Year of Spiritual Thinking, Month 6, Week 3
Life-lessons From On the Road
Over the past ten days, I drove 1,885 miles on a speaking and teaching trip, from my home outside Santa Fe to Colorado, then central Wyoming, far northwest Wyoming and back again. Along the way, I was reminded of some important lessons.
My first gig was in Boulder, Colorado, where I was the kick-off speaker for a new series at the Boulder Public Library on the wonders of nature nearby.
Thanks to the BeeChicas, an amazing group of four women who came up with the idea and funding for the year-long speaker series, and Boulder Public Library for hosting me and attracting a great audience.
(For those who have asked, my talk, “The Fantastical World of Everyday Nature—In and Around Us” was recorded. Once my slides are edited in, the talk will be available online, and I’ll post the link.)
In Boulder, where I lived for a year many moons ago, and wrote my first book, Pieces of Light: A Year on Colorado’s Front Range, I visited with three friends. All of them were there for me in differing ways during the journey with my late husband’s brain cancer. In a strange bit of synchrony, two of them are now primary caregivers for spouses (or ex-spouses) who are dealing with serious brain diseases.
I didn’t spend a lot of time with any of them—my stop in Boulder was just overnight and I had miles yet to go, but the conversations we had about life and caregiving and gardening and the meaning of home were grounding and thought-provoking.
From Boulder, I drove north to Casper, Wyoming, to teach at Wyoming Writers’ annual conference. On the way I stopped in Fort Collins to visit one of my nephews and his dad, my brother-in-law. Even though I didn’t have much time (see above!), it was enough to renew our connection. The warmth of that visit stayed with me as I drove on.
First Lesson: Find time to stay connected with people you care about. Those relationships enrich our lives.
From Fort Collins to Casper, I drove two-lane highways, instead of taking the faster route on I-25. Over the miles, I watched snowy mountain peaks appear and recede on the horizon, counted pronghorn antelope—I saw almost 200, including one newborn fawn scrambling after their mom on shaky legs—and let my mind wander.
That stretch of what a friend calls “windshield time” didn’t yield any earth-shattering realizations. But simply allowing my attention to roam the wild landscapes felt soothing. I was present, with no judgment or prescription or deadline.
Second Lesson: Un-programmed time can be profoundly restful. Not every moment needs to or should be productive; just letting our minds empty is healthy.
In Casper, after teaching at the conference, I spent a lovely late afternoon at a public fishing access on the North Platte River with fellow conference faculty members Laura Pritchett and Aaron Abeyta.
Aaron put on his waders, selected a fly-rod from the case on the roof rack of his dusty SUV, and waded into the North Platte, running high and cold, to cast for trout. Laura and I wandered a sandy trail along the river bank, dodging busy harvester ant colonies, all out foraging for seeds and anything else edible to feed their sisters underground.
We watched a mule deer as she watched us, and I pointed out familiar native plants and talked about their relationships in weaving the wild community of that riverbank. It was a treat to hang out with people who love the more-than-human world as much as I do.
Third Lesson: Get outside! Especially after spending all day in a windowless conference center. Your sanity will thank you.
From Casper, I drove four hours to Cody, where I soaked up a visit to my home landscape, which is, in the words of my friend Connie, “green as Ireland” this spring. I hiked with she and her husband Jay one afternoon and we saw more wildflowers than I have ever seen out in the sagebrush country of the Bighorn Basin. I was in heaven.
I was reminded of something I have often thought since shepherding my mom and my husband through “good” deaths at home in the same year:
When I die, I hope that the materials that make up this body I call “me” get recycled into a big sagebrush plant, so I can live another life as the aromatic plant that is, hands down, my favorite being in the world. I want to continue to nourish to the landscapes I love.
From Cody, I drove four hours southwest to Ring Lake Ranch to census the cheatgrass and other invasive weeds. The wind howled as I headed up the Wind River to the ranch, and howled as a group of the ranch staff helped me hand-weed cheatgrass. Huge gusts rolled down the valley that night, rattling the windows of my cabin and banging the screen door.
I drove away from the ranch the next day with the wind behind me, beginning the 14-hour trek home to Santa Fe and the heat dome over the Southwest.
Three hours and not even a third of the way home, I was feeling weary and rushed when I passed a young man hitchhiking at a very lonely highway intersection. I drove by—I’m an older, small, single female and I am very cautious—but something in his face caused me to turn around.
And I was glad I did when I learned his story: He is hiking the Continental Divide Trail, and had backpacked from the Mexican border all the way through Arizona and New Mexico, and then gotten snowed out in Colorado. So he leapfrogged north and hiked southern Wyoming, where the winter was dry and the snow mostly melted. Now he was hitchhiking south to make another try at Colorado.
When he realized I knew something about nature, he began to ask questions about insects and plants and birds. By the time I left him where our routes parted, I was charmed. And I thanked the universe for the impulse to turn around and pick him up so we could connect.
Many hours and miles later, I arrived home to the hot and drought-burned high desert. When I walked out to the road to collect my mail, the claret cup cactus were blooming under the juniper tree next to my driveway, brilliant scarlet flowers singing their song to hummingbirds, heat and drought be damned. My heart swelled with love. Home.
And there’s the fourth lesson: Shine your light brightly, no matter the conditions. Be bold. Be kind. Share your gifts generously. Love this life, whatever it brings your way.
Blessings to you all!
Loved the story of your travels and speaking, interactions and insights. My take away, which I practice since I am a natural Connector at core: Find time to stay connected with people you care about. Those relationships enrich our lives. One thing I am witnessing is that many people as they age are not connected and distance themselves. It's interesting to see but sad in many ways. Thanks dear Susan for writing words of earth empowerment and linking your connections from plants to flowers to people.
Lovely photos.
Rebecca and I went on what may well be my last hike the Thursday before last. (I have since thrown out my left knee and trying to prevent a fall, messed up my right shoulder.) It was from the parking lot to Point No Point on Washington's Kitsap Peninsula. The trail led through part of town, past a freshwater marsh, to the lighthouse and down a trail parallel to the Salish Sea surrounded with Nootka roses just starting to bloom. The marsh was full of red-winged blackbirds and in all we saw 29 species of birds, including Western Tanager, Brown-headed Cowbird. Rufous and Anna's Hummingbirds, Bald Eagle, Red-tailed Hawk, Osprey. Mourning Dove, Common Yellowthroat, and Pigeon Guillemot. But perhaps the best of the day was seeing a pair of Marbled Murrelets fishing together in the surf. All and all a great day!