Category Archives: Mountains

Aging, Anoka County, Coronavirus, Denver, Dogs, Faith and Spirituality, Feelings, Friends, Great Wheel, Health, Jefferson County, Kabbalah, Mountains, Myth and Story, Original Relation, Our Land and Home, Plants, Reimagine. Reconstruct. Reenchant., Shadow Mountain, The West, Third Phase, Weather +Climate

At Her Funeral

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Beltane and the Moon of Sorrow

Thursday gratefuls: Gauze sponges. Wax o-rings for Kate’s leakage. Stoma powder. The chance to care for Kate. A forty degree morning on Shadow Mountain after 92 degrees in Denver on Monday. That silly Rigel, not acting her age. At all. Kep, the serious. Dog groomer today. The Kabbalah class. Folks liking my presentation. Workout yesterday.

Pine pollen season. Yellow streaks on the asphalt. Pollen lying on wooden tables, adding some color. The winds rushing through the Lodgepoles, shaking loose enough for a yellow storm. Part of the turning of the Great Wheel. That I could do without personally. But, how would we get baby Lodgepoles otherwise? Sneeze and bear it.

Wildfire danger remains high. Dry, Windy. Yesterday the Humidity in the loft was 2%, outside 6%. The arid West. A positive note. It was 80 degrees up here and a slowly rotating fan was all I needed to stay cool. Rigel, we’re not in Andover anymore.

A woman in my kabbalah class wants my Grammar of Holiness read at her funeral, “…whenever that may be.” A strong positive reaction to it from the class. Rabbi Jamie’s going to reprint in the synagogue newsletter, the Shofar.

Always thought my reimagining faith project would be a book, a radical theology with chapters and footnotes and acknowledgements. Nope, two pages. There it is. It feels said to me. We’ll see if I continue to feel that way.

After reading several pieces about Covid and underlying medical conditions, Kate and I have decided to become coronavirus hermits. Our hermitage, Shansin, on top of Shadow Mountain. We’ll ride it out with as little flesh and blood contact as we can stand. Would sound bleak, but Zoom helps, and we’re introverts, happy with each other, ourselves, and our dogs.

And, given recent news, I will add: white, privileged, financially secure, and aging with good medical care.

Still no word from the Singapore government. Seoah may fly there next Tuesday. May not. Covid has impacted lives in so many different ways. This is just one of them, but it’s personal, right here.

From Shadow Mountain, where the sun is rising and the morning is cool.

Beyond the Boundaries, Faith and Spirituality, Great Wheel, Health, Jefferson County, Mountains, Myth and Story, Our Land and Home, Reimagine. Reconstruct. Reenchant., The Move

A Year Ago

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Beltane and the Moon of Sorrow

Tuesday gratefuls: Lululemon, it delights Seoah so. Arlet, the clerk at Lululemon who wants to be Seoah’s friend. The Highlands neighborhood of Denver. Its shops and restaurants. Hwy. 285. I-70. All those other drivers. Evergreen. Safeway. Curb pickup. The Mountains. Snow on the Continental Divide. The winds.

Had an idea for yard cleanup. I’m going to text my neighbor Derek, see how much of our wood he wants. Then, I’m going to post on Nextdoor Shadow Mountain for anyone else who heats with wood. Free fuel. You move it, it’s yours. That’ll get rid of the trees. The slash will go to the curb for chipping. I should be able to handle the rest along with Jon. Some of the remaining stuff belongs to him.

One year ago today two Elk bucks jumped in our yard and began eating Dandelions. Shansin, or his Rocky Mountain avatar, sent those angels to our house. You belong here, Charlie. Neighbor.

Resonated then, and now, with the Consolation of Deer Creek Canyon from 2015. The Mountains rising on either side of Deer Canyon Road spoke, but I was still deaf to the full meaning. The unimaginable age of these young mountains, millions and millions of years since the Laramide orogeny pushed them up, let me put my diagnosis, just received, in a different context.

I drove back from Dr. Eigner’s office, stomach hollow and sour, thoughts flitting from imminent death to it’s a mistake to I can handle this. I can handle this. I can handle this.

Deer Creek Canyon helped me see it was just death. Nothing more. How many deaths since the Laramide mountain building? Uncountable. Insects. Deer. Elephants. Mammoths. Humans. Dogs. Whales. Barracuda. Coral. So much death. Yet, these Mountains were young. My death had nothing unusual about it. I would become part of that uncountable number. That soothed me. Not sure why. Maybe because I didn’t feel singled out, picked on, targeted.

With the recurrence a lot of those old fears and those old reassurances came marching back onto the field. No, said the Angels. This is new. We have come, neighbor, to tell you it is both new and old. The Mountains will embrace you each day as you drive to and from the radiation. Our brothers and sisters will hold you in their wild hearts, as you hold them in yours. We know death and pain and whatever your journey, your ancientrail becomes, we will not abandon you.

Three Mule Deer bucks stood in my backyard on Samain, 2014, when I came for closing on the house. We spent a long time together. They were the wilderness welcome I didn’t even know we needed, yet there they were.

This year three Elk bucks came. This year, probably not until November, I’ll find out whether I have a cure. Again. Reassurance again, from the wild hearts beating all over our home in these Rocky Mountains. More than enough for me.

Dogs, Family, Friends, Health, Jefferson County, Mountains, Myth and Story, Original Relation, Plants, Reimagine. Reconstruct. Reenchant., Shadow Mountain, The West, Third Phase

Sanshin Speaks

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Beltane and the Moon of Sorrow

Sunday gratefuls: Two Elk bucks, eating dandelions in our backyard. Kep, stepping on my eye in his surprise at seeing them. Seoah, bleary eyed, “I got video!” Sanshin reminding me of the reassurance he sent last June, just before I started radiation therapy. Reassuring me now. Wild neighbors. Who go where they want, when they want. For whom humans are at best a nuisance. For my heart, which follows my wild neighbors

Kep likes to get up, then lay down on me in the morning. It’s part of our getting up ritual. When he does, though, he can see out our bedroom window. This morning he let out a bark and lunged forward, putting his right foot on my right eye. Ouch. Good thing eyelids move fast.

As I let Rigel and him outside, I saw what had caused Kep to react. Two Elk bucks stood on our drainage field, eating dandelions. Talk about the web of life. They are huge, as big as the Cow Moose I saw last week, perhaps a bit bigger.

Neither Rigel nor Kep barked at them. The two Dogs and the two Elk eyed each other. Kep and Rigel went off to pee and wander around the yard. The Elk continued eating dandelions. Elk Bucks, healthy ones anyway, can fend off Wolves and Mountain Lions, so Kep and Rigel were no threat to them. Kep and Rigel seemed to get that, too.

At first I thought these couldn’t be the two who came last June 17th to reassure me before my radiation therapy started. One of those had only one antler. Then. Oh. Yeah, the horns grow back each year. Could well be the same two, back to their secret stash of the yellow flower. Right now they’re resting among the lodgepoles in the northeast corner of our property. Last year they stayed the night.

Yes, the radiation has been on my mind. It was a year ago this month that my imaging work was complete, the new diagnosis finished. I knew the radiation would start, but I wasn’t sure quite when.

These two Elk, come again for our dandelions, have also come again to soothe the part of me that remains anxious, uncertain. No definitive news on the effectiveness of the radiation until November. Dave died last week and a needleworker friend of Kate’s died last week, too, also of glioblastoma. Cancer always wants to kill you.

Commentary on the news, Feelings, Friends, Mountains, Politics, Shadow Mountain, The West, Third Phase, Weather +Climate

A Change in the Weather

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Beltane and the Moon of Sorrow

Saturday gratefuls: Gray rain Clouds over Black Mountain. The blue Sky behind and above them. The two young Bucks dining on our grass yesterday. This weakened body, ready to be free from Lupron…and cancer. Protests. And, the protesters. The police. Those whose lives have been damaged in the last six months whether by Covid, or job loss, or police brutality. Each Black life heartened. A new day dawning. I fervently hope.

Ghosts. During my workout yesterday I did a triceps exercise, close-grip on workout bench. I could hear Dave telling me, “If you want to make it harder, just take your chest closer to the bench.” It was as if he were in the room, encouraging me. The reality of the experience shocked me.

All day yesterday and still this morning a gray cloud like the one over Black Mountain hangs in my inner world. Not quite to melancholy, but close. This world is too much with me, late and soon.

I wonder, why am I not like this all the time right now? That’s an encouraging thought. Why? Because it means I’ve learned to accept the reality around me, the moments of grace as well as the moments of sadness and sorrow. I’m not pushing either of them away, nor am I letting any of them dominate me. They come and they go.

Shadow Mountain is far away from Lake and Hiawatha in Minneapolis. Far away from my friends joining with others there. Far away from the folks with whom I worked over many years. It feels strange to not be there. Just another of the wispy clouds floating in the sky of my inner world.

The outer winds blowing here this morning are coming from the east, not usual. It’s as if the power of change sweeping through the Twin Cities has caused a change in our Front Range weather. May it be so for us, and the rest of our country, the rest of our world.

Family, Great Wheel, Jefferson County, Mountains, Our Land and Home, Shadow Mountain, The West

900 lbs .10 oz

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Beltane and the Moon of Sorrow

Friday gratefuls: Shavuot. Rabbi Jamie. Tara. Marilyn. Alan. Ron. Rich. Judy. Susan. Sleeping well, always good. Oxygen concentrators. The engineers who designed them. As Mark said yesterday in an e-mail, remember your well pump. Wildfire. Soap. Lysol. Used in the right places, of course. Bleach. Shampoo. Laundry detergent. The world beyond our driveway. The moose and the hummingbird.

I saw a moose! About a half mile from home. A mature, and very big, female. She was in a neighbor’s yard, heading toward the back. I could see her against the house so scale was pretty obvious. Moose cows can be be up to 1,100 pounds though I doubt she was that big. Maybe 900? And tall. Around six feet at the shoulder.

Moose do wander around our area, though they’re not common. Folks have seen them at Flying J Ranch, in the meadow at the bottom of Shadow Mountain Drive, Kate and Gabe saw a female at the pond in the little meadow about a mile down the hill from us. This one was in the opposite direction, on Black Mountain Drive headed toward Evergreen.

She looked back over her shoulder at me as I drove by, then sauntered off toward the forested incline that began behind the house. If you go up and over Black Mountain or Conifer Mountain near our house, you find yourself in Staunton State Park, a large and beautiful place. No roads that way though. To reach it by car you have to get on Hwy 285 and drive a few miles. I imagine that’s where they come from.

But, wait. That’s not all. Both Kate and I rescued hummingbirds yesterday. One was in the loft and the other in her sewing room. My little guy wanted to get out the window facing Black Mountain Drive. After opening the window and trying to let him out on his own, I picked him up in a kleenex and let him fly away. Kate used cloth.

The moose was fun. But, the hummingbirds seem meaningful since both Kate and I did the same thing, maybe to the same bird, on the same day. Gonna have to think about it. Let it sink in.

Hummingbirds are sort of the local bird. Many people put out hummingbird feeders. They come here in large numbers. We have a feeder, still hanging in the same place it was when we moved in. I don’t fill it because feeding wildlife of any kind leads to habituation. And, habituation is not good for wild animals.

Based on some quick googling, I’d say mine was a broad-tailed male. Our eyes met when I opened the window and his small body moved slightly toward me. I could feel his intelligence and his calm. He was not anxious, just wanted back outside. When I picked him up, he did not struggle. I used the Kleenex to keep my scent off of him. It fell to the driveway as he flew quickly away.

The female moose, maybe 900 pounds. The hummingbird, .10 ounces or 3.16 grams. Life in its extremes. Both living in these mountains. Both with intention and mobility. Our neighbors. Our wild neighbors.

Lucky we live in the Rockies.

Coronavirus, Family, Feelings, Friends, Health, Mountains, Shadow Mountain, Third Phase

Tuesday

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Beltane and the Moon of Sorrow

Wednesday gratefuls: Clean sheets and pillow cases. Socks and underwear. T-shirts and shirts. Washing machines and dryers. (remembering the agitator Mom had with the aggressive rubber rollers for wringing out wet wash) Gas stove. (though. climate change) Plumbing. Toilets and sinks and showers and baths. The boiler. Solar panels and IREA. Wiring. Outlets. Our well. Our aquifer. The septic tank and its leach field. The driveway. The garage. The house itself.

In a concrete mode this morning. Took out the trash, might be it. Seeing edges, corners. Feeling the cool morning air. Hearing the faint whine of the oxygen concentrators downstairs and the silence up here in the loft. Tasting the bitter coffee from my Conifer Physical Therapy cup. Nose twitching as allergens come on the air to greet me.

Clan gathered yesterday. Mary got up early, had to miss the call to sleep. Mark’s in a four-day, 24 hour lockdown for Eid. Eiding out, I guess. Diane says there’s a haze of marijuana smoke from the alley when the youngsters get together in her San Francisco neighborhood. We’re still staying home. Another day, another week, another month of this unusual, suddenly dystopian time.

After the call, I retrieved the pouch in which Kate deposits our monthly dope money, blue and red quilting with a zippered top. Went upstairs and ordered 8 packages of Wanna indica edibles from the Happy Camper. We no longer have to order online only, but it’s simpler.

Backed our apple red Rav4 out of the garage and headed down Shadow Mountain to Hwy 285. An l.e.d. sign courtesy of the class of 2016 announced Conifer High School’s 98% graduation rate. If we ever have to sell, good schools are important to our home’s value. The Stinker’s Sinclair station has gas at $1.99. Across from the station, two log cabins slump though they’re still intact. One has an added garage. It doesn’t match the cabin. Right angles. Dimension lumber against round logs, chinked with gray.

On 285 I’m headed south accorded to the highway, but west according to my compass. 285 does run south, all the way to Santa Fe, New Mexico, but the stretch from here to Baily is more like southwest. As I near King Valley, the intersection that has claimed many lives, especially motorcyclists, the continental divide floats on the far away horizon, snow covered. This is a declining grade with a 45 mph speed limit, often ignored.

The Rav4’s console beeps with an incoming text message. Ah. Happy Camper. My order is ready. It’s about a 20 minute drive and I was counting on them getting it ready before I got there.

On Mt. Rosalie road, a left turn, then a quick right up the hill. The Missouri Synod Lutheran Church whose property adjoins the Happy Camper’s gives a website for its services. Jesus on the left and marijuana up ahead. One toke over the line, sweet Jesus. One toke over the line.

A masked security guard checks my idea and asks me to pull down my mask. Feels risky. A paper bag with Charles B. written on it is by the cash register. The clerk, whose name I have again forgotten, hands me change and enters my phone number. Yes, even marijuana dispensaries have loyalty programs. I’m the only customer in the store at the time.

A short nap. Kate and I head off to Aspen Roots. Jackie, our hair stylist, has begun working again. Kate’s roots had begun to shed their color, leaving maybe five inches of gray exposed. She was eager to get her hair cut, a Michele Williams do, and return to her ash blond norm.

Jackie has customers come in with no masks. Is that ok, they ask? No, she says. She can’t social distance. Jackie’s not happy to be working, exposed and having to enforce sensible precautions on her customers. It’s not right to put the enforcement burden on small business owners. But there you are. It’s Colorado and my right to make you sick trumps your expectation of a healthy workplace.

Short. Beard and hair. Short. Jackie’s a sweet lady and I hate to see her put in this situation. I hope things get better, but logic suggests they’ll get worse first.

Back home around 2 pm. Exhausted. Wanted to work on the loft reorganization, getting close. Too tired. The lupron effects do get worse as time on the drug increases. However, I only to have think of Dave and Judy, two cancer patients, friends, one dying and the other back on chemo. I’ll take the hot flashes and fatigue.

Mountains, Shadow Mountain, Weather +Climate

Afternoon Special Edition

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Beltane and the Moon of Sorrow

It’s Memorial Day tomorrow on Shadow Mountain. The beginning of Summer. As you might expect, our solar panels have a white covering and the Snow has begun to mount up, falling in great, fat flakes from a gray Mountain Sky.

Closed due to Coronavirus A-Basin plans to reopen on May 27th. This is Jon’s favorite ski hill. The vagaries of mountain weather.

Colorado, Coronavirus, Feelings, Jefferson County, Mountains, Our Land and Home, Shadow Mountain, Third Phase, US History

Moody

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Beltane and the Corona Lunacy II

Friday gratefuls: Kate and her magical power. A 30 minute walk on the treadmill. Still reorganizing. Getting there. Mussar yesterday. Confront with compassion. Oh, the magical power? She disrupts technology with a touch. Rain and snow in the forecast for Memorial Day. Bears. Foxes. Mountain Lions. Pine Martens. Mink. Humans.

Cool and gray yesterday. My mood sank with the cloudy skies. I’m just coasting, not engaged. Why haven’t I ordered groceries? Three days in a row with no exercise. Loft closer to order (seder), but a ways to go yet. Body achy. A Tree fell over in the wind. A healthy Lodgepole pine. Work to do in the yard, around the house. The pandemic. Things crowd in, get close, agitate each other like clothes in a washing machine. Ick.

That mood lingers this morning. Glad I have this outlet, this space to mirror my inner life. When I see it on the page, sometimes my mood changes. Not this one, not yet, but maybe later? The sun coming up helps, too. Colorado blue skies, bright sun. A positive.

The pandemic hangs like a pall, a meta-mood. It begins where our driveway ends, where the cars of others go by, others who may or may not be infected. Here in our safe space we three know each other, know our level of commitment to masks, hand sanitizer, to caring for our own and each others health. Out there, beyond the end of the driveway, there be dragons.

We’re among the lucky ones, privileged. It’s quiet here. Not crowded. We have plenty of space. No toddlers or teenagers. No need to get back to work. We have Seoah with us. I’m grateful.

Commentary on Religion, Coronavirus, Health, Judaism, Mountains, Mussar, Our Land and Home, Plants, Shadow Mountain, Third Phase, Weather +Climate

A Red Flag

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Beltane and the Corona Lunacy II

Thursday gratefuls: Kate, sewing. Seoah, laughing. Rigel, sleeping hard. Kep, eager to get up, get breakfast. 34 degrees this morning. High Winds, low humidity, lots of sunshine=red flag warning. Masks. The Lodgepole blown over yesterday. Equanimity. Mussar. Kabbalah class yesterday. Missed opportunities for exercise. Dave and Deb.

High Winds yesterday. Up to 40 mph, gusting lasted most of the day yesterday and Tuesday. Both were red flag days. Occurred to me that these are the original red flags. When they show up, those of us surrounded by the Arapaho National Forest pay attention. Not a metaphor.

A Lodgepole pine blew over in our backyard. Pines tend to have shallow roots. Fortunately it blew over away from our house. It could have hit the upstairs balcony had it gone south instead of north. An unintended consequence of fire mitigation, I think. Lodgepoles grow close together up here, an area clear cut for Denver early last century. I removed this Individual’s companions, left it to deal with the gusts of Wind all on its own.

Gotta get out the limbing ax. There’s other limbing work to be done on Trees felled last fall. And, there are still Trees to remove. Shallow roots are a good adaptation to thin Soil, rocky Soil, but they do have their risks. Wondering about other reasons for shallow roots.

In people shallow roots can lead to problems, too. The strong winds of the coronavirus can lead to a fall. The middah of equanimity, the topic for MVP mussar next week, is the psychic equivalent of deep roots. When life pushes us hard, say isolation or lockdown for an indeterminate number of weeks, equanimity can keep us upright. We will feel neither the need to run out and fill up the car with toilet paper, nor will we hunker down, go still, bury our fears.

Judaism has a clear view of the human experience: “Your spiritual experience will give you many gifts, but don’t expect it to relieve you of your human nature.” (Everyday Holiness, Alan Morinis, p. 99) Yes, practice equanimity, but don’t be surprised when life sends you a fire, or a virus, or a serious illness and you lose it. Notice that, congratulate yourself perhaps on a less severe reaction than you might have had in the past, and learn what you can from it. Mussar is an incremental practice that does not have an endpoint.

Aging, Family, Feelings, Friends, Health, Jefferson County, Mountains, Shadow Mountain, Third Phase

Open the Gates

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Beltane and the Corona Lunacy II

Sunday gratefuls: Loft closer to reorganized. Much closer. Bright Sun. Blue, blue Sky. Black Mountain tall and proud. Remythologizing. Dave. Deb. Cancer, showing us, as does the coronavirus, what really matters. The view of lodgepole pines out our bedroom window. The sweetness of my relationship with Kate. “We won the lottery when we married each other.” Kate, just before going to sleep last night.” Yep. Mario and Elizabeth, a good team, he said in a recent e-mail.

Cancer. On Dave’s, personal trainer Dave, Caringbridge site this morning. A second entry by Deb. Heartbreaking. He’s losing cognitive function. A physical therapist friend came up to their house (on the western side of Black Mountain) and helped him get out for a walk. There were pictures. He had the biggest smile on his face. The entry included this line: “We probably won’t have Dave around for Christmas.”

I’m 73, diagnosed when I was 69. Hard, but hardly unexpected. Dave can’t be much more than 50. Glioblastoma has a median survival rate of 15/16 months. Dave’s had this aggressive brain cancer for over five years. He lived his life fully in that time, including completing a a 15 mile race in the high mountains of British Columbia only two years ago. “You keep fighting,” he said, “I want to live.”

It’s not a race any of us can win. Life. You keep fighting. You want to live. You won’t.

Cancer and the coronavirus as teachers. Family and friends have gathered around Dave. His girls are home. There’s a Puppy in the house, Lucy, playing with their Dog, Flannigan. (love that name, btw) Walking. Seeing the blue Rocky Mountain Sky. The precious value of our mind. The fragility and vulnerability of us all. Humans and Dogs. Bears and Mountain Lions. Mice and Pine Martens. Moose and Elk. All us Mammals. Life, that wonderful, inexplicable gift we’ve all been given.

Don’t hide. Don’t dig moats. Don’t build fenestrated walls and towers. Lower the drawbridge. Please.