Author: KARLA_HENDERSON

“Don’t it always seem to go
That you don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone?
They paved paradise, put up a parking lot.”

Joni Mitchell’s famous lines from Big Yellow Taxi are more important today than they were in 1969.

Fortunately, I live in a community where public land abounds. Nevertheless, private holdings remain under threat for future development. If all private land was developed adjacent to these public lands, huge homes and multi-family tourist developments would be visible everywhere equivalent to paving paradise.

I am proud to be on the Board of Directors of the Estes Valley Land Trust (EVLT). Our mission is to conserve land throughout the Estes Valley and surrounding areas for current and future generations. Conservation is defined as the prevention of wasteful use of a resource. Conservation is planned management to prevent exploitation, destruction, or neglect of a natural area.

When I think about conserving land, I dream of beautiful landscapes as well as abundant habitat for wildlife. I believe EVLT speaks for the one-legged trees as well as for the furred, finned, and feathered wildlife in our community.

Our local Land Trust is one of 948 such organizations across the United States. A land trust is an organization that works to protect both public and private lands through conservation easements.  A landowner can voluntarily enter into a legal agreement with the Estes Valley Land Trust that permanently restricts land use to protect the nature-based values of a property.

A conservation easement assures conservation into the future. If a property is sold, the easement remains with it. The property owner can be eligible for certain state and federal income tax benefits. Aside from the tangible benefits, an easement demonstrates the environmental consciousness of landowners who want to maintain the natural beauty and plentiful wildlife in an area such as ours.

In the daunting era of rapid climate change, the conservation of land is a positive action to take. Whether it is one acre or a thousand acres, the EVLT attempts to keep our community as natural as possible. I am grateful that the adjacent area south of downtown is in a permanent easement that enables wildlife to freely roam the area. Just this week, EVLT trust approved two property easements adjacent to Rocky Mountain National Park and US Forest Service Land that will be kept in their most natural state into perpetuity.

I am thankful that people in my community appreciate what we’ve got!

Wordle is a fun distraction every day. I am not particularly good at it, but I usually get over 90% of the words figured out in the third to sixth try. The game is fun, and I don’t get obsessed with it since there is only one word a day. The game epitomizes my interest in words.

Words consist of meanings and sound. Without words, my thoughts cannot become my reality.

Words are the foundation of communication. I love learning new words. If I hear/read a word that I do not know, I often look it up. I am certainly not a word scholar, but I love to find words that express something in a way that is accurate and compelling for me.

New words come into social vernacular all the time. I read last week that “permacrisis” is the word of the year indicating that society seems to be in “an extended period of instability and insecurity permanent crisis.”

Before computers, I had a Thesaurus sitting at my desk that I used in writing to avoid overusing some words. For example, something could be described as “pretty,” but it might be more meaningful to use a word like attractive, cute, appealing, picturesque, comely, exquisite, lovely, or handsome.

I find the sound of words interesting. One of my favorite words is “serendipity.” I first heard it related to a folk group called the Serendipity Singers in the 1960’s. The “the occurrence and development of events by chance in a happy or beneficial way” is a word I love to use.

Non-English words are fun and handy. A word I have enjoyed is “laissez-faire” –an attitude of letting things take their own course. Another French phrase that I relish is “joie de vivre” used to express a cheerful enjoyment of life.

A BIG word I learned as a child was “harbinger.” In Iowa at that time, and I am not so sure it is still true today, seeing a robin in early March was a harbinger of spring. I loved seeing that harbinger.

I don’t need to use obtuse words but sometimes the right word is necessary to convey the meanings I want to share. Concomitantly, I am learning the necessity of “economy of expressions.” Rather than using lots of words to convey a meaning, sometimes using just the right word is best. I abhor the use of superlatives like “very” that are not as descriptive as the right word. Hyperbole can be avoided by clear descriptions.

Finding the right word, whether it is winning at Wordle or nailing a description is invigorating for me. I cannot imagine a world without interesting words that enable my expression. Words have power.

In a 2000 book entitled Bowling Alone, Richard Putnam describes how the US has been experiencing a declining social capital. A community’s level of social capital is determined by the strength of the relationships forged within social networks. Simply, Putnam suggested that people would rather bowl alone rather than make a commitment to a league.

I cannot relate to the bowling metaphor, but I am realizing that if people fail to meaningfully connect with one another with a commitment to the common good, we cannot reap the benefits of trust, reciprocity, and cooperation.

I feel fortunate to have grown up in a rural community where people helping each other was a common practice. People knew they needed others to be successful. The old traditions of barn raisings or quilting bees are romantic examples, but that sense existed when I was growing up.

I purposely chose to live in a small town upon retirement because I wanted to try to re-build my social capital. I did not have a sense of community living in the medium sized cities most of my adult life. However, having friends and relationships through work, community band, running club, and recreational teams was different than knowing people who know many of the same people I know.

As I age, I recognize that groups come and go in my life. Some stay for a long time. When I lived in Wisconsin, a group of women got together monthly to do various shared activities. That group has remained connected over the years, and we have had several reunions. As we age, we realize that we should get together more often.

My greatest source of social capital these days is the volunteers with whom I work at Rocky Mountain National Park. I love this park and want to volunteer to give back. I had no idea that dozens of other people felt the same way. We share a common bond in our commitment to the park and to one another. Those volunteer comrades are the heart and soul of my retired life.

I am indebted to North Carolina State University for the opportunities in the last ten years of my professional career. The nickname for NCSU athletics is the Wolfpack. A Rudyard Kipling quote associated with a wolfpack is, “The Strength of the Pack is the Wolf… The Strength of the Wolf is the Pack!” That describes for me what social capital and community is about. The strengths of any community are the individuals—the strength of individuals is their commitment to their communities.

My least favorite holiday is Halloween. I am glad when it is over each year.

I do like carving pumpkins, candy corn, images of black cats, and festive autumn colors. Beyond that, however, little endears me to the holiday.

Halloween began over 2000 years ago in the pagan festival of Samhain among the Celts of ancient Britain and Ireland. On November 1, the new year marked the beginning of the winter period. It was often associated with death and warding off evil. Traditions around those concerns developed on October 31 and remain today.

I didn’t go trick or treating as a child since we lived in the country. The alternative was a Halloween Party at our church. I am not blaming my feelings for Halloween based on my upbringing. On the other hand, I did not get overly excited about church Halloween even though we did activities like wear costumes and bob for apples. I will, however, always remember (circa 1956) when my cousins dressed up at Elvis Pressley and a hound dog at the Halloween party.

I am one of those curmudgeons who turns off all the lights on Halloween night and retreats to the back rooms of my house so children will NOT come to beg at my door. Candy rots teeth and makes people chubby—how is that for being a Halloween killjoy?

My biggest problem is the focus on horror, scary things, creepiness, and the grotesque. I went to one horror movie in my life when I was in high school. I pulled my coat over my head the whole time and have never gone to another such movie. I find it offensive that Halloween regalia can make fun of people who are “different.”

Costumes do not have to be ugly and grotesque. I have had fun seeing the outfits that creative people can put together and wonder why I didn’t think of that. However, Halloween creativity is a stretch for me, except for my Fat Bear costume in 2019 (see photo).

I am glad that I live in a community that has a fun Halloween tradition. In Estes Park, residents come to the main street blocked off for 2-3 hours. Children as well as adults (and sometimes dogs) dress up in costumes and go store to store to garner free treats. Local organizations and businesses serve complimentary hot dogs, chili, and cocoa. People stroll on the streets and greet each other along the way.

Halloween is what it is. I do not disparage people who look forward to Halloween rituals–Happy Halloween! It’s just not for me…

Richard Lingard stated, “You can discover more about a person in an hour of play than in a year of conversation.” I agree with this conclusion after years of observing people and their play and leisure habits. I sometimes project an (in)ability to play.

Watching animals play brings me extraordinary joy. I love seeing children engage in spontaneous play behavior. As I think about play, however, I realize that I am not exceptionally good at it. People watching me “at play” might conclude that I am mostly purposeful and not playful.

Play means to take part in activity for enjoyment rather than for a serious or practical resolve. I take immense pride in the leisure activities that encompass my retirement. However, my play usually involves purpose. If I hike, I have a destination. Band rehearsal is in preparation for upcoming concerts. I volunteer to be helpful. I am not necessarily playful in these activities.

Nevertheless, play is ubiquitous in my world. It brings great enjoyment. As someone who has devoted my professional career to understanding leisure and play behavior, and now encouraging responsible play in the outdoors, I think often about the meanings and value of play. I am concluding that play is leisure but not all leisure is play as I reflect on my life.

The developmental attributes of play for children are well documented. Fred Rogers noted that “Play is often talked about as if it were a relief from serious learning. But for children, play is serious learning. Play is really the work of childhood.” Because I have the privileged means, I have found for myself that leisure is the play of retirement with purpose.

The anticipation and involvement in play or any type of recreation involves fun and enjoyment. In my research and systematic observations over the years, as well as in my personal life, I know that enjoyment leads to people’s motivations. For individuals to act often requires the anticipation of pleasure. Jogging and dancing are ways to be active and may have different meanings for the play of individuals.

Play may be something that does not need definition. It just needs to be enjoyed an hour (or a minute) at a time.

I am learning about communication and visitor behavior as a volunteer at Rocky Mountain National Park. Managing expectations is a key idea.

Expectations are assumptions about something in the future. They are usually positive and based on prior experiences and present desires. Expectations, however, may not be reality grounded. Managing expectations is the practice of communicating information to prevent gaps between people’s perceptions and situational realities.

A fine line exists between encouraging people to visit the park and advising them about what they need to know as they anticipate the visit. Naomi Karten described the challenge as managing people who want more, better, faster, easier, and NOW. Those expectations may not be possible. Under promising and over delivering may be a good strategy.

People set both intentional and unintentional expectations. Everything we do, everything we say, everything we don’t do, everything we don’t say connotes expectations about upcoming events. For these reasons, expectations require managing to ensure that individuals hold realistic and intentional hopes.

Expectations clearly go two ways in any relationship. For example, park rangers and volunteers expect people to read signs and obey the rules. Visitors expect that they will be able to enjoy the park freely without impediments. Mismatched expectations can create disappointment. Honest messages about being PATIENT are necessary.

I have been thinking about the expectations I have in my personal life. I realize that I am happier if I keep my expectations lower. I am also discovering that my life is less frustrating if I don’t expect perfection from myself or others. I want to set the bar high for my behavior as well as from others, but I also aspire to be patient and forgiving when things do not go as hoped.

Planning for the worst outcome and yet hoping for the best helps me level my expectations. If I don’t expect certain things to happen, I am more likely to be surprised than disappointed. Managing my own expectations is an ongoing challenge. I hope my work in the park also helps others recognize that better, faster, and easier positive recreation experiences require patience.

Dad wanted a farm dog—one that would help him in herding livestock and be a watch dog on the farm. He wanted a dog not coddled by his daughters.  

Once us girls were in college, Dad had a chance to train his desired loyal hard working furry companion. He found someone giving away a puppy—a yellow lab/German shepherd motley mix. The pup slept in a nail keg when he arrived. Thus, he was named Kegger.

Everything started out well for Dad who thought he could train this dog. Kegger was not a quick learner, but he was only a puppy. He mostly followed Dad around and got into typical puppy curiosity troubles.

Farm dogs did not live indoors. Our dogs, however, spent nights in a warm enclosed porch. During the day, they were free to roam but usually stayed nearby waiting for a human to emerge.

One summer morning when he was a couple years old, Kegger went with my dad to do chores and then disappeared for several hours. Dad was concerned hoping that Kegger had not been hit by a car. Midafternoon mom got a call from the YMCA camp that was two miles down the road. The director said a yellow dog showed up and one of the neighbors thought it might belong to the Hendersons. Kegger had endeared himself to every child he encountered at camp that day. Dad retrieved him, apologized, and promised Kegger would not return.

He kept a close eye on Kegger for several days and tied him up if he was away hoping that Kegger would be cured of his roaming and forget the campers. When Dad thought Kegger had learned his lesson, he was under less scrutiny. Within days of Kegger’s freedom, however, the camp called and said Kegger had come for another visit. Camp was over in two weeks so Dad thought the problem would end once the children went home.

All was well into the fall and Kegger kept by Dad’s side. One late autumn day, however, my mother who was a reading specialist at our local elementary school, was assigned playground duty. When she went outside, she found Kegger nuzzling every child that would pay attention to him. Dad came to town and took him home.

This day at school was not isolated. Kegger set off to school (or camp) whenever he had a chance. He was addicted to children who would love on him.

Kegger was loyal to Dad but not committed enough to stay home willingly and tend to farm activities if children were an option. He lived a long life as a lovable mutt who eventually abandoned his wandering ways. My Dad adored Kegger, but Kegger never became a hard-working farm dog.

Footnote: My father turns 99 this month in heaven. I love remembering stories about him and his adventures, especially with animals.

A cool evening mist descends as the herd of 35 elk graze in Upper Beaver Meadows. A 6 x 6-point bull keeps an eye on his harem as he leisurely munches grass. A “spike” (2-year-old male with single antlers) gets too close to the herd and the bull hustles him away. Another hefty bull bugles in the distance and heads toward the harem.

The two big bulls square off to fight each other. The cows and calves stampede away. The guys wrangle. Out of nowhere, four small young opportunistic and eager bulls appear and advance toward the cows. Pandemonium ensues as the young bulls try to lure the cows with them. The big bulls continue fighting. One young bull succeeds in cutting off a half dozen cows and calves and they run away from the rest.

The fighting bulls stop. The winner is unclear. Each trots off in different directions away from the cows. Two younger bulls corral the remaining females and exit over the bluff out of ear or eyesight.

It’s the elk rut season. I spend 2-3 nights each week volunteering in the park with the Elk Bugle Corps observing drama as described above. The charge to volunteers is to keep the elk safe from the people, the people safe from the elk, and the people safe from one another.

I enjoy the evenings in the park. I have developed, however, a love/hate relationship with this time of the year. I feel sorry for the male elk driven by their hormones to endanger their lives in quests to dominate cows. For 10 ½ months a year, the bull elk have their “gentlemen’s club” where they hang out with each other and enjoy the mountain air. When the rut starts, they become mortal enemies in vying for the attention of the cows.

The reality is that the cows are in charge. Bulls can bugle all they want and roll in their urine and mud to become as attractive as possible to the females. They can fight and posture, but the ladies will determine who they want to father their offspring.

Determining winners and losers among the bull elk is hard to say. The bull who impregnates the most cows is a winner, but the consequences can be high. The young bulls may not be successful in younger years, but if they get big enough and live long enough, they will have their opportunities. The spikes can be pitiful since they want to be with their mommas but are chased away by jealous older bulls.

I am fascinated by this fall entertainment and am relieved when it is over. Calmness will return to the park, and cows will reunite to wait for babies to be born in May. The bulls will congregate in their “man meadows” as best buddies as they pass time until their antlers fall off and begin growing in the spring. The cycle continues…

When I was a teenager, I had dreams of grandeur in making a dramatic difference in the world—finding the cure for cancer or being the champion of world peace. Those grand goals did not come to fruition and yet, I am making a difference in other ways. The Starfish Story has served as an inspiration for me in recent years.

A man was walking along the beach after a heavy storm. During the storm, debris from the sea washed up on the shore- seaweed, driftwood, and various shells adorned the moist sand. In the distance, along the shoreline, the man saw a child playing in the surf. As he grew closer, he saw that the child was running inland, picking something up from the sand, and then throwing it into the ocean. He would time his run so that he could get as far out as possible without getting overwhelmed by the waves.

As the man got closer, he saw that the ground was littered with countless starfish of various sizes, each drying out in the sun. The boy was collecting as many as he could and throwing them back into the water.

“What are you doing?” the man asked.

Without stopping, the boy replied, “the storm washed all these starfish up, and they’re going to dry out in the sun. I’m throwing them back into the water so they’ll survive.”

The man looked around and noted just how many starfish there were- far too many for a child to collect in time. “But there’s too many,” he said. “You should just go play, you can’t possibly make a difference.”

The boy picked up another starfish and threw it back into the water. “Made a difference to that one.”

Anyone can make an impact in someone’s life. Sometimes a small act can have an influence not forgotten.

In the Information Office at Rocky Mountain, a wall hanging says, “They may forget what you said but they will never forget how you made them feel.” I think about that often as I respond to questions. I hope that people not only get answers but also feel positive about the park.

I am reminded of chaos theory, and specifically the butterfly effect, when I think about making a difference. The butterfly effect concept concerns any situation where a slight change may have larger consequences. The thing about making a difference is often we have no idea what effect, positive or negative, we might be having on others.

I often do not know what my words or actions portend, but I believe in working together, small efforts can have larger implications in the world.

They say that you never forget your first love. I can say that about my first “indoor” kitty. As I unabashedly proclaim, I am a cat person. That affinity, however, has developed over the years and began with my first cat named DJ.

DJ was a 9-pound gray tabby. This story is nothing remarkable except for what she came to mean to me. Many pets are not remarkable but their relationships to humans make them extraordinary.

DJ originally owned my friend Deb. I got to know both Deb and DJ when I was in graduate school in 1977. When Deb and I lived together, I mostly ignored DJ as did Deb. Eventually, however, DJ snuck into my life, and I ended up being her primary caretaker for years.

An amiable cuddly cat would not describe DJ. She didn’t like other cats or most people. One day she pushed another cat out a two-story window. The other cat used one of its nine lives and lived unscathed, except for its eternal fear of DJ.

DJ and I gave each other the space she needed. If she had food and a clean litter box, she didn’t want much else. Sometimes she would cuddle up next to me on the couch, but without a moment’s notice, sprint off and lounge in another room by herself for hours.

She avoided me if she saw a suitcase come out. Consequently, when I returned home, DJ would walk up to me as I was unpacking, establish eye contact, and disdainfully and purposely sit and turn her back on me. I was duly punished!

When DJ was 17 years old, she developed kidney disease. I did what I could to make her comfortable, but she really did not like a special diet. She began to lose weight and mellowed significantly.

The night that she passed I knew from her shallow breathing that the end was near. I stroked her head and thought about all she had meant to me over the years-living in four different states and double that number of homes, people coming in and out of my life, huddling together as a hurricane bashed our North Carolina house, watching as I graded thousands of papers, and reading together May Sarton’s accounts of her fur persons.

I love cats, and DJ will always be my first most special feline fur person.