Author: KARLA_HENDERSON

One of my volunteer associates at the Information Office at Rocky Mountain National Park asked me in jest after a busy morning, “How many lives did you save today?” We like to think that what we tell people helps them to think through their park plans and assure they are prepared for their visit and especially for hiking. You never know if you made a difference and saved a life.

I think about the importance of prevention since I had a career in a field that was about enjoying life in healthy and safe ways. A story I told my students illustrated the difference between prevention and treatment. A beautiful cliffside was on the outskirts of a city. People loved to hike to the top but there was a problem. People sometimes fell off the cliff and needed medical attention. One solution was to station an ambulance at the bottom of the hill so immediate treatment would be available. There are, however, interventions to prevent these accidents. One radical means was to close the trail and not allow anyone to the cliff. That solution would deny the beauty of the experience to people. Other interventions might be better such as constructing a low fence at the top with appropriate signage to warn against falls. Educating people about the safe enjoyment of the area was also an option. This example illustrated the difference between treatment (having an ambulance available), and prevention (helping people enjoy safely).

Most parks have Search and Rescue (SAR). The idea of Preventive Search and Rescue (PSAR), however, is more important. My volunteer jobs in the park are PSAR—to give people information so they know conditions and to recommend appropriate options and gear to thwart possible negative incidences. All accidents are not preventable, but steps can mitigate them.

An issue with deterrence is that it is difficult to measure prevention. Unfortunately, prevention does not lend itself easily to experimental and control group designs. We cannot give some people safety information like teaching them how to swim, and not give it to others, and then compare the difference in terms of who survived and who did not. Therefore, we do the best job to encourage people to gain skills and information to make good judgments and not drown or fall off a cliff. Positive recreation experiences can enhance mental and physical health.

I am thankful that volunteering and working as an educator has had the potential to heighten the quality of life for people by minimizing negative experiences. I hope every day that my PSAR efforts offer an “ounce of prevention” to save lives even if I cannot prove it. As ordinary people, we often do not know what positive influence words and actions may have on others.

I want to put my bird feeder out for the winter. My kitties love to watch through the window as birds feast on the treats. I cannot put the feeders out, however, until I am sure the bears have gone into hibernation. I do not want to tempt them to visit and get themselves in trouble.

I did not have much association with bears until I moved to Colorado. I had a respect for bears in camping activities, but I didn’t know much about bears until recently. I am learning through my work as a volunteer Bear Rover in Rocky Mountain National Park.

I have the pleasure of volunteering at Moraine Park Campground once a week in the summer to do bear education. Volunteers rove campsite to campsite and remind people why keeping their food away from the bears by putting it in bear boxes or appropriately concealing it in their locked cars is important.

The bears we have are Black Bears, regardless of whether they are black, brown, or tan. These bears look and act different than Grizzly Bears that are in the mountains further north of Colorado. Grizzlies were once common in the area before the park was established but were extirpated at the beginning of the 20^th century.

Black Bears are afraid of people—they just want a convenient meal from people if they can get it. These bears are omnivores with a diet that consists of insects and plants. Opportunistically they will eat meat, but they are not hunters. In the fall, they go into hyperphagia when they consume as much as they can—up to 20,000 calories a day.

A myth about bears is that they hibernate by going into a deep sleep for months. They do not hibernate like some other mammals. Their bodies slow down, and they take exceptionally long naps, but it is common for Black bears to wake up during the winter. They usually cannot find much to eat so go back to bed until spring offers them tasty cuisines.

A local card store has advice cards for sale about what we can learn from animals and flora. I liked the ideas about bears. “Live large” and “eat well” is good advice. I also like bear advice pertaining to “living with the seasons.” I am not a napper but the notion of taking a good long nap does have salience on chilly winter days.

I enjoy knowing about bears and seeing them infrequently in the park. They live the best lives they can. I am glad I can protect them and help others realize the effort needed to assure that they do not get into trouble. Unfortunately, a fed bear can end up a dead bear. I’ll wait just a little bit longer before I put up my winter bird feeder.

I was on a zoom call during the pandemic with friends. The moderator posed a question that everyone could answer if they wished. She asked, “With what person living or dead would you most like to have dinner?” About half of the friends on the call concurred with me that the person was John Denver.

I spent the summer of 1971 working at a camp in Colorado. I fell in love with the wide-open spaces of the mountains, the music of running brooks, the sighting of wild animals, and the invigoration of hiking. I also fell in love with John Denver. “Rocky Mountain High” was released in 1972 and solidified my love for the mountains as expressed by the folksy singing and inspiring words about nature from John Denver.

A high school friend first heard John Denver in 1970 when she was a senior at the University of Iowa. One evening she was writing a paper at the Student Union. An official told her she would have to leave because a singer named John Denver was going to entertain in that room that evening. She plunked down two quarters and said she was going to stay for whoever this guy was. In the middle of the first song, she stopped working to listen. This guy was good. Months later John Denver had his first hit song.

For 50 years, John Denver’s music has inspired me. For example, in 1974 I went to Turkey for six months as part of an international 4-H staff exchange. The only cassette tape I took was John Denver’s “Rocky Mountain High.” Listening to that tape helped to assuage the loneliness I sometimes felt.

Upon returning home from Turkey, I gave over 70 presentations throughout Iowa to crowds as small as six people to over 2000. I put together a montage of slides with music to show to give a flavor of the experience I had. “Back Home Again” was the lead song that expressed my joy in being back in Iowa as well as to acknowledge my homes in Turkey.

I heard John Denver in concert several times. I drove miles if I knew he was performing. I owned his every recording. I never tired of listening and loved the time of the year when I felt justified in playing his Christmas albums, including the one with the Muppets.

Several years ago, I was asked to write a chapter for a book entitled Making a Difference in Academic Life. I felt flattered to think that I belonged with the other individuals chosen from my field. Not sure how to frame this chapter, I found the phrase “the things that we believe in” from “Poems, Prayers, and Promises” to be a way to describe my commitment to my profession and its future.

John Denver left us too soon. When I heard the news on that October day in 1997, I sat and cried as if I had lost a close friend.

I think about John Denver’s songs as poetry bringing joy, peace, and comfort in my life. His songs bring back memories of good times, especially in the outdoors. Now that I live in Colorado, I get to listen to the recordings while I live the sentiments in the Rockies.

I was talking to a wise friend recently about her wellbeing. She remarked, “I have everything I need and most of what I want.” That comment has preoccupied me as I have thought about my life.

What one needs and what one wants reminds me of an idea that I came across 40 years ago–the notion of Voluntary Simplicity from Duane Elgin. I have thought about how I can live my life as simply as possible. Sometimes I am successful and other times not.

As Elgin defined it, voluntary simplicity is “a manner of living that is outwardly simple and inwardly rich, … a deliberate choice to live with less in the belief that more life will be returned to us in the process.” Voluntary simplicity is a way of life that rejects high-consumption and a consumer culture. This refusal recognizes that consumptive habits degrade the planet and can be unethical in a world of human need. The meaning of life does not necessarily exist in the accumulation of material things.

I am thinking more about what I need compared to what I want. All of us have basic needs, as Maslow suggested including shelter, food, safety, and meaningful activity. I have those things. I recognize that simple living is a choice that I can make because I have the means to have more if I wanted. Some people practice simple living as their only choice. When people have an adequate income to cover the necessities of life, additional spending is not necessary.

I am trying to balance the acquisition of what I need compared to what I want. I do admit that I don’t need to travel to experience the outdoors, and yet that is something I continue to want and will do in moderation.

I grew up with “Depression Era” parents who planted the idea of frugality. It did not grow quickly. I thought my parents were overly conservative and I wanted the American dream of money and a new car every two years. My attitude began to change when I spent six months in the developing country of Turkey during my mid-twenties. I realized then that I had so much and many of the Turkish rural people I got to know, had little, but were happy.

How much is enough? In retirement, I have time and freedom to pursue goals including community and social engagements, meaningful interactions with friends, intellectual projects, fulfilling volunteerism, spiritual exploration, reading, contemplation, and relaxation. I attempt to live a life of meaning with a sustainable and equitable share of nature. I strive to practice minimalism and functionality and the responsibility uses of natural resources.

I am not espousing a life of poverty or being self-righteous. Everyone has to decide what is important. I am, however, endeavoring to make conscious decisions. I try to resist the consumer culture and the daily messages that having more is always better. It is voluntary and simple, and not easy.

Most places have names. Sometimes they are logical names based on a feature. Sometimes descriptive names were given by indigenous peoples. Other times name designations were convenient, honorary, or just distinctive.

I grew up in a town uniquely called Coggon, Iowa that brags as being the only Coggon in the world. The story goes that when white people settled the community over 150 years ago, they could not agree on the town’s name. The compromise was to name the town after the next person who got off the train at the railroad station. It happened to be Mr. Coggon.** In addition, Iowa got its name from the Ioway people, a tribe of Native Americans who occupied the area before the European settlers arrived.

Before Estes Park was named, the Arapaho Tribe called it heet-ko’einoo’ – or “The Circle.” Most Arapaho names given to lakes and mountains have more meaning than their current names. For example, indigenous people called Mt Meeker and Longs Peak “Two Guides” because they provided direction when travelling from the plains.

Other examples of Arapaho names in Rocky Mountain National Park that have significance include Lake Haiyaha, which few visitors pronounce correctly, meaning “Rocks.” If you have been to this lake, you know how exceptional it is with all the big rocks around and in the lake. The Kawuneeche Valley on the west side of the park means “Coyote.” Tonahutu is Arapaho for “Big Meadows”—an apt description. I love how these names are a way to acknowledge the natural landscapes and the indigenous civilizations that preceded us.

When I volunteer at Bear Lake, people ask if they will see bears. The naming of Bear Lake, according to High Country Names by Arps and Kingery that I frequently consult for information, says that early in the white settlement of the area, a rancher saw a bear at this lake. Bears were uncommon and he named it Bear Lake. Cub Lake is nearby but not named for a bear. Early settlers thought it was so small that they called it a “cub of a lake.”

I enjoy some more modern references to names in the park. For example, the Four Tops on the continental divide are Gabletop, Notchtop, Knobtop, and Flattop. Each of them is descriptive of their topography. Named lakes in the Glacier Gorge area include the “bruise” lakes—Black, Blue, and Green.

I think it helpful that sometimes lakes and mountains is an area share a generic theme. For example, Wild Basin has the “bird” lakes—Bluebird, Pipit, Lark, Junco, and Chickadee. The indigenous people named the Never Summer Range for that reason. Peaks in that area are named after cloud formations: Cumulus, Cirrus, and Nimbus. “Lake of the Clouds” is a nearby alpine lake.

Although perhaps “a rose by any other name would smell as sweet,” places have meanings and I love exploring the origin of names wherever I wander.

**My cousin has advised me that I did not have the story quite right. Mr. Coggon did not physically visit Coggon. Two families were arguing on naming the town after themselves –the Greens and the Nugents. To find a solution to the squabble, Superintendent Spaulding of England, who was in town to  supervise construction of the railroad, recently received a letter from his cousin William Coggon of England. He suggested “Coggon” and everyone agreed.  Nevertheless, to our knowledge, Coggon is still the only place named Coggon in the world.

It is my birthday season. Birthdays are ubiquitous. We all have them—many if we are fortunate to live long enough. William Barclay noted, “There are two great days in a person’s life–the day we are born and the day we discover why.” I am grateful for each birthday. Each one leads me to a better understanding of why I was born.

When I was a child, birthdays were celebrated in my family by mom cooking a special meal with whatever the birthday kid wanted. A special cake was a treat on our birthdays. One sister always wanted red velvet cake. My favorite was carrot cake with cream cheese frosting. I chose grilled lamb chops for my meal, which wasn’t difficult since I grew up on a sheep farm. When we got older, we picked a local restaurant for birthdays. I always ordered shrimp as a birthday treat.

I have had a couple monumental birthdays. My first epic birthday was when I turned 16—eligible to drive a car. In rural Iowa I relished new freedom. My mother helped my friends throw a party for me on my 16^th. It was supposed to be a surprise, but one of my girlfriends nonchalantly said the day before, “I don’t know what I am going to wear to your party” and then gasped. I told her not to worry. I would act surprised.

People usually find the celebration of the “front number change” to be a special highlight. I have always thought that celebrating the “5” of a birthday was more historical. When a person turns 35, she is closer to 40 than 30, which I found sobering.

Birthdays overall had never been especially important to me largely because I didn’t enjoy being the center of attention. That attitude changed when I met someone who was battling breast cancer. Her prognosis was not good. She loved birthdays because she celebrated each like it might be her last. I was at her last party. Since then, I celebrate birthdays with unabashed gratitude.

As a recreational road runner for over four decades, birthdays were pragmatic as I moved into a new age category. For example, as a 45-year-old in the female 45-49 age range, I usually placed first, second, or third until the younger runners moved into the bracket. I looked forward to changing that bracket again in future years.

My most recent epic birthday was when I turned 62. I became eligible for a lifetime pass to federal recreation areas and especially National Parks—a great acknowledgement of getting older. I am about to add a decade to that coveted park pass.

With this birthday season, I aspire to be like Rachel Maddow who recognized that “life is better for each year of living it.” Each birth day celebration season is a recognition of discovering why I am alive. I am grateful.

I cannot imagine a life without reading. I appreciate the teachers who encouraged me to read and ways that reading enriches my life. I also subscribe to the wise words of Dr. Seuss: “The more you read the more things you will know. The more that you learn, the more places you’ll go.”

I am somewhat of an eclectic reader although I do gravitate toward historical fiction, adventure stories, biographies and memoirs, and nature chronicles. I have never been a science fiction or mystery reader but from time to time I appreciate those reads. I also enjoy a no-mind romantic beach novel once in a while. Although I do like the feel of a book in my hands, I have used a Kindle for 15 years. It is convenient especially when I travel. The lighting means I can read anywhere. Words well crafted can exist in any form.

I experienced immense joy when I learned to read. The summer after second grade I drove my mother crazy because I wanted to go to our school library every other day to get more books to devour. I recall the excitement each fall with the book sale at school. My sisters and I got to pick out one book we wanted, and mom and dad wrapped it up as one of our Christmas presents. I loved owning books and building a personal library.

I also recollect the delight I saw in my mother as a reader. She finished her undergraduate degree in English while I was in high school. I envied her homework because she read classics that I hoped to read one day. I felt heart break for her when her eyes started failing a couple of years before she passed, and she couldn’t read like she had done all her life.

I enjoy reading the stories about other people’s lives and how they negotiate problems. Reading puts words on my feelings. As William Nicholson noted, “We read to know we’re not alone.” In addition, reading enables me to travel to places in the world without leaving home.

Reading has facilitated becoming a writer. Although I read quickly, I also savor slow reading and seeing how others put words together to enable mental pictures of their worlds. I appreciate how other writers construct and organize their works to keep me interested. I believe, as I have often told my students, being an observant reader instructs better ways to write.

Sometimes I can’t wait to turn the next page (or make the next click on the Kindle) when I’m reading a compelling book. When I near the end, however, I often don’t want the story to end. Reading the last page of a book sometimes feels like a forever farewell to people and things I came to love. Nevertheless, additional friends exist in books, and I look forward to meeting them in my next reads.

The fall equinox came a few weeks ago. It is officially autumn by the calendar as well as in the air. I think about changing seasons these days since I live again in an ecosystem that has such marked variations. Fall begins in early September in the mountains, October in the Midwest, and November in North Carolina.

Fall follows a progression. Signs of fall are understated at first. No changing leaves or evident sky changes, but the subtleties of all senses become magnified over time. The emotions I feel are often a combination of loss and gratitude as intimations of autumn turn into the beginning of winter.

Leaves are one the first signs of fall for me. As I walk on the trails, I hear the change in the sounds of the aspen leaves still on the trees. The summer’s clear wind driven soothing, rubbing sounds starts to become a dry rustling chatter even though the leaves have not changed color. They eventually begin to change color. The brilliant golds, oranges, and sometimes reds of the aspens that dot the hillsides in the park are breath-taking. Walking in a small grove of aspen trees is like walking in “yellow” until leaves let go to dance toward the waiting earth.

Sometimes early in the fall, I hear the faint sound of a young bull elk whose aspirational bugling is good practice but offers few opportunities. That cacophony of bugles reaches an apex in late September and dwindles into October as the rut concludes and elk resume their “normal” behavior.

Most notable as a sign of fall is the change in lighting. Days become shorter as the sun rises later in the morning and sinks below the purple mountains earlier in the evening.

Fall brings the end of most flowers. However, Albert Camus noted, “Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower.” Leaves are the fall flowers. This season also offers edible opportunities such as raspberries and choke cherries. I sample some of them but leave them mostly for the bears who have something tasty besides the grass and insects they feasted on during the summer. They are in hyperphagia—frenzy eating as much as possible to prepare for winter’s hibernation.

I welcome the fall and all its stages. In the mountains autumn is winding down as winter weather becomes more common. It brings me feelings of loss and gratitude. The letting go of summer is sometimes hard as we put the vegetable gardens to bed and note the coming of muted black and white landscapes.  I cannot help but feel a loss as plants and animals go into various levels of hibernation.

Yet, I am grateful for everything the land has provided over the summer. I am grateful for the new anticipations fall brings– my birthday, fresh snow, the coming holidays. I balance the feelings of loss with gratitude and look forward to the transition to dimensions of winter.

I posted over 50 blogs in the past year under wanderingwonderingwithkarla.net. It is hard to believe that I reached this milestone given my trepidation about this project. I wondered: Would I have anything interesting to say? Would I have the motivation to write each week? Would I be willing to take compliments with potential criticism? One week at a time added up.

Writing to share beyond the academic writing I did during my career was a major retirement goal. Without the expectations of teaching, research, and being a good colleague, I hoped to have time to savor the writing experience. It took six years to muster the courage to post the first blog. The support of friends made it possible.

I like the blogs I wrote. They are about me and my experiences and reflections. I own them. Writing about oneself, however, has pros and cons. I know more about myself, obviously, than anyone else. On the other hand, I am a private person and am exposing myself to the world.

I thought about the possibilities of a blog for years and did frequent reflections that remained as ideas in my journal and/or in draft form on my computer. I felt confident in my writing skills in publishing textbooks and professional articles but writing about my personal wandering and wondering was a different genre.

I am grateful to close friends and my Estes Park writing group for encouraging me. They listened to my rough sketches and gently asked from time to time, “Have you published your blog yet?”

Writing thoughts and ideas is invigorating. The technical aspect of getting the blog online is the hard part. I could do more with graphics, pictures, and layout but that interests me little compared to sharing my points of view.

My goal was to post once a week and that worked. I usually have 2-3 blogs in draft form going that I work on each day. I do not know how much longer I will continue. For now, I have ideas and dozens of beginning notes with whims that may or may not develop into something interesting.

I will persist as long as I am having fun. If it becomes onerous, I will stop. If I run out of ideas, I will discontinue the writing. Although I say to myself that it does not matter if anyone reads my blog, I am grateful for those of you who follow my entries or read the posts occasionally. I hope that some bring a brief smile and/or provide a prompt for reflecting on subjective experiences that might be similar to mine.

Even if I do not have readers, I have found this writing enables me to reflect on my life and feelings that are significant. My values are evident in what I choose to write as I have the privilege of wandering and wondering.

I grew up on an Iowa farm. I didn’t appreciate it that much until I got older. I do not want to romanticize growing up on a farm when it was possible to make a subsistence living on 180 acres. It was not easy and had challenges, but it was a healthy environment for learning basic values and remaining innocent.

I have enjoyed John Denver’s light jingle about being a country boy. The sentiments also apply to country girls: “Well, life on a farm is kinda laid back, ain’t much an old country [girl] like me can’t hack. It’s early to rise, early in the sack…My days are all filled with an easy country charm, …My Daddy taught me young how to hunt and how to whittle…He taught me how to love and how to give just a little, thank God I’m a country [girl].”

When I was young, I was jealous of my friends who lived in town because they played with each other. I had my sisters and the boys who lived across the road. I also had free access to roam the countryside. As I look back, I cannot imagine any other setting that would have been as influential in my development—my love for animals, growing things, changing weather, and a caring community as I have written about elsewhere.

In high school, I came across “A Country Girl’s Creed” written by Iowan Jessie Field Shambaugh. Several lines resonated with me then and still do:

“I am glad I live in the country. I love its beauty and its spirit. I rejoice in the things I can do as a country girl for my home and my neighborhood. I believe I can share in the beauty around …I want to express this beauty in my own life so naturally and happily as the wild rose blooms by the roadside. I believe I can have a part in the courageous spirit of the country…With this courageous spirit, I, too, can face the hard things of life with gladness…. I can find joy in common tasks as well done….”

Two years ago, I was at the farm where I grew up to scatter the ashes of my parents. They had sold the farm 25 years before. Upon their deaths five years apart, they wished to have their ashes comingled and half buried at a headstone in the local cemetery and the rest scattered across the land that they had loved and nourished for over 50 years. As I released the bag of ashes and the wind scattered them across the cornfield on the knoll a hundred yards away from the farmhouse, I thanked God that I had grown up on a farm with a family committed to each other and the land.

Family farms and rural areas have changed. I still love the idea of the country life and its simplicity. I am proud to be a country girl.