New Garden

Being Domestic, keeping the house ready for someone to visit, is not something that I sustain very long - usually just at Christmas, or two or three days before I expect my daughters to visit.

The rest of the time my hobbies rate higher in priority - the morning walk with the dogs, riding my bicycle, reading, writing, gardening.

Today I worked the half of the garden that wasnt' frozen. I am blessed with a dark, rich, loam in this yard, that I can dig when it is still wet. You can grab a chunk of it and squeeze it between your fingers, and it just crumbles apart. I recall doing that to soil from other gardens would make a ball hard enough to break a window with.

I left my hat off while I worked in the garden, to soak up as much of the warmth of what seemed like a spring day as possible. The sun heated my head about the same as it does those large stones down by the rivers. (and both have about the same amount of hair on them)

It was a good day. I didn't worry about where I am headed, didn't think about the past more than usual, just enjoyed that sun and digging deep with my spade, preparing for a new season's garden.

What could be more hopeful than that?

Cody

I take Ben and Maggie backpacking now. In years past I would take Bud and Boogie and Cody with me on wilderness trips. I have written about these three before (see xxxx.html and xxxx.html).

Bud passed away in 2002. He was a little dog with a strong spirit, and such a good friend. It was hard to see him get slowly taken from the cancer, but it was inspiring to see him continue on as best he could with his good disposition, up to the very end. Out of respect to him, and all the places we went together, and how much he loved the mountains, I take some of his ashes with me when I go backpacking. I leave them in high spots, overlooking glaciel valleys, at the kind of place he would love to stand and watch from. Bud's ashes are spread from Montana, Idaho, and Wyoming, down throughout Colorado to the San Juan Mountains. My feeling is that his spirit follows me to all those places, and someday I may learn more about that.

Cody is a medicine hat border collie, all white except for a black head and ears. He is the kind of dog that is hard not to love, even when he chewed up my wife's Stetson Hat soon after we got him. (He left the crown, just chewed off the rim all around). Bud was grumpy for the first couple of weeks after we got Cody, not thrilled at all that another dog was in his house. He warmed to Cody though, and I remember driving home from a backpacking trip with exhausted Bud and Cody lying on the seat next to me, and Bud resting his head on Cody's neck.

One of Cody's favorite games was stalk Dad. He would run out 50 yards or so, turn and face me and lie down. I would look straight at him, crouch down a little, and start walking towards him. Cody would lift himself to a predator posture and slink forward, slowly, step by step, with his intense border collie gaze fixated on me. We would continue this standoff, approaching each other, for 10 seconds or so, at which point I would breakaway and run from him. Cody would sprint towards me and jump up and touch my back, or grab my arm. He would then run back out and turn and lie down, wanting to do it again.

Cody liked the mountains but he hated thunder. He was ok in the mornings while it was bright and sunny, and he would often be the leader, in front of the other two dogs during our alpine wanderings from our camps set just below timberline. When thunderboomers appeared in the distance he was anxious to get back into the trees, to the shelter of our tent. Once a thunderstorm appeared with little warning, rising from a ridgeline above us like a dragon. We had to run down to the trees, being careful to stay on the side of the ridge we were descending. I was trying to stay out of the way of lightning strikes as much as possible. When were were 1/4 mile from the tent, Cody raced ahead, and disappeared. When me and Bud and Boogie made to the tent 10 or so minutes later we found Cody inside, where he felt safe.

I got to take Cody with me a couple of times after my wife bought her new house. One of the last times was to the Wind River mountains, way in to the Cirque of the Towers, a five day trip. Our base camp at the Cirque was up high, where we had a good view of the Warrior Peaks across the valley. Early in the mornings we would climb Skunk Hill and watch the sun rise and color the the mountains of the continental divide, arced around into a half circle with Lonesome Lake in the middle. The lake was full of Cuthroat that were easy to catch, and me and the dogs had fine dinners while up there. It was one of the better trips I have had, and I am sure those three dogs loved the adventure every bit as much as I did. I had rented a small red car on that trip for the drive to Wyoming. A day or so after we got back and I returned Cody to Janet's house, I was told Cody ran out and jumped into one of the landscape worker's cars - a small red one.

I see Cody only about once a year now, when my daughters bring him at Christmas. He comes up and looks into my face with his wide loving eyes. We take him for a walk on the greenbelt, where he used to go every morning with me and Bud and later Boogie. The old dog remembers everything - the lying over tree, the frog pond. He acts as if he walked down here yesterday, instead of a year ago. When we get home he lies on the carpet, contented. My impression is that he his feeling like he is home, where he belongs, in this house, with me. That's just my take on it though, and it is common knowledge I am an old fool.

My daughters saw it also, however, and without any prompting from me said they were going to ask their Mother to leave Cody when she moves to Oklahoma in January (2005). That set me to thinking about it, and after doing that for a couple of weeks, I sent Janet an email explaining that I think Cody is a Colorado dog, and that he would be really happy here, especially if he doesnt adjust well to Oklahoma bugs and tornados and missing mountains. I told her that Maggie adores him, and I bet after a few weeks of morning walks, he would be fit enough to go with us to the mountains again.

Thank goodness I have Ben and Maggie, who are such tremendous mountain dogs and love me like Cody and Bud and Boogie did. I don't know if I will ever see Cody again, but like the other good things in my life, he remains strong in my memory. It all is another reminder of what I have have to experience too much the last few years: from deep love comes deep loss.

Dad

Its been nearly a year since my dad died. Although it was a sad time, it was uplifting also, because my impression was he was transformed to somewhere better, that he was released from his frail body. It was a mystery revealed for him, that remains to be discovered for us.

I had gone on a hike the Sunday before he died, and led a nature program the Thursday before. Both times I noticed hawks on their spring migrations, riding the thermals. On the nature program a group of children and their teacher and I watched as a hawk rose slowly, then soared at high speed to the east, an awesome sight.

On Friday while my sister and I were alone with Dad, the nurse saw his oxygen level dropping. Although only an hour before they had requested that we transfer him to an extended care center, the nurse suggested we stay close by for the afternoon. Jeanne and I resolved to do that, and since I hadnt eaten I decided to grab a snack at the cafeteria. Jeanne asked if I would get her some coffee.

On the way I detoured outside, faced the mountains, and while thinking of those hawks I said a prayer to the God of the mountains I know so well: 'take care of my Dad.'

When I got to the cafeteria a nurse approached, and said my Dad just passed away.

I had a dream where I recalled those times at timberline when I have stood in awe before the clouds, trees, peaks, beauty and order, above and beyond me. My vision was that the end of life one might be in a place like that, then solid footing with the earth gives way, and we move forward into it all.

Valentine's Day

A critical inner voice is what I heard this morning, upon
getting up and realizing it was Valentine's Day, that assured me
that everyone else is in happy relationships and there is no hope for me.

Since I was getting or giving any damn valentines, I decided to treat myself to lunch at a restaurant, instead of walking down to Subway like I usually do.

It was my luck that the restuarant was offering free lunches to anyone with 50-year marriage anniversaries or more. The line of elderly couples was out the door. Upon finally sitting down I then got to listen to announcements every few minutes about the couples that had come in: "Ethyl and Harry are here, celebrating their 59th anniversary, and also welcome Agnes and Garwood, who have been married 63 years, give them both a big hand."

I could forget myself enough to be happy for them, because I think long marriages are a great thing. Still I wondered how many others were also unlucky in love and alone, where this is not the best of days.

How unlucky can one be? I had a friend who confided in me the time he found out his relationship was in trouble. He said he had raced outside to catch his bus only to see it just leaving as he turned the corner. He went back in the house to find his wife walking out the door to drive to work. He told her he missed his bus and asked if she would give him a ride to the transfer stop a couple of miles away. She said no.

Well I figured there must be an explanation, and asked why she couldn't. He didnt know. She didn't bother to explain why. He said he was hoping they would get through those tough times, but knew down deep right then the relationship was a goner, even though the rest had yet to be played out. He said he waited a half an hour for the next bus and a year and a half for the divorce.

That sucks. It seems to me a lot of relationships fail because one partner decides their life is not enough, and then concludes it would be better if they could just be free, then they would be happy. They probably are, for a while. But happiness is not a horse that is easily harnessed - a person inclined to look for it in something new, outside of themselves, may again be disappointed, and perhaps there is justice in that.

Still its hard to be very happy on Valentines Day when you are alone. Knowing that misery is less when it is shared, or at least is more satisfying, I decided to go to Google to see how many others were as disillusioned as I was. There were plenty. Here are my favorites:

A Chick's Rant from Mar 8:

Valentine's Day sucks for women, too. Just because there's
chocolate doesn't mean it still doesn't suck.
Lots of us don't have dates and have to buy our own f***ing chocolate anyhow.
And then we just get fatter than we already are. So it just sucks. Thanks for listening.

Rogue Wrote on Feb 2:
Well here I am again...It's early in the month, but I can see it coming as sure as I can see a storm coming from the east.
I can see the sky getting darker. The wind picking up, and rumblings of thunder in the distance.
Once more I'm alone. I really do hate this month. It's like pouring salt into an open wound. All the bitching in the world wouldn't help. So let just cut to the chase and hope anyone out there will follow me and say,
"Valentines day sucks!!!"

from http://nonpc.org/luv.html

In that spirit I decided to create my personal list of the advantages of being single"

1. Nobody tells you when you should leave the bar.
2. You can dance with anyone.
3. You can stay up late and take naps any time you want.
4. You can spoil your dogs, feeding them fish and green beans for dinner.
(warmed).
The next three are related, having to do outdoor activities that are so big in my life:
5. You can get out of town to go backpacking in the most breathtaking scenery on this planet (Colorado, Wyoming, Idaho, Montana), without leaving anyone behind and feeling guilty around it. (This is huge for me).
6. You can enjoy behavior that is considered extreme by conventional standards, like leaving your car in the garage and riding your bicycle in January and February, or backpacking in December, when you spend the evening listening to music next to a campfire, and using a star chart to figure out all the constellations.
7. You can reap the benefits from 5. and 6, which is top physical and mental condition, resulting in a zest for living and an appetite for adventure, right up into your seventies, God willing.

A single person's time is their own, which invokes an exhilarating sense of freedom for those that are not frightened by it. You never give up a part of yourself for the sake of the relationship. You have time to figure out exactly who you are.

Not being in a relationship does not mean that a person doesn't believe in romance, however. The definition of romance is ' to have a love affair with.' Love is an awful large thing, and there is a whole lot in this world that one can be in love with. My December camping trip, hearing the breeze drifting down the mountain from a half mile away, finally animating the pines around camp, and touching my cheek, is one example. What is wrong with being in love with those mornings up at timberline, when the sky is so clear and the sun bright and air so still that you feel compelled to check your pulse to be sure that you somehow haven't woken up in heaven?

But whether Valentines day is a downer or not, I can't deny that I am also in love with the look in those women's eyes that I dance with, and the feel of their right hand in mine, their left hand on my shoulder, as we spin around the dance floor. There is something so very positive about those few minutes of music and the sharing of passion and happiness that dancing promotes. There is mystery and beauty in it, and as much romance as anything I know.

I have one more thing to say about Valentine's Day, from a conversation I once had, not long after my marriage ended, with a pretty lady on a Saturday Night. Sarah was from North Carolina, on vacation. She had clear, beautiful, eyes, soft pale skin, a goodness about her. We talked about my long marriage, and the grief from it ending while still being in love. I told her about my mountain treks, but also the need to be around people sometimes, and how I am trying to learn to dance with new partners. She listened and talked about relationships, and her family, and missing her mother. When she was leaving she was compelled to give me some advice:

"Don't rush into relationships - be picky, because you are a good person."

Was that a nice thing to say or what? Maybe I am too picky, and will continue to be alone. I am ok with that, because I have discovered that real strength of character comes with solitude, that in truth we are all essentially alone, and when we face the greatest mysteries of life, we will do so alone.

But can one really predict what the rest of their life will be like? Perhaps there will be a relationship in my future someday, with someone like her.

Or maybe not. Whatever. Happy AntiValentines Day, 2005.