Have You Hugged Your Tree Today?

This weekend my friend Jan and I (and Scooter) took a drive up to Cripple Creek for the second weekend in a row to enjoy the start of the fall colors. A lot had changed in just one week, which is so fascinating. I must have spent two solid hours walking amongst the aspens looking for the perfect aspen leaf in a variety of colors. And, for the first time in six years of living in a state that enjoys different seasons, I have successfully mastered the art of preserving autumn leaves. I think. I’ll tell you in a few days if they all mysteriously turn brown like they have in previous years. But, I am confident. I think.

There is something very satisfying about just walking in nature. In Henry David Thoreau's essay, "Walking," he makes a plea for "absolute freedom and wildness in our lives -- in contrast to the merely civil --because man is an inhabitant and part and parcel of Nature rather than a member of society." I have become such a Granola Girl since moving to Colorado. I spend as much time as possible outside. Autumn is my favorite time of year and I have been known to actually hug trees. There, I said it. I am indeed a tree hugger. I hugged one this weekend in fact. I was in an aspen grove, picking leaves, and looked up to see the tops of the aspens swaying 40 feet above me. Leaves were flying off the trees and careening wildly through the air, the cobalt sky as a backdrop. I couldn’t help myself. I hugged an aspen while looking up through its canopy of fire-colored leaves. I had a Thoreau moment.

Last year my friend Melissa came to visit in early October and I took her to one of my favorite places– an old crumbling mine near the top of a mountain looking over the tiny mining town of Cripple Creek. The hillside is covered in aspen groves and we spent the entire day walking underneath the trees, kicking up the leaves, and admiring the views of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains to the west. We played John Denver loudly, had a picnic and just enjoyed being outside.

This weekend I went to that same spot and thought of our friendship and returned to the aspen tree where I had carved our initials to celebrate the day. The digital camera was out of batteries or I would have taken a photo to post here. I will always remember that day when I return to that space.

John Denver wrote about “Looking for Space” –

“And I'm looking for space
And to find out who I am
And I'm looking to know and understand
It's a sweet, sweet dream
Sometimes I'm almost there
Sometimes I fly like an eagle
And sometimes I'm deep in despair”

I am able to turn to Nature to find the answers I need in my life. Where once I turned to the church for understanding, I now turn to the mountains, to pine-scented air, to water bending over rocks, to the sun flowing through red leaves. Everything I need to understand myself is there. It’s carved in the tree trunks and whispered on the wind. I am dedicated to listening.

Seeking Grace in Every Step

John Denver once wrote about the Rocky Mountains as “Coming home to a place he’d never been before.” My entire life in Texas, from the time I was eleven, I felt like that. Like I was born in Texas but Colorado felt like home. Now that I live here, and although I’m thrilled to be where I am, I still feel like I’m not quite home yet. I’ve traveled all over this state in the past 6 years and the place that feels most like home is the San Juan Mountains, especially Ouray.

Hippies and New Agers frequently toss the word “vibe” around to describe that indescribable aura that attaches to different places. Vibe is the only word I can use to authentically explain my attraction to Ouray. The air is different there. The sky is bluer. The quality of light is unlike that of any other place I’ve been.

Ouray is a Victorian mining town with her feet firmly planted in the 1800s. There’s one grocery store, Duckett’s, and if you decide you want a steak to throw on the grill and it’s 7:01 p.m., you can forget about your steak dinner. Duckett’s closes promptly at 7:00 p.m., as all local groceries once did before the “Open 24 hours” signs were hung on the doors.

Ouray is not “on the way” to any other place. Everyone in Ouray is there because they purposely and determinedly chose to be there. You don’t accidentally just find yourself in Ouray, because the route there, over Red Mountain Pass via the Million Dollar Highway, is one of the most harrowing and treacherous roads in North America. You don’t drive a road like that unless you really want to be someplace.

As a result, everyone in Ouray shares a common bond – they want to be there. Townies and tourists co-exist peacefully in line at Duckett’s. In Ouray people talk to one another as if they’ve known each other quite a lot longer than the 15 minutes you shared at La Papillion waiting for your egg and bacon sourdough breakfast sandwich. You talk about the amazing scenery, the architecture, or the parade the entire town turned out for. The people who live there seem proud and happy to talk to you about their town. After all, you braved tight switchbacks and hairpin turns to be there.

When I’m there, I feel absolutely giddy. It takes 5.5 hours to drive there from my home and the entire trip I am so excited. When I pull into the Riverside Inn and unload my gear into a camper cabin on the Uncompahgre River, I just stand there and do a 360-degree turn, surveying the red cliffs that tower over the town. I listen to the river. I listen to the aspen leaves rattling against each other in the autumn breeze. I breathe in what must be the sweetest, cleanest air I’ve ever drawn into my lungs. Soon, other campers arrive and the scent of charcoal briquettes wafts across our little community of camper cabins. We sit on our front porch swings and greet the latecomers, who pull in, get out, stretch and start their own 360-degree turn.

Spending time in Ouray is like being in love as a teenager. It happens fast, before you realize what’s happening. You never want to be anywhere else, and when it’s over, your heart breaks into little pine needle chards. I get cramps in my neck as I drive away from Ouray. I am constantly tossing one last look over my shoulder at Mount Sneffels, the grand dam that towers over the San Juan Mountains. A queen and her court. The San Juan Mountains are the most beautiful and precious sight I’ve seen. They make me smile when I see them for the first time as I drive into town and I drink them in with one long stare as I leave, like a diver drawing one last sweet breath before I disappear into the murky depths of real life. Life is clearer and richer in Ouray. No place has affected me as profoundly as this little nugget of a town. It’s my hometown, my heart.

In seven days I will be there -- greeting my fellow travelers, listening to the river, spinning slowly, heart open, waiting for clarity.

Take Those Old Records from the Shelf…

So. I think I’m getting old. Tonight the winner of “Rockstar: Supernova” was crowned and my only comments about the winner are that he screams everything and I can’t understand a word he says. So. I’ve officially turned into my mother.

The older I get, the more I appreciate good lyrics, thoughtful melodies, emotional performances. Not screaming, Mohawks, piercings and tattoos. Could it be I’ve outgrown traditional rock and roll? I don’t like Nickelback and half a dozen other bands that are popular right now. I am in love with indie music. Specifically Death Cab for Cutie. Let’s use a GPS and zero in even further and say more specifically, their lead singer and songwriter, Ben Gibbard.

Let’s review, shall we? Here are the lyrics to a song that will be released by Supernova, which is fronted by none other than Tommy Lee:

“Hey Hey Hey. Ho Ho Ho.
Don’t know where else to go
There’s a really fine line between what’s yours and what’s mine.
This time I don’t want to know. You know.
I’m sick of being haunted by everything changing I know.”

Uh. Ok. Yeah.

And now a few songs written by Ben Gibbard:

From “Passenger Seat”
“I roll the window down
and then begin to breathe in
the darkest country road
and the strong scent of evergreen
from the passenger seat as you are driving me home.

Then looking upwards
I strain my eyes and try
to tell the difference between shooting stars and satellites
from the passenger seat as you are driving me home.

"do they collide?"
I ask and you smile.
with my feet on the dash
the world doesn't matter.

when you feel embarrassed then I'll be your pride
when you need directions then I'll be the guide
for all time.
for all time.”

From “Brand New Colony" (see video below for performance)
I'll be the grapes fermented, bottled and
served with the table set in my finest suit
like a perfect gentleman.

I'll be the fire escape that's bolted to the
ancient brick where you will sit
and contemplate your day.

I'll be the waterwings that save you if you
start drowning in an open tab when your
judgement's on the brink.

I'll be the phonograph that plays your favorite
albums back as you're lying there, drifting off
to sleep... drifting off to sleep...

I'll be the platform shoes; undo what heredity's done to you:
you won't have to strain to look into my eyes.
I'll be your winter coat buttoned and zipped
straight to the throat with the collar up so
you won't catch a cold.

I want to take you far from the cynics in this town
and kiss you on the mouth.
We'll cut our bodies free from the tethers of
this scene, start a brand new colony.
Where everything will change, we'll give
ourselves new names. Identities erased.
The sun will heat the ground, under our bare
feet in this brand new colony.
This Brand new colony...



From “Such Great Heights”
“I am thinking it's a sign
that the freckles in our eyes are mirror images
and when we kiss they're perfectly aligned

And I have to speculate
that God himself did make
us into corresponding shapes
like puzzle pieces from the clay”

Ok. So, there’s no comparison. Ben is brilliant, gifted and I love the way he puts his thoughts together. He is the king of metaphor and just listening to his writing inspires me to be a better writer. And there’s nothing more attractive than a man that knows how to express himself.

He scores additional points in the following categories:

1) He named the band Death Cab for Cutie after a song from The Beatles “Magical Mystery Tour”
2) He released a cover of John Lennon’s “Grow Old With Me”
3) He released a cover of Phil Collin’s “Against all Odds”
4) When he plays the electric guitar his stance is exactly like John Lennon's
5) He uses a Mac.

I think he might be the perfect man.

Anyway, so my musical tastes are changing. My iPod is filled with Death Cab for Cutie, Youth Group, Augustana, the Fray, Snow Patrol, Nada Surf, Beulah, Joshua Radin, Matt Pond PA and more bands that are popular with indie teens. I have to give kids credit these days…they are listening to more thoughtful music than I did at their age. When I was in high school I thought REO Speedwagon was the best band in the world. So, I think kids are a bit most sophisticated today and like things that are a bit “deeper” than “I’m going to keep on loving you, cos it’s the only thing I wanna do.”

Hey Hey Hey. Ho Ho Ho.

Long live Death Cab.

The Start of Something Special

Where I come from in Texas, there are two colors of leaves: Green and dead. Here in colorful Colorado, the leaves span the entire spectrum -- gold, banana yellow, rust, orange, maroon, berry red. Mid-September signals the beginning of these changes, so this weekend, I took a drive to Cripple Creek (off the beaten path, of course) to see the leaves begin their metamorphosis.

Most of the aspens in the high country had begun their annual journey to the ground -- their edges were tinted a soft yellow or orange. In two more weeks the majority of Colorado's mountains will be awash in brilliant patchworks of color. My favorite thing to do is leave the pavement at this time of year and head to the mountains on the offroads. Today we left the highway above Cripple Creek several miles out of town and went in the old fashioned way...on old mining roads. My new camera-mount system, the Sticky Pod, hung onto my Jeep for dear life and recorded the journey...

God, I love Colorado :)

Shooting Stars or Satellites?

I have been thinking a lot about death lately. Not my own, but the deaths of those close to me. I’ve lost seven aunts and uncles in four years. The hardest ones for me were Madge, and my Uncle William, who passed away only two months ago at the age of 92.

When I look at a picture of Madge, sometimes I think only of her laugh. Other times I feel such a deep sense of sorrow that I have to purposely push her memory from my head. No death has impacted me like hers. I think the reason is equal parts of being closer to her than anyone else, and having been the only one present as she passed.

Being with someone as they pass from this world can only be described as horrifying. And beautiful. I was scared. I was alone with her. But as much as I dreaded it, I would not have been anywhere else in the world.

One of the strongest memories I have about Madge is how she would stroke my hand, my arm, or my leg as we sat on the couch together watching television. She used to place her hand on me and occasionally and almost absentmindedly, stroke her thumb across my skin. I never paid much attention to it then, but now that she's gone, I remember her touch. So, as she lay dying, without even realizing it then but remembering it well now, I held her hand and stroked her skin. I remember looking at her fingernails and feeling really upset with myself that I had nicked her skin the day before as I clipped her nails. She murmured in her sleep and was talking to someone as if they were in the room with us. I felt without a doubt that it was my Uncle Budie and after nearly 50 years apart, they were about to be reunited. I whispered for her to go to him and she did.

I have lately become fascinated with “Cross Country” with John Edward, the medium who proclaims to talk to the dead. There is a part of me that feels in my bones that he is indeed able to do what he says he can do. He says that when something really unconventional happens when you’re thinking of a loved one that has passed, it’s just their way of trying to break through and let you know they are with you.

One day last summer, while camping high above Leadville, I was thinking of Madge, as I always do when I look to the stars. As a kid, I would spend the night with her on the weekends and as we crossed the yard to her house on the blackest of nights we would stop to find the Big Dipper. So that night, after the campfire was out, I stared up at the stars and asked her to send me a sign. I felt childish making such a request. And as I was thinking how silly it was, a shooting star caught my attention out of the corner of my eye. I held my breath, wondering if I had seen it or imagined it. “Madge, was that you?” My silent question was answered quickly as another shooting star, brilliant, with a long tail, arced across the night and fell…right into the Big Dipper.

Now, it could have been a coincidence, but it stopped my heart. I didn’t know what to think, and I still don’t. But John Edward knows.

Blog-in

Lately it seems that the topic of every conversation I have with friends turns to those things over which we feel we have no control. Global Warming. Gas Prices. The Bush Administration. Janelle's imminent eviction from the Big Brother house. It's easy to feel overwhelmed. And the older I get, the more it bothers me. These issues have always been present; it was just that our parents worried about them, not us. Now WE are the parents, we are the adults that can affect change in this country. Or can we?

We are living in a time where, if you have objections to the current state of affairs, you are silenced. Ask the Dixie Chicks. Yesterday the government even admitted that yes, we were indeed spying on John Lennon back in the 1960s.

JOHN LENNON: Yeah, I'd like to order a pizza (click) to be delivered to the Dakota Building. (click) Did you hang up? You still there?

DOMINOS: Yeah brother, we're here.

JOHN LENNON: Well, bollucks. What's that clicking noise? (thoughtful pause)

THE GOVERNMENT'S REASONS: But he objects to the war in Vietnam! He staged a Bed In! He has influence over American Youth! He has long hair! He sings of Love and Peace. He is not to be trusted!

So what's different today? Not much. If you don't like what's going on in the world, are we supposed to keep it to ouselves? What will they do? Put a tap on my phone? Not pick up my garbage? Take away my iPod? Don't mess with Texas.

So, those of us who grew up and didn't ask a lot of questions are suddenly asking alot of questions. What are we to do? Can we affect change? I would like to believe so. We can vote. We can make our own decisions and talk to people about why we believe the way we do. We can remember John Lennon and think what a difference he made. I suspect John also wondered at the time, "Is anyone hearing me at all?" What I respect about John was that he kept talking, kept singing, kept pushing for peace, for change...even though he wondered if it would make a difference.

And now, nearly 40 years later, people still remember John Lennon and what he stood for. He affected me. The least I can do is pay tribute to that by making my voice heard.