Sally Gerard

Riding up was very fall like with leaves on the ground, icicles in the crick clinging to sticks over little deep pools, and that smell, so difficult to describe, dirt and decaying leaves and, well, fall. The leaves had mostly left the branches of the aspens, baring the brown-grey branches. But every once-in-a-while, a wild patch of yellow would pop out of the piney green background, leaves shaking like pom-poms. The water splashing over the rocks sounded joyful.

The view takes your breath away. Layer upon layer of mountains and on past them to the far plains, a half-moon rising in late afternoon. The breeze sounds through the evergreens against a sky so blue. A dusting of snow covers the high peaks and a chipmunk skitters around fallen logs. There is a peace here.

Pixabay

There was a bright object in the sky-high and to the east of the big peak. I thought it was a planet until it began to move. It traveled from southeast to northwest steadily for several minutes. I figured it was the space station, but then its movement got erratic. It looked like it was stopping, backing up a bit, going forward again, some kind of space rogue or bandit. Then it went back to the southeast after going dark for ten seconds. Strange.

Now a shooting star and I realize I’m getting cold; I mean it is 12,000 feet or so. Crawling into the tent, I’m soon relaxed into the warm soft cocoon that is my sleeping bag. My feet slowly change from blocks of ice to warm and toasty, probably due to the large body warmer I tucked next to my belly. I faded into dreams of elk in the gully.

Pixabay

The dust trail following her pick-up enveloped everything behind her, like driving through one world and into another. Mel knew she should slow down, but the anger drove her foot onto the peddle. Had the floor under the gas been weaker, she’d have shoved her foot through it like Fred Flintstone.

Twelve miles to pavement was a good thing, for maybe she’d burn it out by then. Otherwise, God help anyone innocently driving on the little two-lane highway. It wasn’t one thing that had brought this uncontrollable rage, but months of shoving down someone else’s crap. It’s just that this last load had triggered an avalanche that was now careening down the dirt road.

I want to thank all of you who made a donation to support Make-a-Wish Colorado through the Trailblaze 2019 event that Elaine and I took part in. The weekend is one neither of us will soon forget.

We gathered for supper Friday evening and received our final instructions for the 24-mile hike on Saturday. Advised to get to bed, we complied and at least rested our feet, too keyed up to sleep much. Rising at 2:15, we readied ourselves, ate a bit of breakfast and loaded up in the vans to be transported to the trail.

Headlamps shone on the switchbacks in the first steep miles hiked in the dark. But the sun was lovely in its rising and we were on top of a vista to see it at that point. Thankfully, the day was mostly cloudy as we were both concerned about how much the heat can zap our energy.

We needn’t have worried about motivation or encouragement. At each of five aid stations, the Make-a-Wish staff and volunteers welcomed us, cared for us, and sent us on our way with courage to the next station. It was, of course, a long hike, but we finished and with an average mile time that we were thrilled to have achieved.

Hours later, we finally hit the sack, saying we’d never do this again.

But morning has a way of bringing a new perspective. The mission to grant wishes for kids who suffer with medical burdens we’ll never be able to understand, is something we can all get behind. The little we did and you in supporting us, pales next to what those kids must contend with every day of their lives. Be ready for Trailblaze 2020.

America is not a Gun

America is mountains, prairies, and oceans.

America is a people

with courage

with joy

with its share of sadness and shock.

America is cities, towns, and rural populations.

America is community

with pot lucks

with open-air cafes

with a diversity that is celebrated.

America is parks, open-spaces, and fields.

America is a lover of creation

with farming and ranching

with hiking and biking

with kids playing in fountains and cricks

America is more than the news.

America is in the still small moments

with holding that shaking hand

with stopping to help someone who is stranded

with sharing your sandwich because they don’t have one.

America is not a gun.

Do you find that certain groups of people are simply more down-to-earth and friendly? Not caught up in who has what, but more concerned with catching up, helping when needed, providing hospitality?

When we travel to antique engine shows, the community we find there are all about each other and not concerned with the almighty “self.” Our friends from all over, and we maybe see them once or twice a year, gather us in and make us feel like we’ve been camping together for weeks. Forgot the gas? A full can appears. Battery died? It’s over charging on someone’s pick-up battery. Need water? A five-gallon bucket appears. Can’t get the awning up by yourself? A host of help has it up and secure in minutes.

When there is a need, people notice and act. And we do the same, and when the show is over and the spectators gone, we gather around for a provided BBQ and homemade ice-cream because one engine has been cranking it out all afternoon. Fellowship at its finest.

What is it about the sound of water that attracts us? The waves crashing to shore on rocks and beaches, the mountain stream rushing over everything swollen with the melting snow, the smaller crick trickling down through meadows and over logs, little fish resting in the shallow hollows, and rain on the roof bringing much-needed moisture to the parched land.

The sound is strength and peace and spirit all in one. It soothes, inspires, and makes us want to dip our toes in, or our heads on a hot day. On a couple of our hikes, we’ve come across log benches next to little cricks where a person could just sit and take it all in. Life just seems easier somehow when you can walk along a beach or next to a stream or stand out in the gentle rain and receive the blessing of water.

I read an article about extreme athletes. I mean like running the entire Appalachian Trail (2,189 miles) in order to beat the last fastest time recorded or running 100-mile races to the point where your kidneys shut down. The article was about human endurance and the scientists were trying to figure out what makes us keep going, and why certain people push themselves so hard that they risk death to defeat an opponent whether it be human or some outdoor goal they’ve set their mind to conquer.

Our brains tell us when we’ve had enough, but we don’t always listen, and we can find ways around the message. Apparently, our brain is like a mediator with our physical body, and if we can keep our thoughts strong, positive, and visualize the goal, we can kind of overcome the body and keep going. Focusing on the positive, “I’ve already hiked 17 miles, so I can totally do the last seven!” It’s that “look how far I’ve come” attitude that can keep us going.

As we’ve hiked over these last several weeks and anticipate our 23.7 miles on August 10^th, our mantra is simple: “Take the next step.” We are not out to break any speed record, but simply to keep in mind those kids who cannot be out on the trail and who need a wish granted in their lives to have that moment of normalcy away from their medical tethers for a brief time.

While summer credit recovery students are winding down, I’ve had some sweet interactions with my summer writer/readers. One suffered from screen time fatigue that was very real and made doing an online course difficult. One had a slow start, but we ended up laughing together at the various topics he chose to write about. And one, with autism, and who I know struggled in traditional brick and mortar school, rocked my socks off in my gothic literature course.

Now fall courses are slowly being assigned for me to set up, and I just finished my company’s mandatory compliancy training. I am contemplating how best to make darn sure that my students feel welcomed and valued, and that they have an advocate in me. One incident from the spring semester stands out to me and could have been tragic for the kiddo.

She wrote an assignment about an important event in her life and it was clear to me that depression had a dark hold on her, so I reached out. While she ended up being fine, she was surprised that I noticed and that is what continues to haunt me. How many of those soft pleas for help go unnoticed?

We have to notice. We need to listen. We can offer love, support, and more than probably anything else, that “I see you there and you matter.”

I try not to judge, but I am human. People who refuse to follow wilderness regulations can make it both dangerous for others out to enjoy the wild, and annoying. If I want to see wildlife, and dog owners won’t keep their dog(s) leashed, there is no way I might spot a deer or mountain goat or moose because they’ve been warned off by the dog free to roam wherever they wish. Dangerous because the owner really has no idea how their dog will react when coming face-to-face with other dogs, humans, or horses.

On one hike, I crossed paths with six owners, seven dogs. Only one had their dog on a leash which I thanked them profusely for, having decided a couple weeks back that this is the thing I need to do: thank the ones who are doing what they should be doing. But on this particular hike, I’d reached my tolerance limit, especially after reading so many trail notes from others who are equally annoyed by dogs off lead.

As the hiker’s dog approached, I simply stopped where I was and politely asked them to leash their dog. The first one told me the dog was friendly and I needn’t worry, to which I responded that I’d like them to please leash the dog, who was growling at me in a decidedly non-friendly manner. She did and I thanked her for following the wilderness regulation. Then she told me there wasn’t any regulation that said dogs had to be leashed. I think she must not have learned how to read.

Most owners will politely leash their dog when asked, but I have no illusions that they remain leashed once they pass me. One lady leashed her two big American Bull Dogs and as she passed me, she proclaimed to the dogs: “Come on, this lady hates you.” Just minutes after, a line of little girls on horseback came up the trail. Loose dogs can cause terrible wrecks with horses. I warned the lead rider, but I shouldn’t have had to. No trails where dogs are required to be leashed should leave other hikers at the mercy of those owners who think the rules don’t apply to them, but especially trails that see a lot of human traffic.

I now release the soapbox.