Imbolc New (Anniversary) Moon
The last three are all from this morning, sequenced by time taken with the earliest first. The first one is from 7 am on February 8th.
Category Archives: Mountains
Sounds. And Silence.
Imbolc Valentine Moon
There are mountain sounds. The katabatic winds that flow from Mount Evans and its companions rush through the lodgepole pines, soughing and moaning as they head for the plains. In the fall during the elk rut the bugling of the elks, a strange and mournful cry echoes in the canyons. The swirling waters of snow fed mountain streams gurgle and gush their way over rocks and around corners. The cough of a mountain lion, the odd bark of the fox are not often heard, but they are distinctive.
Then, there is the antithesis. When snow falls, as it does right now, it muffles sound, brings silence in its wake. Quiet descends with the snowflakes. There are, too, those not infrequent moments in the forest when there is no wind, the streams flow by, no elks bugle, no birds are singing. The stolid presence of the lodgepoles and lower down the ponderosa, the aspen and the blue spruce highlight the steady, massive, soundless presence of upthrust rock.
All of these, and more, are the wonder of living among the Rockies.
At the Tallgrass Spa
Imbolc Valentine Moon
Tallgrass Spa on Upper Bear Creek Road. We had originally intended to go to Maui for my 70th birthday. We wanted to celebrate at Mama’s Fish House, where we’ve had both anniversary and birthday meals. The divorce and its impact on our time created a different focus for this February. Our plan was to celebrate our mutual entry into the 7th decade, Kate having preceded me, as she always does, in things age related.
We decided, instead, to combine our upcoming 27th anniversary (27!) with my birthday and Kate’s of last year by having a couples afternoon at the Tallgrass Spa in Evergreen.
As you drive in to the spa, this is the view toward the west. The mountains give any trip, no matter how short, a sense of majesty. The thirty minute drive from Shadow Mountain to Tallgrass is especially beautiful.
Upper Bear Creek Road begins at Evergreen Lake and continues for some miles. Along it are homes, many of them, that are big, stony or wooden, with elaborate grounds. This one sold recently for $2,300,000.
That was getting there. Once in the Spa we were given sandals to wear, shown to a room where we could change into Tallgrass robes (blue, one size fits all) and then taken to a quiet lounge area, beautiful with a fireplace, and a view of the mountains.
First, we had an 80 minute massage lying on tables next to each other with lots of hot oil, slippery hands, the scent of eucalyptus and mint and bergamot and, for me, a heated blanket, not for my Scandinavian wife.
In their relaxation of muscles the hands of the masseuse triggered memories, ones held in the body, not sure how they were resident there, but they were. An obvious one was her treatment of my knee, still somewhat swollen from the surgery. When her hands were on it, the journey of the last three months came forward. At another spot I remembered a moment in Rome on our honeymoon.
The biggest revelation though was the amount of tension, of anxiety I carried. As she relaxed me, I could feel my body tense, trying to get back to the state with which it had become familiar. We both knew the last nine months had been difficult ones for our family, but like all things, even that difficulty can become normal. On that table at Tallgrass my body told me so.
After this was a spa lunch, turkey sandwich for Kate, brie and fig sandwich for me. It was a pleasant time, sharing the lunch in the quiet lounge. We were creating a memory, probably the long time result, perhaps an alternative body narrative, too, for the last few months. That is, it was possible to relax even in the midst of family turmoil.
The last event of our day there was a pedicure. I’ve gone 70 years, literally, without ever having had a pedicure. The process fascinated me. In this room there were four throne like chairs lifted above the floor on risers, two steps up to them. Below the chair is a basin, a small sink, filled with soapy water. The pedicurist sits at the basin. Bare feet go into the water and the pedicurist cleans them, a very biblical, foot-washing moment and surprisingly intimate.
Did I want short or long nails? Short. She clipped my already short nails with a nail clipper. An implement somewhat like a dental pick but with a flattened end went underneath and around the toenails. Cuticle cream, tan and squirted on in small dabs, softened the cuticles, allowing Becky to clip my cuticles. I forgot the emery board which she used to smooth off rough edges.
All the while conversation was going back and forth among Kate, her pedicurist, Becky, me, and the woman getting her feet done in the chair next to Kate. The woman next to Kate was having a spa day paid for by her employer. Her husband was a chef. “I only make reservations,” she said, a line she’d obviously used before.
The talk turned to animals, llamas, dogs, mastiffs and rescues and bulldogs. Kate’s pedicurist, whose name I don’t recall, had a pitbull mix that had been attacked by a mountain lion a month and a half ago, but survived. She and Becky both live in Bailey. Sobering. Kate, whose throne was in the middle, could see out into a meadow across from Tallgrass where a herd of mule deer and several elk bucks wandered.
Exfoliation with a salt scrub came next. Becky rubbed a gently scratchy substance onto my feet, one at a time, sloughed it off with water, foliation and hydration with oil followed.
Touch, human touch, was the theme of the whole day. Where the massage was quiet, the pedicure was chatty, friendly and the lunch was just for us two. I’m now launched into my seventh decade, partnering with Kate as she walks the path, always ahead of me.
Red Flag
Imbolc Valentine Moon
Went out yesterday with the pole saw and began the task of trimming branches on our lodgepole pines. OMG. Working that saw, always over my head, wore me out pretty fast though I did get several trees limbed. Splintered Forest rents power pole saws and I might rent one for the rest of the work.
I did this work in honor of the red flag warning (highest fire danger) we had yesterday. Limbing up to ten feet prevents a grass fire’s spread into the trees. The branches below 10 feet act as ladder fuel, giving the fire a way to climb. Otherwise the trees are not nearly as combustible. It felt good to be outside, a sunny day, warmish but still cool.
There was a video clip of the recent Meyer’s Ranch grass fire on Pinecam.com. Meyer’s Ranch is near us. When I saw the fire licking up around the tree trunks, it prompted thinking about ladder fuel. The reality was very easy to see.
We chose to live here, so we have to take these matters into account. In a big fire, a crown fire or one whipped by the winds that often roar down mountain, we’ll probably lose the house anyway. This work means that in something less than that it might survive. Being close to the main road, Black Mountain Drive (aka Co. 78), and having a flat, short driveway means firefighters will work to save our house. That ups our odds, too.
And, on that cheery note, I’ll make all this a metaphor. Donald Trump is a red flag warning for our democracy. If we don’t do the important maintenance now and for the next four years, we might lose the White House and self-governance. Get out that pole saw and call your congressperson.
Becoming Coloradan
Imbolc Valentine Moon
No snow. 10% humidity. A spate of small wildfires. Result: stage 1 fire restrictions put in place by Jeffco. In February. Winter has gone on holiday and the outlook for summer is fiery if we don’t get more moisture in March and April. Like death, oddly, I find the whole wildfire possibility invigorating. It motivates me to work on our lodgepole pine and aspen and it brings those of us who live in the mountains closer together. A common foe.
Lodgepole pine. From our bedroom window I look out and up to a jagged line of tree tops. On clear nights stars often align with the tops of the pines, giving them a decorated for Christmas look. Sometimes stars also align with branches further down, emphasizing the effect.
Which reminds me. Monday or Tuesday night of this week I looked up at the pines, as I often do before falling asleep. They were lit up with what looked like lightning bugs. What? The phenomena went on for quite a while, small specks of light flashing off and on. Obviously in February and up here on Shadow Mountain, no lightning bugs. A complete mystery.
While waiting on the Rav4 to finish its spa day at Stevinson Toyota I spent some time considering whether I had become a Coloradan yet. First thing. I left my prostate and significant portions of my left knee in Colorado. No flowers in my hair, but I do feel I’ve contributed in a meaningful, whole body sort of way. Then, living in the mountains. Everyday. Learning the rhythms of mountain seasons, the wildlife, the vast number of hikes and sights and sites to see. And we’re adjusted to life at 8,800 feet. A very Colorado and mountain thing.
Of course, there are Jon and Ruth and Gabe, family links to schools, synagogues, sports, life as a child in the Centennial State. Our dogs, too, as Dr. Palmini said, are mountain dogs now. Due to the spate of mountain lion attacks on dogs in the last month or so, I have a concern for their safety that is very Coloradan. In fact I bought a powerful LED flashlight and have my walking stick ready to do battle with a mountain lion if necessary.
Congregation Beth Evergreen, in addition to a religious community, also facilitates ties with people who live up here like the lawyer, Rich Levine, we saw last week. Many others, too. Kate has integrated quickly thanks to the two sewing groups she belongs to: Bailey Patchworkers and the Needlepointers. Her integration helps mine.
The town of Evergreen has many great restaurants, as does Morrison. We go to jazz and theater in Denver.
That’s the coming to Colorado part of the story. The other is my relationship to Minnesota. Of course there are the Wooly friends, especially Tom, Mark and Bill and the docent friends, many of whom I connect with through Facebook, but also through visits, e-mails, the occasional phone call. Those connections are still strong, even though attenuated by distance.
Minnesota will always occupy a large, 40-year space in my heart. That’s a long time, enough to become home. So many memories, good ones and bad ones. But, it is just that now, a 40-year space in my heart. I do not want to return. Life is here, now, and that, more than anything else, tells me that, yes, I have become and am a Coloradan.
Dry
Imbolc Valentine Moon
I’m finding myself dry today. Starting and restarting topics, not settling into flow. Yesterday was busy and I missed my post. I also didn’t get my 750 words in on Superior Wolf though I did get my workout in at 6 am. Missed my newly started Latin work, too. Rhythm, for me, is critical to long term projects and rhythm needs consistency, even missing a day can disrupt a hitherto productive schedule.
There are matters more important than productivity. Quite a few of them. Two of them showed up here on Friday night: Ruth and Gabe. Yesterday morning saw me at Beth Evergreen twice, once earlier and once for a wonderful seder for Tu B’shevat. After that, it was nap time.
Following the nap Kate and I took Ruth into Denver for a birthday party for her buddy, Augie. They did parkour. Before taking her to the party, however, she and Ruth went shopping at Joann Fabrics. They found material to complete her costume for her Destination Imagination play. She’s the main character, a dragon. They also found cloth for Renaissance Festival costumes. Kate, Ruth, Gabe and I are going to dress up and go. Ruth wants to be a wealthy medieval woman. Gabe will be a version of Robin Hood. I’m leveraging my sparse white hair and white beard for the role of a wizard. Kate, I’m not sure what she’s going to do.
After dropping Ruth off at Augie’s home in the new urbanism shaped grounds of the former Stapleton Airport, Kate and I went to the New York Deli for supper. Kate had her favorite, chicken noodle soup with a matzo ball and I had the featured dinner, corned beef and cabbage with new potatoes. This place is an authentic Jewish deli and is a mile-high city branch of a deli of the same name in New York. In fact, their baked goods are still made in New York and flown frozen to the Denver location. They believe New York City tap water is the key to good flavor in their bagels and bread.
It was raining in Denver and in the 60’s. By the time we reached Shadow Mountain it was 32 degrees and snowing. It was good to be home.
Moose Runs
Imbolc Valentine Moon
Speedy
Lack of Snow and Mountain Lions
Imbolc Valentine Moon
Last year we had 240 inches of snow. This year, hardly any. These are El Nino, La Nina patterns, though I don’t understand how they relate to us exactly since the mountains west of the continental divide have had an unusually heavy snow year. Summit County has had 8 feet of snow and has issued warnings to shovel roofs. Crested Butte has had snow so deep that I saw a picture of a guy on a mound of snow, with a snow shovel, shoveling snow off his roof. This is a region, especially in the mountains, of microclimates. Geography is meteorological destiny here.
Of course, with the knee surgery, I’ve been glad to have less snow during my recovery period, but I told Kate the other day that the next storm, I’ll fire up the snow blower. The new knee, not exactly like the old knee, but pretty damned good is ready for some outside work. I think.
The lack of snow has meant that the persistent snow in the backyard-it faces north-has been compacted by doggy feet, melted by 50 degree days, then frozen again at night. The result is a hard, slick surface that the dogs don’t like. Rigel hurt her leg yesterday, not badly, but enough to make her cry out. Her pained yelp brought me running and I saw her with her left rear leg held up, off the ground. I went downstairs and let her in the house.
In local news there have been several reports of mountain lions killing dogs. The latest happened yesterday, well south of us, but in Conifer. A couple reported two mountain lions took their dog, a blue heeler, off their front porch, around 5:30 pm. They saw one of the mountain lions carry the dog away. Heartbreaking.
Mountain lions are crepuscular predators, meaning they hunt at dawn and dusk, when their usual prey, mule deer and elk, are also active. 5:30 pm is dusk right now. I admit I’m a little worried about our dogs, but having three makes things less risky. Kepler would fight back and probably be effective. Rigel and Gertie are older now, less able, though Rigel is bigger than most mountain lions and a fierce hunter in her youth.
Imbolc, 2017
Imbolc Valentine Moon
Imbolc, or in-the-belly, celebrates the time in Ireland when the ewes would freshen. Their pregnancies meant milk would be available after the long fallow season that had begun at Samain, Summer’s End.
Imbolc lies halfway between the Winter Solstice and the Spring Equinox, what the Celt’s called a cross-quarter holiday since it falls between two quarters defined by the solar year. That milk is also a promise, like the gradual lengthening of days after the longest night of the year in late December, that spring and the growing season will come.
It’s easy for us in our refrigerated, grocery stored world to gloss over these signals of the natural world. It seems like we don’t require them anymore. After all we can buy milk, cow’s milk, at any time of the day or night, 365 days a year. And the growing season particular to our latitude and longitude also seems irrelevant since it’s always the growing season somewhere on earth. The occasional gaps that even modern transportation can’t resolve can often be filled by greenhouse or hydroponically grown produce. We’re good, right?
I’m afraid not. Celebrating Imbolc or any of the Great Wheel holidays will not resolve our alienation from the sources of our sustenance, the sun and mother earth, but this ancient tradition exists to call us back home. The Great Wheel is a reminder that the cycle of life continues, even when the fields and animals are barren. The power of the sun, working in harmony with the soil, with plants, with animals that eat the plants does not disappear. It can be trusted.
It is though, that alienation, evident in so many ways, that drives climate change, that creates produce modified for harvest and storage, not human well-being, that underwrites the paving over of cropland and wetlands. We imagine that somehow the droughts in California will stop there. We hope they’ll be confined to somewhere else, somewhere where we’re not. Global agriculture means we’ll be affected wherever the damage occurs.
Right here in Colorado we have a key example of the interdependence for which the Great Wheel stands. Our snowpack, high in the Rockies where the Colorado River rises for its journey south toward its ancient destination in the Gulf of California, determines the amount of water available to nine states. Including California. Winter snowfall, melted by the increasing warmth of spring and summer, nourishes millions of people, cities like Las Vegas, Phoenix and Los Angeles.
In the age of Trump and rising nationalist, right wing populism, the need for the Great Wheel has never been more profound. It softens our in the moment, human conflicts by lifting up the long term, the cycles of life in which all humans, all life participate. The Great Wheel reminds us that there is no other when it comes to living on this planet. We’re all here and bound to one another, connected. My hope is that someday, perhaps someday soon, we’ll all realize that and adjust our politics accordingly.
It’s Almost Here.
Winter Cold Moon
Yes. Tomorrow.
Groups have begun to emerge. Right here in Conifer there’s a good start, one I intend to join. A couple who make kites has organized it and the general thrust sounds good. Will also be a chance to meet fellow progressives who live here. Beth Evergreen has not, yet, gotten anything started though I believe that will happen.
The Wall of Meat must be checking their bikes right now, making sure their pipes are loud because loud pipes save lives, or so say the bumper stickers. The Rockettes. Wonder what they’re thinking about? All those women. I hope it turns out massive and raucous. Those bibles, Trump’s family bible and Lincoln’s. My question. Will they burst into flame when he puts his hand on them? Just sayin’.
I will spend the day with good friend Tom Crane who’s flying in today. We’ll have dinner here tonight, a fire and conversation. Tomorrow, inauguration day, we’ll motor over to The Happy Camper, where Kate and I buy our maryjane. Not sure, of course, but dispensaries all across the U.S. might see an uptick in sales after tomorrow. Gonna watch cabinet secretary appearances before the Senate? Don’t bogart that joint, my friend. Take it down and pass it over to me.
As to the knee. Which now comes near the end of my thoughts as I write. Little pain, mostly gain. My physical therapist said I was healing “incredibly well.” Good to hear. The big deal now is restrengthening muscles that have weakened over the years of arthritis caused bad biomechanics and lack of exercise post surgery. My right hip muscles are especially weak. Kat and Katie, p.t.’s at Select Physical Therapy, have me putting a small red rubber band around my ankles and walking sideways for two minutes at a time. May not sound like much, but ouch!
Jon and Jen have a good offer on their house. They accepted it and now await inspections, then closing. Provided all goes well this will relieve the last major impediment to moving on after the divorce. Jon will use the money to buy a new house in Aurora, the large Denver suburb where he works as an art teacher. He will be glad to give up the commute from Conifer, returning to riding his bike to work.
2017 will have some upsides, then. Never underestimate the power of unintended consequences, even with the Trump. Could be some positive things there, too.