Author: KARLA_HENDERSON

What an unusual experience not to see another human being besides my backpacking buddies for over 36 hours! Or, as one of my companions suggested, to see more moose than people for two days! We experienced that surreal occurrence on our backpacking trip in the far north of Rocky Mountain National Park to Mirror Lake last week. I am glad to know that such remote areas exist mostly untrammeled by humans.

The experience of backcountry travel provides opportunities to reflect on life at its most elemental levels, even though the gear now exists to travel relatively lightly and comfortably. I have been lucky to backpack in several beautiful parts of the American West such as the Wonderland Trail around Mt. Rainier, the Beartooths of Montana, the John Muir Trail in California, the Wind Rivers and Tetons in Wyoming, the San Juans of Colorado, and all corners of Rocky Mountain National Park.

I love being able to get away from the conveniences of daily living for a short time if for no other reason than to be reminded of how grateful I am to live in great comfort. I revel in the peacefulness and the opportunity to disconnect from the world when I am in wild places. I like the focus on living simply and safely in the company of a few good friends. I delight in laying in my tent at night and hearing none of the background of traffic and other civilization noises but only the sound of silence in the outdoors. When it rains, I find nothing cozier than being in a well-designed rain resistant tent.

I am blessed with these opportunities and am also realizing that over time I may not be able to continue to enjoy them in the same way. My pack seems to be getting heavier as my legs, and especially my knees, are getting weaker. Getting in and out of my little tent isn’t as easy as it used to be, especially during those middle of the night bathroom calls.  I find myself more concerned about how to remain healthy and safe as I recreate in these isolated areas.

Nevertheless, I hope I have more backpacking trips left in me. I recognize that I am getting older and not as athletic as I used to be. Regardless, I will continue to dream about getting away, and remember warmly the trips I have enjoyed in the wilderness for over 50 years.

In the Christian tradition, the Lord’s Prayer has the phrase “and give us this day our daily bread.” Bread is symbolic of life, and I love literally having bread every day, and especially sweetened bread. If you put a cinnamon roll/donut, cookie, piece of cake, or slice of pie in front of me, I would always choose the bread item.

Bread has been referred to as the “staff of life.” It is a staple food used, needed, or enjoyed by many individuals. One of my favorite food adventures when I travel to international or domestic areas is to sample the variations of bread: Focaccia in Italy, Soda Bread in Ireland, Tortillas in Mexico, Pita in the Middle East, and Frybread in North American indigenous cultures.

My mother used to make our daily bread when I was younger. She was a great bread baker. I now deplore that my sisters and I used to beg for “boughten bread” (think Wonder Bread)—how little we knew about the delights of homemade bread. One of my mother’s hallmarks was the “coffee cakes” she gave away to family and friends during the Christmas season. Other people have holiday rituals such as tea rings or ooey gooey sweet breads, but my mom’s superpower was coffee cake.

As a young teen, I did a 4-H demonstration project on how to make bread and called the demonstration, “The Staff of Life.” I seldom make bread regularly these days even though I deplore the amount of packaging that comes with bread from the grocery store. Yeast breads, especially, take time. I do love the catharsis of kneading the bread and the surprise in how it deflates after rising only to bake with its soft roundness.

I love pizza and I think much of that has to do with the crust, the “bones” of pizza. Sandwiches are not the same to me unless they have bread on both sides.

Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra suggested that “All sorrows are less with bread.” I believe that statement especially when I convince myself that I deserve a donut or a thick slice of bread with butter and jam as a treat for hard work done.

Carbs come in different forms. I vote for bread items and am glad I am not gluten-free. The idea of breaking bread together is a simple pleasure that I am grateful to share as often as I can.

The mornings have a tinge of crispness. The plants along the trail are showing light yellows and bits of red. The Aspens are not the same bright green as they were in mid-summer. Days are noticeably shorter, especially in the morning. The season is beginning to transform in the high elevations of Colorado as summer wanes. Mixed emotions occur during this period of impending change.

Summer was my favorite season growing up mostly because it was full of long days and outdoor activities. I liked going to school, but I reveled in the freedom summer portended. I was not a fan of winter as it was hard on the farm. Making sure the animals were comfortable took an effort. Bundling up to go outdoors was time consuming.

As I age, however, I appreciate more fully the colors of fall, the pristineness of snow, and the harkening of spring wildflowers. Those observations add variety to my life. I no longer have a favorite season. The season I am in is the best. Although sometimes difficult to let go of the warmth of summer, I look forward to the evolving changes in nature that I see each day.

I am grateful to live in a landscape with stark and overlapping seasons. I appreciate the changes taking place and am also aware of the anxiety they can produce.

I love Yoko Ono’s quote: “Spring passes and one remembers one’s innocence. Summer passes and one remembers one’s exuberance. Autumn passes and one remembers one’s reverence. Winter passes and one remembers one’s perseverance.”

As I reflect about an appreciation for seasons, I think about the parallels of my life. When I was young, it was like spring. The years of my adulthood and career were reminiscent of summer with all the possibilities. I now reflect on the autumn of my life as I wind down with vagaries occurring in my energy levels and thinking. Winter will eventually come as my soul experiences the final cycle on earth. As Catherine Pulsifer reminded, “Embrace the beauty of every season, for it is in these transitions that we truly bloom.”

Last summer I answered an email question sent to romo_information@nps.gov, the park’s address for inquiries about the park. The writer wanted to know details about a particular trail near the Alpine Visitor Center. I responded with the information requested. A couple days later the same person  emailed with another park related question. In the meantime, I had hiked the first trail. I answered his second question and gave him a bit more detail about the first hike. We had a friendly and unremarkable informative interchange.

Fast forward to this summer. I was answering emails while volunteering again and got another question that was fairly easy to answer efficiently and (hopefully) effectively. A few minutes later I received a personal response on my park email from George:

I sent a quick note back expressing my condolences. George’s response was to wish me a wonderful summer season.

This interchange suggested that often what we do for people goes unnoticed or unacknowledged, and that’s OK. Sometimes, however, it makes a difference both ways. I appreciated George reaching out to me and then responding with his harkening that life is a gift. Although I know each day of living is precious, it was important for me to be reminded.

I was so scared. I tried to tell mom a few days before that I wasn’t feeling up to par. She thought I was needy and gave me lots of sweet pets. Scritch scratches soothed my soul, but they didn’t take away my belly ache.

I realized something was terribly wrong on Sunday afternoon. I hurt when I moved even a single step. I tried not to cry out from the excruciating pain, but I had to tell mom.

Estes Park has no emergency vet services at night or the weekends. Mom cancelled plans for volunteering that night and called the emergency vet in Loveland who told mom I needed to be seen as soon as possible. I was relieved but not excited about the cat carrier and speeding down the mountain. But it hurt so bad. Mom’s friend Deb came along, and her cooing sounds calmed me a tiny bit.

The vet rushed me into the exam room and began an IV with pain killers. Oh, bliss. I heard the doctors talking about a urethral obstruction that required an immediate operation. Mom was going to gulp at the cost of the procedures and my projected 72-hour hospitalization. I knew she would pay any price to get me well.

I don’t remember the next few hours. People were scurrying around. Other animals were in the metal kennels nearby and I didn’t care. When I woke from sedation, I had a catheter inserted as well as an IV fluid post. The pain was gone. I just wanted to sleep. I was continually monitored and offered a few kind pets with encouragement to eat as well as poop.

Another cat, Oscar, came in the second day with the same problem as me. We chatted about our parents and our maladies. Each hour I felt better. After 48 hours, they took out the catheter and waited for me to pee. It was a little embarrassing. I did urinate twice that night so early on the third day, the vet called mom to say I was ready to come home.

Before mom arrived, Oscar had to go back into surgery. He was unable to urinate, and I worried about him.

I was ecstatic, however, to see mom again. We were headed back up the mountain. I was feeling woozy but happy. I will be on special food the rest of my life and will need to take it easy for a few days. Thank goodness for veterinary medicine and a mom who loves me and had savings for my “cat”astrophic misadventure.

I am proud to say that I grew up in Iowa. I have been thinking about Iowa because RAGBRAI was last week, and because Estes Park residents are having their annual Iowa picnic this week.

Growing up in Iowa may not sound glamorous. I am not sure, however, what state might be considered exciting. People get the “I” states mixed up-Iowa, Illinois, Indiana, Idaho. Nevertheless, Iowa has an allure that I am proud to describe.

When I was a County 4-H Professional in Iowa in the early 1970’s, the state adopted a promotional slogan, Iowa—A Place to Grow. The 4-H staff added, 4-H–A Way to Grow. I like those ideas.

My pride relates to several ideas: RAGBRAI, food, Iowa nice, and open landscapes. I was working in Iowa when RAGBRAI started 50 years ago. It was a crazy idea designed to highlight positive perspectives about Iowa. The name did not become RAGBRAI (Register’s Annual Great Bike Ride Across Iowa) until it caught on as an annual event after the first couple years. RAGBRAI is “an epic eight-day rolling festival of bicycles, music, food, camaraderie, and community. It is the oldest, largest, and longest multi-day bicycle touring event in the world.” In 2023 it was estimated that 60,000 riders participated.

I have ridden RAGBRAI a half dozen times. I love the camaraderie of it and have introduced friends to Iowa from all over the US. I am proud that RAGBRAI showcases the hospitality and beauty of Iowa.

Part of the ambience of RAGBRAI is the food. I took food for granted growing up. Fresh fruits and vegetables abound as do carnivore feasts. Restaurants compete for who can provide the biggest tenderloin in town, although the biggest isn’t always best. Maid-rites are crumbled hamburger in a bun and are a staple of most Iowa outdoor events.

My friends have noted how nice Iowa people are. Iowans are kind but will let you know if they do not approve. It is not just the small town or rural farm connection, but a larger embodiment of the Iowa motto of respecting one another’s rights.

Finally, I love Iowa Grant Wood-like landscapes. Open spaces and places where the tall corn grows are part of my roots. I chose Colorado as my retirement state because it has both open spaces AND mountains.

I don’t return often since my parents passed. I miss Iowa and will always be thankful for my growth and education as an Iowan.

Four years ago this week, my sisters, their families, and I scattered the co-mingled ashes of my mom and dad over the farm where they had lived for over 50 years. It was a windy day as I opened the wooden box and lifted the plastic bag of ashes into the air to float over the cornfields. I was pleased to return my parents to the land that they loved.

Farmers are folks that appreciate the land. My father embodied a land ethic. When he retired and sold the farm, the county conservation agent said 1 ½ inches more topsoil was on the land than when he had begun farming decades earlier. He practiced conservation practices such as crop rotation, contour farming, and using natural and artificial fertilizers. Large-scale farming today uses quite different methods for food production.

My dad and mom were land stewards. They cared for their land by considering all that it had to offer. Wendell Berry, one of the foremost spokespeople for stewardship, contends that few people are directly connected to land today as they once were when we were an agrarian society. Therefore, it is heartening when people feel a connection to land. Loving the land occurs when people get to know an area intimately by living and/or recreating on it.

I volunteer with a land conservancy in my community. Our organization has protected over 10,000 acres of land in the Estes Valley. The provisions of these land easements limit development and help to preserve the landscapes and wildlife habitats here. Recently a landowner donated his property to the land trust. One of our board members described how much he loved his land and wanted to guarantee its conservation for future generations of humans and non-humans.

I do not own any land but feel a deep stewardship regarding the 265,807 acres that comprise Rocky Mountain National Park. This park is my park, just as it is the national park of all US residents. My heart hurts when I see damage done in the park. I am a guardian of this resource and do everything in my power to assure that the land and animals are not harmed. I hope that some day my ashes will be scattered across this landscape that I love.

I have a thistle along a path near my house that I have nurtured for two years. As a “Weed Warrior” in the park, I am delighted to slay invasive thistles such as Musk and Bull Thistles. Canada thistles are hated noxious weeds. However, my thistle is a native Wavy Leaf Thistle that I hope will propagate to the meadow near my house.

The delight I have with my thistle reminds me of one of my favorite tales, The Little Prince, by Antoine de Saint-Exupery. In the story, the narrator pilot crashes his plane in the Sahara Desert. A little boy, a prince, appears out of nowhere and they become friends. The prince comes from a far-away planet where his most prized possession is a rose. The prince describes his previous experiences on other planets including his encounter with a fox who taught him to realize how important it is to know others, including roses.

The book has other subthemes but the idea about loving a rose resonates with me. “It is the time you have wasted for your rose that makes your rose so important” says the fox.

I also find other inspiring words from the fox who said to the little prince:

“To me, you are still nothing more than a little boy who is just like a hundred thousand other little boys. And I have no need of you. And you, on your part, have no need of me. To you I am nothing more than a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But if you tame me, then we shall need each other. To me, you will be unique in all the world. To you, I shall be unique in all the world….”

I have put a placard by my thistle saying what it is and asking the landscape people and anyone else walking by not to destroy this plant. It reminds me daily of the admission in The Little Prince, “and now here is my secret, a very simple secret: It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.” To others, my thistle means little. To me, however, it is a wondrous plant that I am eager to greet each day.

Seeing what sometimes is invisible to others seems foundational for nurturing relationships with people as well as with roses and native thistles.

I am a biophilic. I believe humans need a connection to nature to survive. Part of this biophilia is embodied in a house decorated with objects that reinforce my love of nature.

When I lived in North Carolina, I had items depicting mountains since I longed to live in them. When I moved to Colorado, I brought those watercolors, paintings, and framed photographs with me. As I thought about where to hang them, it occurred to me that I could see “real” mountains every direction outside my windows. Did I need those wall hangings in my new home? I hung most of them. I realized how important it was to bring the outdoors inside as well as to experience it outside every chance I had. Home decorating with nature spoke to my heart.

As a farm girl, I was connected to variety in nature. For example, I was, and continue to be, fascinated by all shades of green as well as big natural rolling landscapes and intricate colors and designs.

I recently came across an article about bringing nature indoors. Unbeknown to me I had been doing that for years as I look around my house. One aspect that predominates in my house if the use of natural colors and images. My photographs, paintings, and hanging quilts emphasize nature’s calm images that bring peace to me.

Another suggestion for bringing nature in relates to nurturing leafy plants. I don’t have a green thumb but have special plants that elicit joy for me. I have the Christmas cacti that are offspring of a plant once owned by naturalist Sigurd Olsen. I also have a 25-year-old Norfolk Island Pine that stands seven feet tall that I have parented for years.

Other ideas offered for bringing nature into one’s home include nature’s scents, nature’s sounds, and paying attention to textures. I enjoy burning incense or candles that have evergreen scents. I love having windows open so I can hear the breeze in the trees as well as listen to the early morning sounds of birds singing. Further, I have been buying log furnishings for years and nature is obvious in those assets. I just remodeled my fireplace with new stone walls.

Thomas Doherty, a clinical and environmental psychologist noted that recognizing which natural environments speak to an individual is important. I embrace my biophilia and cherish positive experiences in the outdoors that I highlight in my home.

Happiness is an emotion. According to the Declaration of Independence, it is an unalienable right. I have more time in my retirement to think about life’s philosophical issues, and I ponder the meanings of my pursuit of happiness.

Psychiatrist Gregory Scott Brown noted that “Happiness is fleeting.” Emotions such as happiness and sadness come and go. I wish I could be happy all the time, but that isn’t realistic. Brown suggests that happiness is NOT a state of being. Happiness is a moving target. Always expecting happiness can result in unrealistic perceptions about what is achievable.

Brown says that for life to be meaningful, focusing on fulfillment as a way of life is more feasible than happiness. Thinking about what fulfills me has given me a new perspective about my day to day living. My life is blessed even though I wish some aspects were different. I am grateful that my glass is “half full.”

I experience happy moments every day—a musical bird call, seeing a baby animal, hearing a beautiful melody, waking to a colorful sunrise, getting a special email from a friend. I am grateful for the smiles that come to my face when something stirs my soul. I am learning, however, that it is the relationships that I have that create fulfillment in my life.

Satisfying relationships for me are volunteering, sharing special occasions with friends, participating in learning opportunities, and making personal connections with people I don’t know. I feel happy about these associations that provide a sense of fulfillment.

I also find fulfillment in writing this weekly blog. It gives me ideas for rumination that I think about as I wander and go about my daily life. Some blog entries come easily; others are a challenge. Nevertheless, I feel fulfillment when I can express my thoughts for others to consider.

I appreciate moments of happiness. Moreover, I am grateful for the experiences with others and with writing that provide a state of being that sustains me each day.