Category Archives: Weather +Climate

Shadow Mountain Happenings

Beltane                                                                          Running Creeks Moon

Gertie after her wound repair
Gertie after her wound repair

A sleety snow this morning, 36 degrees. Will turn back into rain as the day heats up.

Gertie goes in today to get her e-collar off and her drain removed. She’s already back to her energetic self and is eager to run free. Hopefully, not into more slash. We moved all the slash that was close to the house yesterday and the day before, so hopefully she’ll remain unpunctured until we get done.

joe and seoah saying thanksHave spent no time catching up on the Indy 500 this year. I think it was Kurt Vonnegut, born in Indianapolis, who said Indiana living involved basketball season and waiting for the Indy 500. Not far off.

Heard from Joe. He and Seoah are legally married now, having filed their papers with the Korean court system. That means they can now go to the US embassy and begin the visa process. It’s different for a married couple and they had to wait until the legal completion of their marriage. They go June 8.

Write It Out

Beltane                                                                             Running Creek Moon

freshman year
Freshman Year, Alexandria H.S.

Ever since the great iconoclasm, my voice has been muted. Not sure why.  Topics don’t seem to occur to me. I’ve never had a theme, a particular ax, though felling and limbing the occasional political issue shows up once in awhile. Philosophical, quasi-theological pondering. That, too. Lots of did this, did that. The online continuation of a journal keeping way I’ve had for decades. Art. Yes, but not as much as I want.

Maybe there was a more intimate link between the images and the vitality of this blog than I realized. Apres le mitigation the whole copyright issue, the fate of images in an age of digital reproduction, will occupy some of my time.

Work on both Superior Wolf and Jennie’s Dead have been ongoing, though not yet much writing. Reimagining Faith occupies a lot of my free thinking time, wondering about mountains, about urbanization, about clouds that curve and mound above Mt. Evan’s, our weather maker. No Latin yet. Not until I can have regular time up here in the loft. Not yet.

Could be that underneath all this lies a reshuffling of priorities or a confirmation of old ones. It’s not yet a year since my prostate surgery and a friend of mine said it took her a year to feel right again. This year has felt in some ways like my first year here, a year when I can take in the mountain spring, the running creeks, the willows and their blaze of yellow green that lights up the creek beds, the mule deer and elk following the greening of the mountain meadows.

My 40 year fondness for Minnesota has also begun to reemerge, not in a nostalgic, wish I was still there way, but as a place I know well, a place to which I did become native, a place which shaped me with its lakes, the Mississippi, Lake Superior, wolves and moose and ravens and loons. Where Kate and I became as close as we could with the land we held temporarily as our own. Friends. Art. Theatre. Music. Family. Perhaps a bit like the old country, an emigre’s memories which help shape life in the new land. An anchor, a source of known stability amidst a whirl of difference. The West. Mountains. Family life.

So. There was something in there anyhow. Now, back to fire mitigation.

Becoming Native

Beltane                                                                               Running Creeks Moon

“…I am at home in the West. The hills of the coastal ranges look “right” to me, the particular flat expanse of the Central Valley comforts my eye. The place names have the ring of real places to me. I can pronounce the names of the rivers, and recognize the common trees and snakes. I am easy here in a way that I am not easy in other places.”  Joan Didion, California Notes, NYRB, 5/26/2016

Front, May 6th
Front, May 6th

Becoming native to a place implies the opposite of what Joan Didion recalls in this fine article taken from notes she made in 1976 while attending the Patty Hearst trial for Rolling Stone. The becoming process implies not being easy where you are, not knowing the place names as real, not knowing the common trees and snakes.

The Black Canyon of the Gunnison is not a real place to me. Neither is Four Corners nor Durango nor the summit of Mt. Evans, only 14 miles away. The owls that hoot at night, the small mammals that live here on Shadow Mountain. No. The oak savannah and the Great Anoka Sand Plain. Familiar. Easy. The Big Woods. Yes. Lake Superior. Yes. The sycamores of the Wabash. Yes. Fields defined by mile square gravel roads. Pork tenderloin sandwiches. Long, flat stretches of land. Lots of small towns and the memories of speed traps. Yes.

A local photographed yesterday near here
A local photographed yesterday near here. from pinecam.com by serendipity888

With the fire mitigation this property here on Shadow Mountain is becoming known. It has three, maybe four very fine lodgepole pines, tall and thick. A slight downward slope toward the north. Snow, lots of snow.*  Rocky ground, ground cover and scrubby grass.

Denver. Slowly coming into focus. The front range, at least its portion pierced by Highway 285, too. The west is still blurry, its aridity, mountains, deep scars in the earth, sparse population. The midwest clear, will always be clear.

Becoming native to a place is the ur spiritual work of a reimagined faith. First, we must be here. Where we are.

*”Snowfall for the season on Conifer Mountain now stands at 224 inches (132% of average).” weathergeek, pinecam.com

Go-go girls

Beltane                                                                           Running Creeks Moon

Rigel
Rigel

Rigel and Gertie are the go-go girls. Whenever we leave the house, together or singly, they get big grins, bump us, start moving toward the back door, then back to us, repeat. Into the truck they go, bounding up and into the back. Only to lie down and often go to sleep. They don’t seem to care how long the trip. On the way home Rigel always gets up, starts looking around. They’re having fun, so we enjoy taking them with us.

Dr. Repine sweeps into the room with her white-gold hair. Her examinations are thorough, practiced. She sweeps the various magnifiers over my eyes, the ones that allow her to see the inner parts of my eye directly, dons a headlamp that would not look like out of place on a miner and picks up a thick magnifier. Look up. Look down. Look to the right. To the left. Good. Everything’s looking fine.

Gertie
Gertie

Eyeball pressures are 14. Which is in the normal range. Glaucoma held at bay by Latanoprost. Cataracts, however, are advancing, changing my reading prescriptions. She says if they get much worse we’ll just take them out. Oh. Just? The good news is that cataract surgery often helps glaucoma by lowering the pressure in the eye. Something to look forward to?

Kate went with me. We went over to Whistling Duck, a furniture maker, to discuss beetle kill pine dining room tables. Kate had her measurements. She talked tables while I wandered around looking at the displays. We’re still in the early stages, getting quotes.

And, the sun. The sun. Blue skies. Winter to summer. Down the hill, that is. It was 78 in Littleton yesterday, but as we drove back up into the mountains the temperatures dropped, 54 when we got home. Ah.

 

 

The Madhatter Zone and Kairos

Beltane                                                                             Running Creeks Moon

This is no longer a silly season. We’ve passed over silly into the Madhatter zone. How did the richest and most powerful country in the world, renowned for its democratic experiment, manage to nominate for the presidency two its most reviled citizens? This is a question that will puzzle the world, this country, political scientists, pundits and historians for decades. Not, to make it all that much worse, that there were any really better options. A crazed Texan whom nobody liked? A sneaky far right winger with a Cuban pedigree? An Ohio governor who masked a cruel streak? An aging and not very presidential democratic socialist from the Green Mountain State? This is the best we can do?

Feeling the Bern, for those us of a leftist persuasion, has been great fun, but he was no more presidential in his way that triumph of skyscraper buffoonery, Donald Trump. Hillary does have the chops, the gravitas for the job, I’ll give her that. And, it may have to be enough this year. As a country, we simply cannot afford to put an idiot in the Whitehouse. Hillary is a centrist, a hawk and definitely uninspiring.

The people who raise her negatives are not all boiling over tea party crackpots. She’s wonky and sort of anti-charismatic. Her inability to reach younger women has put a bright line down in the lane markers of contemporary feminism. Older women who want a woman, a competent, dues paid up woman like Hillary are in a slow lane to the right of the millennials who want what the feminist revolution promised, to choose a candidate based on her politics, not her gender. This may be one of the larger ironies of our time. The very success of mid to late 20th century feminism has made breaking the ceiling with the toughest glass difficult for one its champions.

I wish I could view this as a phenomenon, a circus act, a sideshow moment in our political history. This way to see the most incredible hair in all of American politics. See the amazing slippery Hillary explain it all. It’s not, though.

It’s a time Christian theologians of the crisis school would call kairotic. A time of kairos, a time that requires action, definitive action that will dramatically affect the future. Climate change has a deadline and that deadline is 2050. If we don’t reduce the use of fossil fuels by 80% by 2050, a huge amount, then the degree of climate change that will be baked in will alter our grandchildren’s world beyond our recognition.

This single issue has many political inflection points: fracking, tar sands, the whole Middle East mess, the funding of terrorism, how to support renewable fuels, funding new modes of transportation, shifting the world’s manufacturing and home heating energy sources and perhaps most importantly the economic impacts of all these.

Climate change and its hydra headed nature is not, however, the only critical issue. The continued rise of Asia, China and India foremost there, will change the geopolitical nature of our world, already has changed it. The tensions in the South China Sea are a leading indicator. India, within the next decade, will pass China as the world’s most populous country. How these two Asian giants manage their economies, their militaries, their internal politics will demand creative responses in U.S. foreign policy.

Internally, we have an economy that has thrust a demagogue and a left-wing populist into national prominence. This is a gilded age more patinaed than that other Gilded Age which Mark Twain satirized. The fault lines in our economy are many. The un or undereducated young have an unemployment rate of 17.8% according to today’s New York Times. The radical union busting of the post-Reagan era, all too successful, has diminished the clout of those in working class jobs like hotel cleaners, janitors, minimum wage factory workers, convenience store clerks, fast food workers.

Meanwhile, the gutting of Glass-Steagall led to the very catastrophe it was enacted to prevent, runaway banks and cunning, rather than sensible, financial instruments and markets. This had the perverse effect of giving the already muscular top 1% of our economic elite a sustained regime of fiscal steroids leading directly to the dangerously top heavy accumulation of wealth in our distributional pyramid. It’s more of an inverted pin really, a pinhead of unimaginably concentrated power and a thin column of those who barely count economically. This is a recipe for revolution, a recipe which has already led to Trump and Sanders, the mildest menu items on the list.

The Black Lives Matter movement continues a history of our nation long struggle to open our society to descendants of the enslaved. Changing demographics will alter the relative power of Latinos, African-Americans, Asians, Native Americans and Whites. The surge of angry white men wanting to make America Great Again is an attempted stiff arm to the increasingly powerful rush of these forces.

Finally, although not at all really the end, we have in the West, where I know live, a movement, the SageBrush Rebellion, which wants to take public lands and turn them over to state control, eventually for sale to private parties. This movement is a quixotic but potent mix of NRA supporters, libertarians, would be right-wing revolutionaries, ranchers, constitutional wingnuts. All of them find the economic and demographic changes going on now threatening in the extreme. The economies of the West are often fragile, subject to market forces beyond their control and now water issues made more difficult by a changing climate.

None of these are trivial matters, none of them will be blustered away or easily solved, even with the best of intentions. The world, our planet, needs, deserves leadership that will address these problems, not avoid them. Given the choices in this madhatter political season here in the U.S., I say Hillary. She’s the best still standing.

 

This, that

Beltane                                                                       Running Creeks Moon

Front, May 6th
Front, May 6th

The snow is mostly gone in the front, south facing yard. In the back though there are still long drifts of snow punctuated by even larger patches of soil, rock and the tufty grass we have up here on Shadow Mountain. The days are warmer but the nights remain cool. They will remain relatively cool and dry even during the summer.

I’ve had a time consuming blog related project that has eaten up days of time and is not done yet. It has given me an opportunity to go back over all the wordpress entries: 2016-2007, which has been fascinating. Some 8,000+ now.

Back, May 9
Back, May 9

Kate has Bailey Patchworkers, a sewing/quilting group, today and will make a run to the Happy Camper for cbds. My elliptical comes this morning. I’ll be able to get back to working out at a high intensity with the elliptical’s knee joint friendly motion. The treadmill will stay for walking at a moderate pace.

Once this blog project is over I plan to start regular hikes in the woods and a return to the fire mitigation work I began last fall. Kate is currently doing cross stitch for a very cute baby blanket. The baby blanket comes, naturally, after the wedding quilt.

Much to my chagrin, since I stopped adding salt to my meals, my weight has dropped, my blood pressure has dropped and I’m sleeping much better. Of course, I’m happy with the improvements. Still. Imagine me slapping my forehead with my hand.

Water. Psyche.

Beltane                                                                     Running Creeks Moon

maxwell 2015Went into Evergreen yesterday hunting for truffles-no, not nose to the ground, nose to the display case-and a bottle of Chardonnay. On the way down Shadow Mountain and whatever other mountains I descend on highway 78 (Shadow Mountain Drive, Black Forest Drive and Brook Forest Drive) Maxwell Creek tumbled down its narrow bed toward the rocks of Upper, then Lower Maxwell Falls. Further down Cub Creek came crashing down the mountain, headed toward a rendezvous with Maxwell. This time I realized that the creek going over the concrete spillway further on down 78 was neither Maxwell nor Cub, but a third creek coming down and out of Shadow Mountain like Maxwell. This one hits either Cub Creek or Maxwell somewhere, I couldn’t find the spot, but in any case all three join below Lower Maxwell Falls parking lot and speed toward Evergreen.

IMAG1503Not so long ago, I think it was 2012, these same three creeks overwhelmed Evergreen, causing considerable flooding. That was the same year that Golden and Manitou Springs and Boulder had flood problems, too. This is not that kind of year, but the amount of energy in these creeks impresses me.

The stolid, deeply moored mountain shows its power to create movement, the opposite of its apparent nature. Which might say something about us, about what we perceive as permanent and unchanging in our Selves.  Look for what movement it creates, perhaps unknown to us until we look.

Running Creeks Moon

Beltane                                                                         New (Running Creeks) Moon

Upper Maxwell Falls May, 2015
Upper Maxwell Falls May, 2015

Shadow Brook, Forest Brook, Maxwell Creek, Deer Creek, the mountains streams I see regularly, are full. The snow melt obeys the law of gravity, following the twists in spacetime toward lower points. They boil at rock beds and turns, often muddy water capped with white foam.

With all the recent snow fields have begun to green and our aspens have leaf buds. The lodgepoles look healthy. That 10 inch snow last weekend has already melted and the snow drifts even in our north facing back yard have begun to diminish. Time to get back to I’m a lumberjack, yes I am.

Wildlife is more in evidence, too. On the day of Vega’s death Kate saw a red fox on the roadside, as if Vega’s spirit were saying the good-bye we didn’t get in person. We’ve several small herds of mule deer and Kate saw four elk does yesterday. Pinecam.com, source for all things local, has had mountain lion photos and reports of hungry bears causing mischief. The Denver Post reported a bear rummaging through a man’s refrigerator in his second floor apartment.

The bicyclists also return with the clearing roads, joggers, too. Crankshafts of motorcyclists also begin to appear. And that seasonal bird, the tourist, begins to clog highway 285, racing around curves and down the 7% inclines. There are grumbles on Pinecam.com. Here in Conifer 285 is still four lane, but south (really west) of us about seven or eight miles it goes down to two lanes. That’s the direction the tourists head and it makes for dangerous driving in the summer months.

So a seasonal change is upon us, though a very different one from the flowering, leafing, sprouting spring of Andover.

 

Foggy

Spring                                                          Wedding Moon

loft2Clouds at 8,800 feet. Or, as some say, fog. Cold and clammy outside this am.

I’ve gotten back to work on Jennie’s Dead and Superior Wolf, not a lot of new content yet, but it will come.

Spent some time yesterday, too, in the what now seems eternal rearranging of the loft. Finding an optimal way to encourage my work with the tools I have: books, files, images, maps and brochures, workout equipment, lamps, chairs, is the goal. Still waiting on a couple of pieces from Jon, walnut shelves and a top for my art cart.

bandWhile I worked on rearranging the loft, I put on Pandora, the music streaming service. I have a Pandora station devoted to The Band, a sixties rock group who collaborated with Bob Dylan. As it played their music and music of similar contemporaries, an overwhelming sadness hit me.

It began with a memory of Vega, feeling her presence in my life, feeling her absence. But, it morphed into a more general sadness, possibly a melancholy nostalgia for the times the Band evokes, those days of the 60’s. It tapped, too, into old neurotic loops. What have I done with my life? Has it mattered? Does mattering matter? You know, those inner paths which have a Mobius strip nature, going nowhere in particular yet taking a very long time to get there, only to find out you’ve gotten back where you started.

As these moods do these days, these third phase days, they passed. Grieving Vega, grieving a time gone by, grieving unreasonable expectations. All part of life, not to be inhabited forever, but acknowledged. A hat tipped to them as they go by.

A less melancholy day today, I hope.

 

Again. More Snow.

Spring(?)                                          Wedding Moon

driveway the day we got home
driveway the day we got home

As Weather5280 keeps reminding those of us who live near the Denver metro, but in higher elevations, April is our snowiest month. Well, geez. Another big storm rumbles toward us for the end of this week. This stuff is heavy, wet. Not good for snowblowers, my chief tool in snow clearing.

I just put out a note to a local snowplower who also does high altitude gardening. We’ll need help. Ironically, our neighbors who cleared our driveway for us when we got 46 inches or so last week, left last Friday for Tijuana, driving. We’re watching their property. We may get a chance to return the favor.

Well over 170 inches this year. That’s a lot of white coming from the sky. It’s a good thing for the snow pack and at least for the early fire season. Another way of saying the transition here goes from winter to summer is to say we go from ice to fire. Makes for interesting living. And I mean that.

Life here, like life in Minnesota, finds mother earth a constant presence, one that cannot be sidelined by furnaces, air conditioners and trips to the beach.

house same day
house same day