservancy prairie effort.  Plus, the wind carried the sound of all those birds.  It shook the grass to life and made energy to spare through those turning windmills.

Sometimes I think that I shouldn't take my kids off the beaten path so much.  They need predictability.  I mean, we were already on a long road trip, disconnected from the other half of our family, unsure of weather ahead.  But, I had to show them, and I had to see.  Maybe someday they will read or even write Willa Cather.  As long as they don't get lost on the backroads, even the backroads of their minds as my sister once wrote in a song, I think they understand that the reward can be worth it all.  

Valentine Dates

A week late, our family indulged in Valentine dates.  Jeff took the girls out; I dined with the boys.  It was an evening of misplaced elegance, with sparkling glasses, candles, fine linens, and collared shirts.  

Sometimes, I worry we won't have much to say.  Or I worry there will be some silly drama that keeps us from being present.  But, the weather framed our artful night.  Previously (as in here and here), whimsey manifested itself on menus or paper tablecloths, but a fogged up window was the canvas this year.  The snow, slippery roads, freezing temperature, and absence of life outside all created a time-out-of-time.  Like a certain kind of being in love.

Valentines Hearts

On Valentine's Day, my girls and I made hearts.  These were our quiet Valentines, fourteen for the 14th.