I memorized this poem in 2004 while guiding in Alaska.... Every time I wander in the wilderness, whether it's the sagebrush desolation of Colorado or the black and red canyons of Utah or the naked grandeur of Alaska, this poem runs through my head, a silent refrain that responds as I listen to the wild... It's calling me. And I must go. :)
The Call of the Wild
by Robert Service
Have you gazed on naked grandeur
where there’s nothing else to gaze on,
Set pieces and drop-curtain scenes galore,
Big mountains heaved to heaven, which the blinding sunsets blazon,
Black canyons where the rapids rip and roar?
Have you swept the visioned valley
with the green stream streaking through it,
Searched the Vastness for a something you have lost?
Have you strung your soul to silence?
Then for God’s sake go and do it;
Hear the challenge, learn the lesson, pay the cost.
Have you wandered in the wilderness, the sagebrush desolation,
The bunch-grass levels where the cattle graze?
Have you whistled bits of rag-time at the end of all creation,
And learned to know the desert’s little ways?
Have you camped upon the foothills,
have you galloped o'er the ranges,
Have you roamed the arid sun-lands through and through?
Have you chummed up with the mesa?
Do you know its moods and changes?
Then listen to the Wild -- it’s calling you.
Have you known the Great White Silence,
not a snow-gemmed twig aquiver?
(Eternal truths that shame our soothing lies).
Have you broken trail on snowshoes? mushed your huskies up the river,
Dared the unknown, led the way, and clutched the prize?
Have you marked the map’s void spaces, mingled with the mongrel races,
Felt the savage strength of brute in every thew?
And though grim as hell the worst is,
can you round it off with curses?
Then hearken to the Wild -- it’s wanting you.
Have you suffered, starved and triumphed,
groveled down, yet grasped at glory,
Grown bigger in the bigness of the whole?
"Done things" just for the doing, letting babblers tell the story,
Seeing through the nice veneer the naked soul?
Have you seen God in His splendors,
heard the text that nature renders?
(You'll never hear it in the family pew).
The simple things, the true things, the silent men who do things --
Then listen to the Wild -- it’s calling you.
They have cradled you in custom,
they have primed you with their preaching,
They have soaked you in convention through and through;
They have put you in a showcase; you're a credit to their teaching --
But can't you hear the Wild? -- it’s calling you.
Let us probe the silent places, let us seek what luck betide us;
Let us journey to a lonely land I know.
There’s a whisper on the night-wind,
there’s a star agleam to guide us,
And the Wild is calling, calling. . .let us go.
Sunday, May 1, 2011
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Our local baby great horned owls!
I have had the joy of watching some beautiful baby Great Horned owls growing up in my neighborhood! I've led 3 meetups so far to bring people to see the owls, and my members have gotten some incredible photos!!! The parent owls have lived in my neighborhood for 4 years, and have used this nest for 2 seasons so far. It has to be the best nesting site I've ever seen!! The owls are completely sheltered from any weather, and they have a great view of all of the people passing by on the trail! They seem to enjoy the attention- at least, that's what I think!!
This photo, taken by Sue of my meetup group, is of the babies at 3 weeks old. When I saw them a week before they were tiny little white fluffballs. In only a week, their down has turned gray!
In only a week, the babies have grown substantially! It was a cloudy, rainy day so only 2 people came this time. The babies are very well sheltered, so they didn't care! Luckily, my friend Paul came with his fantastic photography skills and was happy to share his photos with me! Unless otherwise stated, most of the photos on this blog are his photos.
I don't have a fancy camera so I tried to take a photo through my binoculars. It came out pretty darn well!!!
Here's my best photo through the binoculars.
Edited and photoshopped- who needs a fancy camera anyway???
Dad is a bit smaller than the mama owl and he usually sleeps a bit further away from the nest. Great horned owls mate for life and will choose a territory where they live for their entire lives!
Mama has just awakened in this photo- she's getting ready to fly for the evening!
The babies are now 5 weeks old. They are spreading their wings and no longer falling all over each other! Notice the legs hanging out of the nest- apparently the babies had a meal of red tailed hawk! That's what some of the local birders think, at least.
This time, mama decided to go a bit smaller and caught a vole to feed her babies with.
She is giving the vole to the babies here.
She also caught them a rabbit!
These babies are quite well fed, don't you think? Great horned owls will eat a wide variety of prey: rabbits, birds, fish, raccoons, and even, apparently, red tailed hawks! Their talons are extremely powerful- with them, owls can exert pressure that is 300 pounds per square inch!
If anyone would like to come see the owls, join my meetup, Boulder Naturalist Outings, and sign up! I'll have outings to see them throughout the summer. They will fledge in late May but they'll stick around until at least October.
What a magical experience to see these owls so close to home. It's amazing. What I really love is that the whole neighborhood CARES about these owls. The male disappeared for a couple of weeks and when he came back, people spoke of him like they would an old friend.
"I was worried about him! I'm SO happy that he's back!!!!"
This is the first time in my life that I've witnessed an entire community of hundreds of people CARING so deeply about our local wildlife! This is the type of connection I dream about facilitating to my meetup members and to society at large. Imagine what would happen if everyone was so aware of their local landscape and wildlife?
The world would be a different place. When we care deeply about the Earth, we take care of it! When we care so deeply, duality disappears and we become, as they say, "one with the universe"... When we know a place as deeply as we know ourselves and our families, our community expands to include the more-than-human world, and we gain wisdom about our place in the world that informs WHERE WE WANT TO BE and how we can have an impact.
These owls have changed our community for the better, and I love them for it.
This photo, taken by Sue of my meetup group, is of the babies at 3 weeks old. When I saw them a week before they were tiny little white fluffballs. In only a week, their down has turned gray!
In only a week, the babies have grown substantially! It was a cloudy, rainy day so only 2 people came this time. The babies are very well sheltered, so they didn't care! Luckily, my friend Paul came with his fantastic photography skills and was happy to share his photos with me! Unless otherwise stated, most of the photos on this blog are his photos.
I don't have a fancy camera so I tried to take a photo through my binoculars. It came out pretty darn well!!!
Here's my best photo through the binoculars.
Edited and photoshopped- who needs a fancy camera anyway???
Dad is a bit smaller than the mama owl and he usually sleeps a bit further away from the nest. Great horned owls mate for life and will choose a territory where they live for their entire lives!
Mama has just awakened in this photo- she's getting ready to fly for the evening!
The babies are now 5 weeks old. They are spreading their wings and no longer falling all over each other! Notice the legs hanging out of the nest- apparently the babies had a meal of red tailed hawk! That's what some of the local birders think, at least.
This time, mama decided to go a bit smaller and caught a vole to feed her babies with.
She is giving the vole to the babies here.
She also caught them a rabbit!
These babies are quite well fed, don't you think? Great horned owls will eat a wide variety of prey: rabbits, birds, fish, raccoons, and even, apparently, red tailed hawks! Their talons are extremely powerful- with them, owls can exert pressure that is 300 pounds per square inch!
If anyone would like to come see the owls, join my meetup, Boulder Naturalist Outings, and sign up! I'll have outings to see them throughout the summer. They will fledge in late May but they'll stick around until at least October.
What a magical experience to see these owls so close to home. It's amazing. What I really love is that the whole neighborhood CARES about these owls. The male disappeared for a couple of weeks and when he came back, people spoke of him like they would an old friend.
"I was worried about him! I'm SO happy that he's back!!!!"
This is the first time in my life that I've witnessed an entire community of hundreds of people CARING so deeply about our local wildlife! This is the type of connection I dream about facilitating to my meetup members and to society at large. Imagine what would happen if everyone was so aware of their local landscape and wildlife?
The world would be a different place. When we care deeply about the Earth, we take care of it! When we care so deeply, duality disappears and we become, as they say, "one with the universe"... When we know a place as deeply as we know ourselves and our families, our community expands to include the more-than-human world, and we gain wisdom about our place in the world that informs WHERE WE WANT TO BE and how we can have an impact.
These owls have changed our community for the better, and I love them for it.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Wild geese
I've been appreciating my life so deeply in the last few months. A friend just sent this poem to me, and it touched me, as I head out this morning to connect with the birds and the chill in the air with 2o of my closest friends. Thanks, members of my meetups, for filling me with such gratitude and renewing my certainty that I am exactly where I belong. Maybe I'll even have a photo of a wild goose to add to this post later today!!
Wild Geese
You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
Love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile, the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile, the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting--
over and over announcing your place in the family of things.
-Mary Oliver
Wild Geese
You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
Love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile, the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile, the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting--
over and over announcing your place in the family of things.
-Mary Oliver
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
The somatics of emotion
Have you ever noticed what happens in your body as you experience different emotions? Do you know what it feels like to be grounded, centered, and present? When you are grounded, centered, and present, where are your shoulders? Where is your attention? Can you feel your feet on the ground? What does your breathing feel like?
For me, breaths are slow when I am centered. My eyes are forward and relaxed with a soft gaze. I feel the earth beneath my feet, even when concrete and my shoes block the path. My weight is centered over my feet or slightly back so I can take in everything around me.
Now, imagine what your body feels like when you are angry. For me, my eyes still look straight forward but they are squinted- glaring straight ahead, not willing to take anything in outside of the focus of my anger. My weight is forward and all of my energy is directed to the front of me- my energy follows my glare. My breath becomes forceful but shallow and I no longer feel the earth beneath my feet.
What about sadness? In sadness, my breath becomes shaky, my eyes fall to the floor, and all I want to do is curl up into a ball and shut the world out. My shoulders are hunched forward, my arms are crossed or covering my face, and I feel so heavy that I want to sink to my knees. I do not feel the earth beneath my feet or notice anything outside of myself. My focus turns almost entirely inward.
There are many ways to shift our moods but for me the most powerful method is through the body. The next time you feel angry or sad, notice your body. Notice your breath. Then shift back to a centered, grounded, present way of being. This can be done indoors but tends to work more easily if you are surrounded by the natural world. Bring your shoulders back and center your weight over your feet. Take a deep breath and notice your breath filling your head, your lungs, and your belly. Feel the earth beneath your feet. Relax your gaze and take in all of the sights, sounds, and smells around you. When you breathe in, be aware that the air you are taking in was just exhaled by the trees, birds, squirrels, and grass. Breathe in. Feel the breath flowing through your feet and into the earth. Feel yourself filled with the strength of the earth beneath you. Let the earth's strength become your strength. Breathe out your anger or sadness, and breathe in the energy and peace of the natural world.
Has your emotion shifted?
Interestingly, your amygdala, which is the emotional center of your brain, sits right next to your nasal cavity and literally is cooled down when you take a breath through your nose. The next time you hear someone suggest you take a deep breath, realize now how profound that suggestion really is!
For me, breaths are slow when I am centered. My eyes are forward and relaxed with a soft gaze. I feel the earth beneath my feet, even when concrete and my shoes block the path. My weight is centered over my feet or slightly back so I can take in everything around me.
Now, imagine what your body feels like when you are angry. For me, my eyes still look straight forward but they are squinted- glaring straight ahead, not willing to take anything in outside of the focus of my anger. My weight is forward and all of my energy is directed to the front of me- my energy follows my glare. My breath becomes forceful but shallow and I no longer feel the earth beneath my feet.
What about sadness? In sadness, my breath becomes shaky, my eyes fall to the floor, and all I want to do is curl up into a ball and shut the world out. My shoulders are hunched forward, my arms are crossed or covering my face, and I feel so heavy that I want to sink to my knees. I do not feel the earth beneath my feet or notice anything outside of myself. My focus turns almost entirely inward.
There are many ways to shift our moods but for me the most powerful method is through the body. The next time you feel angry or sad, notice your body. Notice your breath. Then shift back to a centered, grounded, present way of being. This can be done indoors but tends to work more easily if you are surrounded by the natural world. Bring your shoulders back and center your weight over your feet. Take a deep breath and notice your breath filling your head, your lungs, and your belly. Feel the earth beneath your feet. Relax your gaze and take in all of the sights, sounds, and smells around you. When you breathe in, be aware that the air you are taking in was just exhaled by the trees, birds, squirrels, and grass. Breathe in. Feel the breath flowing through your feet and into the earth. Feel yourself filled with the strength of the earth beneath you. Let the earth's strength become your strength. Breathe out your anger or sadness, and breathe in the energy and peace of the natural world.
Has your emotion shifted?
Interestingly, your amygdala, which is the emotional center of your brain, sits right next to your nasal cavity and literally is cooled down when you take a breath through your nose. The next time you hear someone suggest you take a deep breath, realize now how profound that suggestion really is!
Monday, July 19, 2010
The importance of play
How often does lightness show up in your life? When was the last time you did something just for the sake of the adventure or the joy of it? When was the last time you did something not just to get better at it or to prove yourself good enough to someone in your life?
It's funny. I've been a ski instructor for the last 7 years and worked very hard to improve my skiing so I can get my PSIA level 2 certification, to get the higher pay, higher level classes, and the respect and prestige associated with it. Sometimes I can let those goals go, but a lot of the time I over-analyze myself, critiquing my balance, my tipping, turning, fluidity, and confidence level in every single turn......
It almost makes me forget why I love skiing. When I started teaching, I was barely skiing parallel. I made it down some black diamond runs without falling, but it was incredibly slow. I laughed every time I went out. I laughed at myself, laughed at the snow falling on my head from the trees as I skied through them. I laughed so hard when I fell that sometimes I would just lay there, making snow angels until I could stop laughing and find my skis that were buried in the snow somewhere uphill.
Even when I got my level 2 last season, I was so burned out that it was an effort to put my boots on int he morning.
Today, I bought an innertube with the intention of exploring the irrigation ditch next to my house. My neighbor asked where I was headed off to, and I told her of my plan. She looked concerned. She asked "Isn't that water poisonous?" The though had not occurred to me. I've waded in that ditch for 2 summers now, and my legs haven't fallen off yet!!!
Sure, this irrigation ditch is for all of the agriculture to the east of the city and thus may have pesticides and fertilizer and who knows what else downstream... But I'm not planning on drinking the stuff! Not to mention that I don't believe that there is much agriculture upstream of me.
The scientist in me wants to test the water to see what I can learn. My first reaction, though, is that nature is not anything to be afraid of. If I was too afraid to go outside at night because a mountain lion might eat me, I might miss the howling coyotes and hooting owls, and the cool night wind.
Google maps is possibly the best resource I've ever found for dreaming up expeditions near and far. My irrigation ditch is the drainage from Sixmile Reservoir just south of Boulder Res. It heads east past my neighborhood, then swings north to Niwot, then east again for a few miles before finally turning south in a cement lined ditch that leads back to Boulder Creek. It looks tubeable at least through Niwot and possibly beyond. It winds through suburbia until it passes out of town.
I started my exploration where 2 ditches meet, just downstream of the ditch that flows between Twin Lakes. I slipped my tube into the water, knowing some of what I'd pass, but there are parts that are too overgrown to see from the path. The flow was slow, and I had to wave away the cobweb and debris-covered branches that hung over my head. Only a few people passed me on the trail. The first man that passed did not notice me. The family that walked by a few minutes later smiled and waved.
When I was a child, I always wished that there was a stream behind my house. I loved my little patch of poison-ivy filled woods, where I played and swung on vines and built forts and ate berries. I loved it! But I always wished there was a stream to explore too.
I put my tube in the water for no other reason than to see what I could see. I didn't find any secret hideouts, animals, or any other major surprises. That wasn't the point though!
Play just for the sake of playing. Kids do it all the time (as long as their parents let them of course), but somehow we lose that desire as adults. That is, until we remember.
In the last year, I have encouraged every single coaching client I've had to find something to do just for the sake of doing it. Just for the sake of bringing lightness into their life, to balance out the heaviness of the stress in their lives. It's amazing how their perspective changes, just with a night of dancing or a camping trip.
I am going to float the section through the golf course next. I wonder if that's allowed? I suppose I'll find out!!!
It's funny. I've been a ski instructor for the last 7 years and worked very hard to improve my skiing so I can get my PSIA level 2 certification, to get the higher pay, higher level classes, and the respect and prestige associated with it. Sometimes I can let those goals go, but a lot of the time I over-analyze myself, critiquing my balance, my tipping, turning, fluidity, and confidence level in every single turn......
It almost makes me forget why I love skiing. When I started teaching, I was barely skiing parallel. I made it down some black diamond runs without falling, but it was incredibly slow. I laughed every time I went out. I laughed at myself, laughed at the snow falling on my head from the trees as I skied through them. I laughed so hard when I fell that sometimes I would just lay there, making snow angels until I could stop laughing and find my skis that were buried in the snow somewhere uphill.
Even when I got my level 2 last season, I was so burned out that it was an effort to put my boots on int he morning.
Today, I bought an innertube with the intention of exploring the irrigation ditch next to my house. My neighbor asked where I was headed off to, and I told her of my plan. She looked concerned. She asked "Isn't that water poisonous?" The though had not occurred to me. I've waded in that ditch for 2 summers now, and my legs haven't fallen off yet!!!
Sure, this irrigation ditch is for all of the agriculture to the east of the city and thus may have pesticides and fertilizer and who knows what else downstream... But I'm not planning on drinking the stuff! Not to mention that I don't believe that there is much agriculture upstream of me.
The scientist in me wants to test the water to see what I can learn. My first reaction, though, is that nature is not anything to be afraid of. If I was too afraid to go outside at night because a mountain lion might eat me, I might miss the howling coyotes and hooting owls, and the cool night wind.
Google maps is possibly the best resource I've ever found for dreaming up expeditions near and far. My irrigation ditch is the drainage from Sixmile Reservoir just south of Boulder Res. It heads east past my neighborhood, then swings north to Niwot, then east again for a few miles before finally turning south in a cement lined ditch that leads back to Boulder Creek. It looks tubeable at least through Niwot and possibly beyond. It winds through suburbia until it passes out of town.
I started my exploration where 2 ditches meet, just downstream of the ditch that flows between Twin Lakes. I slipped my tube into the water, knowing some of what I'd pass, but there are parts that are too overgrown to see from the path. The flow was slow, and I had to wave away the cobweb and debris-covered branches that hung over my head. Only a few people passed me on the trail. The first man that passed did not notice me. The family that walked by a few minutes later smiled and waved.
When I was a child, I always wished that there was a stream behind my house. I loved my little patch of poison-ivy filled woods, where I played and swung on vines and built forts and ate berries. I loved it! But I always wished there was a stream to explore too.
I put my tube in the water for no other reason than to see what I could see. I didn't find any secret hideouts, animals, or any other major surprises. That wasn't the point though!
Play just for the sake of playing. Kids do it all the time (as long as their parents let them of course), but somehow we lose that desire as adults. That is, until we remember.
In the last year, I have encouraged every single coaching client I've had to find something to do just for the sake of doing it. Just for the sake of bringing lightness into their life, to balance out the heaviness of the stress in their lives. It's amazing how their perspective changes, just with a night of dancing or a camping trip.
I am going to float the section through the golf course next. I wonder if that's allowed? I suppose I'll find out!!!
Saturday, July 17, 2010
Laughter beneath sandstone cliffs
How does it get any better than this?
I went to a networking meeting on Wednesday night and a woman named Rikka Zimmerman spoke about getting out of our own way. I was intrigued. Her work is all about living in the question, and one of her favorite questions stuck with me. I have played with it and felt it, explored it and noticed my gratitude for ordinary moments. How does it get any better than this?
Indeed.
Dave and I took my canoe through a part of Boulder Creek that is rarely boated. I'm not sure if it's even legal. I saw this area so close to my house first on a bike path and then by canoe last October. But what I wanted more than anything is for my husband to share my excitement. There is so much to explore right here. I've spent so much of my life exploring on my own, a side effect of being an only child. I like exploring solo, but it's so much more important for me to share this. I will still explore alone, but I want my Boulder Creek adventure to happen with Dave.
We slipped the canoe silently into the water, and I remembered what it feels like to disappear into a different world. There's nothing like it. I had forgotten exactly what draws me to the river.... It's not even the journey, it's the initiation of it. It's heading away from civilization and being surrounded by birds and cottonwoods, not a human soul in sight.
This is what I love about this river. So many people in Boulder are outdoorsy, hiking the same trails and floating the creek in the same places. How many people know where Boulder Creek goes after it leaves the city limits?
In this place, we see no one. In this place, we are in a different world, away from the crowds, flanked on the side by pockmarked sandstone cliffs and by field on the other. We feel like we're in a different world.
We float on, avoiding fallen trees and sharp corners, laughing as the tree branches cause me to fall backward, into the canoe, feet in the air and gasping for breath because I can't stop laughing. Seriously, did it happen again???? At least I didn't tip the canoe. Now, when Dave and I switched places, the story ended a little bit differently. He leaned back, lost his balance, and I gasped as the boat tipped. In slow motion, the boat tipped, we laughed hysterically, I jumped out and pulled the side of the boat up to keep the water from filling the boat. He said he did it on purpose. He said he was just imitating me. Sure, Dave, sure you were. Mmmhmm.
We fall into silence as the creek runs beside the sandstone cliffs, so close we could reach out and touch them. We are in a different world. Suddenly, we hear a flap of wings and two birds screeching. A golden eagle flies away, with two swallows scolding him, shouting and diving. How can those small birds cause such a reaction? Those little birds are fearless! And the eagle flies over the cottonwoods and disappears from sight.
We see great blue herons taking off from the shore of the river. Red winged blackbirds flock in the cottonwoods, calling to each other and maybe to us? There is something tan on the river side, silent and unmoving. It is the same color as the cliffs. As we float on, we realize this stone being on the river isn't a stone at all! It's a cow! She sits in the river and not even her ears twitch. She hasn't a care as we pass her.
Later on, we saw something floating in the water. It looked dead. We didn't realize it was a snapping turtle until we passed it! The turtle was tilted, half submerged, its skin looking pale and sickly as it slowly moved its legs under the water. He was HUGE! Then he noticed us as we turned back to look closer. He took off and swam under the boat! I guess he wasn't dying, after all! We watched until he disappeared into the mud at the bottom of the river.
Dave's sold on the adventure! He said he would even consider selling our kayaks and instead explore all of these rivers in eastern Colorado. I have my partner in adventure. My wish came true....
How does it get any better than this?
Onward!
I went to a networking meeting on Wednesday night and a woman named Rikka Zimmerman spoke about getting out of our own way. I was intrigued. Her work is all about living in the question, and one of her favorite questions stuck with me. I have played with it and felt it, explored it and noticed my gratitude for ordinary moments. How does it get any better than this?
Indeed.
Dave and I took my canoe through a part of Boulder Creek that is rarely boated. I'm not sure if it's even legal. I saw this area so close to my house first on a bike path and then by canoe last October. But what I wanted more than anything is for my husband to share my excitement. There is so much to explore right here. I've spent so much of my life exploring on my own, a side effect of being an only child. I like exploring solo, but it's so much more important for me to share this. I will still explore alone, but I want my Boulder Creek adventure to happen with Dave.
We slipped the canoe silently into the water, and I remembered what it feels like to disappear into a different world. There's nothing like it. I had forgotten exactly what draws me to the river.... It's not even the journey, it's the initiation of it. It's heading away from civilization and being surrounded by birds and cottonwoods, not a human soul in sight.
This is what I love about this river. So many people in Boulder are outdoorsy, hiking the same trails and floating the creek in the same places. How many people know where Boulder Creek goes after it leaves the city limits?
In this place, we see no one. In this place, we are in a different world, away from the crowds, flanked on the side by pockmarked sandstone cliffs and by field on the other. We feel like we're in a different world.
We float on, avoiding fallen trees and sharp corners, laughing as the tree branches cause me to fall backward, into the canoe, feet in the air and gasping for breath because I can't stop laughing. Seriously, did it happen again???? At least I didn't tip the canoe. Now, when Dave and I switched places, the story ended a little bit differently. He leaned back, lost his balance, and I gasped as the boat tipped. In slow motion, the boat tipped, we laughed hysterically, I jumped out and pulled the side of the boat up to keep the water from filling the boat. He said he did it on purpose. He said he was just imitating me. Sure, Dave, sure you were. Mmmhmm.
We fall into silence as the creek runs beside the sandstone cliffs, so close we could reach out and touch them. We are in a different world. Suddenly, we hear a flap of wings and two birds screeching. A golden eagle flies away, with two swallows scolding him, shouting and diving. How can those small birds cause such a reaction? Those little birds are fearless! And the eagle flies over the cottonwoods and disappears from sight.
We see great blue herons taking off from the shore of the river. Red winged blackbirds flock in the cottonwoods, calling to each other and maybe to us? There is something tan on the river side, silent and unmoving. It is the same color as the cliffs. As we float on, we realize this stone being on the river isn't a stone at all! It's a cow! She sits in the river and not even her ears twitch. She hasn't a care as we pass her.
Later on, we saw something floating in the water. It looked dead. We didn't realize it was a snapping turtle until we passed it! The turtle was tilted, half submerged, its skin looking pale and sickly as it slowly moved its legs under the water. He was HUGE! Then he noticed us as we turned back to look closer. He took off and swam under the boat! I guess he wasn't dying, after all! We watched until he disappeared into the mud at the bottom of the river.
Dave's sold on the adventure! He said he would even consider selling our kayaks and instead explore all of these rivers in eastern Colorado. I have my partner in adventure. My wish came true....
How does it get any better than this?
Onward!
Friday, July 16, 2010
Following the river
Imagine, for a moment. Imagine wandering past the lakes at the St. Vrain state park, passing the edge of the park and wandering along to the river. The St. Vrain river, which flows much more gently this far downstream than it does in the Lyons play park. It's hot. I feel faint, almost, sweating so heavily that my clothes are sticking to me and the now hot water in my backpack does absolutely nothing to refresh me. Yet, still I walk.
After leaving the park and crossing a ditch, I end up on a bike path to nowhere. It's deserted. The path goes under 3 bridges- cars and trucks zooming along above me. Cars and trucks, drowning out every sound... except.... Bank swallows. They swoop and dive and call and there are so many of them it seems as though it's a cloud above me. A cloud that sings and calls and dives. A cloud of eyes, watching. The cars zoom overhead and no one knows I... am... here. I am here.
Except the birds. They know.
I wander along the river, imagining my canoe slipping into the water, disappearing downstream, slipping past farmland and cottonwoods and landowners that very likely would not be happy with me if they knew I was imagining camping on the edge of their land as I float downstream into the unknown.
Cheatgrass gets stuck in my shoes, poking and prodding me, but I do not retreat back to the paved bike path. I am drawn to the river, cheatgrass and all. It's perfect for my canoe. I sometimes imagine slipping into a river and following it all the way to the ocean. This river. I imagine my canoe slipping into Boulder Creek, only a mile from my house, and living, unnoticed, along the highways and farms and cities, hiding in the willow thickets, with the swallows to guide me.
I decide to walk back. I return to the bike path only to realize that I've barely gone anywhere- it's only a 5 minute walk back to where I started! To the left of the bike path, I see birds in a nearly empty reservoir. I see Canada geese and snowy egrets. Snowy egrets!!!! I feel like I'm at my grandma's house in Texas as a teenager, watching egrets fly with their huge white wingspan, I had never seen anything like them, back then. I can't remember the last time I've seen them.... Maybe in Texas as a teenager.
I wander back to the bridge and I look up at the trucks passing over me. No one can hear me. No one knows I'm there. Except for the swallows. They know. I start to sing. Loud. I sing the song that has haunted me for years and years. Here I am. I went down to the river to pray. Studying about those good old ways and who shall wear that thorny crown, good Lord! Show me the way!
Don't you want to come down? Down to the river to pray!
Here under the bridge I sing to the swallows, and I wade into the river, finally cooling off, and finally feeling.... that this is where I belong!!!! Singing to the swallows, standing in the river, smiling at nothing and everything all at once.
I notice the tracks in the mud next to me. There are raccoon and coyote, skunk and heron, fox and... otter? I think so! Maybe my friend the otter is listening to me sing at the top of my lungs too! There is something missing in that mud, though. There is something very significant missing. I see no human footprints except my own. I see no domestic dog prints. All I see is wildness in the mud and on this river, and I wonder if anyone has been here before me.
I'm sure someone has. I'm sure someone else loves finding the secret homes of swallows under the bridge. I am sure that someone else has had the same idea of sliding their canoe into the river here. But right now, the idea feels like it is fully my own.
This is where I belong. This. Is. Where. I. Belong.
After leaving the park and crossing a ditch, I end up on a bike path to nowhere. It's deserted. The path goes under 3 bridges- cars and trucks zooming along above me. Cars and trucks, drowning out every sound... except.... Bank swallows. They swoop and dive and call and there are so many of them it seems as though it's a cloud above me. A cloud that sings and calls and dives. A cloud of eyes, watching. The cars zoom overhead and no one knows I... am... here. I am here.
Except the birds. They know.
I wander along the river, imagining my canoe slipping into the water, disappearing downstream, slipping past farmland and cottonwoods and landowners that very likely would not be happy with me if they knew I was imagining camping on the edge of their land as I float downstream into the unknown.
Cheatgrass gets stuck in my shoes, poking and prodding me, but I do not retreat back to the paved bike path. I am drawn to the river, cheatgrass and all. It's perfect for my canoe. I sometimes imagine slipping into a river and following it all the way to the ocean. This river. I imagine my canoe slipping into Boulder Creek, only a mile from my house, and living, unnoticed, along the highways and farms and cities, hiding in the willow thickets, with the swallows to guide me.
I decide to walk back. I return to the bike path only to realize that I've barely gone anywhere- it's only a 5 minute walk back to where I started! To the left of the bike path, I see birds in a nearly empty reservoir. I see Canada geese and snowy egrets. Snowy egrets!!!! I feel like I'm at my grandma's house in Texas as a teenager, watching egrets fly with their huge white wingspan, I had never seen anything like them, back then. I can't remember the last time I've seen them.... Maybe in Texas as a teenager.
I wander back to the bridge and I look up at the trucks passing over me. No one can hear me. No one knows I'm there. Except for the swallows. They know. I start to sing. Loud. I sing the song that has haunted me for years and years. Here I am. I went down to the river to pray. Studying about those good old ways and who shall wear that thorny crown, good Lord! Show me the way!
Don't you want to come down? Down to the river to pray!
Here under the bridge I sing to the swallows, and I wade into the river, finally cooling off, and finally feeling.... that this is where I belong!!!! Singing to the swallows, standing in the river, smiling at nothing and everything all at once.
I notice the tracks in the mud next to me. There are raccoon and coyote, skunk and heron, fox and... otter? I think so! Maybe my friend the otter is listening to me sing at the top of my lungs too! There is something missing in that mud, though. There is something very significant missing. I see no human footprints except my own. I see no domestic dog prints. All I see is wildness in the mud and on this river, and I wonder if anyone has been here before me.
I'm sure someone has. I'm sure someone else loves finding the secret homes of swallows under the bridge. I am sure that someone else has had the same idea of sliding their canoe into the river here. But right now, the idea feels like it is fully my own.
This is where I belong. This. Is. Where. I. Belong.
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