Author: KARLA_HENDERSON

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.

The 4^th of July, Independence Day, is next week. I have ambivalence for the celebration. I wholly dislike fireworks and how they scare both wild and domestic animals. I dislike the crowded places that the 4^th brings. However, I feel respect and gratitude for the country that has allowed me to thrive.

I usually do not talk about politics in this blog. Nevertheless, the 4^th of July represents patriotism for me.  I feel deep allegiance to my country while at the same time I am chagrined by the way that some people have been historically, and are currently, treated.

The meanings of patriotism differ among people.  Being patriotic means I have a devotion to my country. Patriotism is more than exalting the military, although that is part of it. I am grateful to live in this country where I have the freedom to disagree.

I see a major difference between nationalism and patriotism. I do not believe, as many nationalists do, in the superiority of my country above all other places in the world. As a patriot I respect my country simultaneously as I respect other cultures. I also feel that regardless of political beliefs, the flag belongs to everyone-supporters as well as skeptics. I am entitled to wave the “stars and stripes” proudly.

International travel gives me insights as I learn about others. The experience of living in Turkiye (Turkey) for six months in 1974 changed my life. When I returned to the US, I had a new appreciation for the democratic republic of my citizenship. I had learned how others in the world envied this country and the ideals upon which it was founded.

Since my Turkish experience, I get misty eyed when I hear the Star-Spangled Banner because of the symbolic meaning it has for me. I have since traveled to dozens of other countries and I always feel a special gratitude when I return to the US.

The 4^th of July celebration is important. I love playing our annual 4^th of July band concert in Estes Park. Honoring my country with rousing marches and reflective tunes such as America the Beautiful, God Bless America, and It’s a Grand Old Flag inspire me. I wave the flag proudly as I also seek to assure that with my freedom also comes a responsibility to uphold it for others.

A friend and I were walking around Lake Estes in early summer several years ago. We came upon a herd of cow elk with two-week old calves. They were so cute! To not disturb, we cautiously took a detour around them. We met two women who were headed our way and excitedly told them about the cows and baby elk ahead. Their response was, “Thanks, but we saw them last year.”

Their response bothered me. I never tire of seeing and doing some things more than once. On the other hand, some enjoyable (and not so enjoyable) experiences in life only need to happen once.

Variety can be the spice of life. In addition, repeating treasured experiences can be zestful.  As much as opportunities can be similar with repetition, many are different depending on the circumstances. Some of the trails I hike in the park, for example, never get old no matter how many dozen times I do them. I see the same wildflowers year after year, and they continue to give me joy. The seasons make each trek different.

My RAGBRAI Friends

Events often change over time. I have ridden RAGBRAI (Register’s Annual Great Bike Ride Across Iowa) six times. It was fun with my friends and when my parents were still alive in Iowa. I doubt, however, that I will do it again.

Other wonderful experiences only need to happen once. For example, I ran the Boulder Bolder several years ago and enjoyed it, but don’t need to repeat. I have run memorable marathons (e.g., Honolulu, Marine Corps, Big Sur, Drake Relays) and have never done the same one twice.

Friends in North Carolina talked me into going sky diving one Saturday morning. I especially loved the quietness of being in the parachute floating down, but it is a once-in-a lifetime happening for me.

I have a bucket list of countries I would like to visit. I have curiosity about places that I have not seen. I appreciate unexplored places as well as my favorites. A new mantra for me is, “Life is short. Do stuff that matters.” That might be repeats, or new things. I am grateful for choices in my life.

I was 10 years old the first time I flew in an airplane. It was my mother’s first time too. We dressed in our “Sunday clothes” and flew from the Cedar Rapids Airport to Chicago to visit my aunt and uncle. Mom was nervous but she tried not to show it. Her concern was getting motion sickness so the two of us nibbled soda crackers and ordered 7-up from the “stewardesses.” I loved the thrill of racing down the runway, floating into the air, and seeing the structures below become smaller and smaller.

Since that day, I have flown hundreds of times and amassed thousands of air miles. I still find the take-offs exhilarating. I marvel at the concept of flying and how millions of people move around the world quickly. I love the idea of taking a long journey and ending up in a new culture in hours.

Statistically, flying is the safest form of transportation available. Flying is affordable, especially for the solo traveler. Further, I like the idea of soaring above the clouds. One time while flying at night I saw flittering green lights of the Aurora Borealis over Michigan.

Airports fascinate me. When waiting, as one seems to do often in an airport, I see people of all persuasions. I make up stories about where they are going and what they will do. I overhear bits of conversations that indicate the expectations people have for their trips.

Like other folks, however, I find flying to be less romantic than it once was. I still get motion sickness sometimes, and turbulence causes anxiety. Airplane food is non-existent. Sometimes I get bumped into First Class and the food is better. I get frustrated with delayed/cancelled flights and try to be patient. I have always made it to my destination but once got stuck in Charles de Gaulle Airport in Paris for three days.

Going through security tries my patience. I remain irritated that my bicycle pedal wrench was confiscated several years ago. I feel sorry for the crying babies on planes and for myself when I end up sitting in front of one. People who take forever getting their carry-on luggage into and out of the overhead bins annoy me.

Regardless, I am grateful for airplanes and the freedom to move about the world. I am also grateful that I don’t fly often anymore.