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I am having problems with hiking/snowshoeing as fast as I used to. I attribute it to asthma and aging. I sometimes doubt my stamina on longer hikes. Recently on one of those walks, I recognized that I needed to be positive about my ability. As I lagged behind, I remembered my favorite childhood story, The Little Engine that Could. My attitude and ability began to change.

This American fairytale by Watty Piper became widely known in the United States after publication in 1930. I remember my mom reading to me when I was a little girl, and I appreciated her admonishment to me that I should and could be like the little engine. The abbreviated story goes like this:

A little railroad engine was employed in a station yard for such work as it was built for, pulling a few cars on and off the switches. One morning it was waiting for the next call when a long train of freight-cars asked a large engine in the roundhouse to take it over the hill. “I can’t. It is too much a pull for me,” said the great engine built for hard work. Then the train asked another engine, and another, only to hear excuses and be refused. In desperation, the train asked the little switch engine to draw it up the grade and down on the other side. “I think I can,” puffed the little locomotive, and put itself in front of the great heavy train. As it went on the little engine kept bravely puffing faster and faster, “I think I can, I think I can, I think I can.”

As it neared the top of the grade, which had so discouraged the larger engines, it went more slowly. However, it still kept saying, “I—think—I—can, I—think—I—can.” It reached the top by drawing on bravery and then went on down the grade, congratulating itself by saying, “I thought I could, I thought I could.”

An analysis I read suggested this story is about cultural relativism. The trains each believe they are doing the right thing based on their own values, and these stem from the kind of work they do. For me, however, the analysis teaches optimism and hard work.

Positive psychologists might suggest that a better affirmation would be “I can.” I guess I like the notion of the challenge thinking that one can be successful in difficult situations. I appreciate the bravery and commitment of the little engine that could. It is a new mantra for the opportunities in my life today.  

In the musical, Paint Your Wagon, a song is about the wind called Maria (Mariah). The lyrics:

“Maria blows the stars around and sends the clouds a’flyin’.

Maria makes the mountains sound like folks were up there dying”

People in Estes Park call the wind much worse names than Maria! In the winter, Estes Park is unusually windy.

Years ago, before I moved here, I struck up a conversation with a middle-aged woman during an organized hike in the park. She remarked that her family had moved to Estes Park three years earlier, but they were moving back to Texas at the end of the summer. I was taken aback because it was my dream to someday live in Estes Park. She said they simply could not stand the wind. I really didn’t know what she meant.

Having now lived here for 9 years, I do understand. After my first winter, however, I vowed that the wind would not deter me from going outdoors. It is obnoxious some days, but I have learned to dress appropriately—wind doesn’t get through Gore-Tex jackets and wind pants over long underwear.

In addition, I am learning where the wind resides. I have a list of trails that are “less” windy than others. The wind usually is greatest near lakes and on top of mountains. If you live where you can see Longs Peak, you will likely live in a windy area. Tolerating the wind is a small price to pay for the beauty of that 14,000 foot peak. I embrace the wind and am grateful when I am out of it.

A recent article in our local newspaper explained the reason for winter winds in the Estes Valley. The causes are related to the jet stream and mountain wave events. In the winter, the jet stream sets at 30,000 feet above the mountains and pushes the winds down because of the high elevations. Mountain waves occur near range areas where the winds come perpendicular to the mountains and then are forced up and over roaring down through narrow valleys below into Estes Park.

Last week I was snowshoeing in the park and encountered a young man skiing on the trail. We chatted for a moment about the day and he remarked, “You’ll find the wind talking to you when you get to tree line.” I smiled as I imagined what the wind might be saying.

The good news is some days are NOT windy in the mountains. The calm and quiet when the wind stops is cause for celebration and joy. The contrast of the gusty winds and the silence of winter is a bittersweet reality of living in this beautiful valley.

I once saw a bumper sticker: “If you can read this, thank a teacher!” Hurray for teachers.

I am proud to be an educator. I did not teach anyone to read, but I hope I nurtured the importance of reading broadly and deeply for my students.

Teaching occurs in structured formal settings as well as informal/nonformal ways such as in libraries, at recreation centers, through park interpretation, and with youth organizations. Teaching in all these contexts is invaluable.

I have been fortunate to associate with many outstanding teachers in my life and in my career. My mother was an extraordinary teacher. What a wonderful gift she gave in teaching hundreds of kids to enjoy reading.  She was a model to me in her use of creative approaches to motivate her students.

Clipping from 1964 about the reading program my mother started

In my almost 40 years in higher education, I was a good teacher but not a great one. I planned diligently, sought techniques to stimulate learning, and cared about my students, but I didn’t have an extraordinary gift for teaching. I was fortunate to observe greatness in teaching and was the student of gifted colleagues such as my friend Deb Bialeschki, who expanded my understanding of teaching.

My undergraduate degree was in education. I learned methods and how to make dynamite lesson plans. However, I learned the most about teaching in my first job when I led trainings for adults who were not a captive audience. I discovered quickly how to make training relevant, interesting, and fun so that folks would become as enthused about the topics as I was (and would be eager to learn more).

My philosophy of teaching has successfully focused on learning by doing. I have applied the necessity of a context for learning. Stories about real life situations have far more meaning than abstract lists. I have been fortunate to be in situations where I could teach using mostly interactive approaches. The Socratic method facilitated my teaching by asking questions and critically thinking about the possible answers.

I miss being in the classroom. I don’t miss grading papers, but I do miss the interactive nature of teaching and learning in formal settings. I am thankful to have had a career focused on education.

The definition of a social drinker is one who regularly drinks alcohol in various social settings but does not allow the drinking to disrupt personal life or create mental, emotional, or physical problems. As a social drinker, I look forward to occasions as an opportunity to share a drink with others.  After a long day, I look forward to having a glass of wine by myself with cheese and crackers. I only have one drink a day.

Nevertheless, I am observing Dry January. After six years, abstention in January gets easier as I explore and negotiate my relationship with alcohol.

I did sometimes abuse alcohol in my young adult life, although I have not been so predisposed the past 20 years. I know academically about alcoholism and have great admiration for recovering alcoholics whom I know. My first Dry January was a struggle as I reconsidered what it meant to be a social drinker.

According to the CDC, heavy drinking is consuming eight drinks or more a week for women. Recent studies have found no evidence that light drinking might keep people healthy. In fact, more than five drinks a week on average can take years off a person’s life.

I, therefore, approach Dry January with both trepidation and excitement. For individuals who drink alcohol within the recommended limits, no observable benefits may be evident. However, I am gaining insights about my relationship to alcohol:

1. Social drinking opportunities are about being social rather than drinking. As an introvert, alcohol can make me more talkative. I am nurturing those social skills without having to drink first.
2. I do enjoy a quiet drink alone from time to time. I have discovered, however, that relaxing can be done with a non-alcoholic drink and the experience is about quietly sitting down and not about the drink.
3. Not drinking does not seem to help me sleep better or feel better during Dry January. I have, however, noticed that I am more energetic during the evenings.
4. I save a bit of money by not purchasing alcohol for a month. I also seem to lose a pound or two by not imbibing those additional calories.
5. I ask myself, “Will having a drink now enhance this moment, or dull it?” Sometimes it will enhance, and sometimes it won’t. This question has become important for me to ask as I contemplate life after Dry January.

I am indebted to 4-H as a youth organization that deeply influenced my life. I do not think 4-H is better than any other national or local organization, but it was central to my formative years.

Youth organizations were not abundant in my rural community. I wanted to join Campfire, but mom said I would have to wait until I was old enough to be in 4-H. I had no choice.

In the 1950’s, I had to be a member of a girls 4-H club before I could show livestock and join the boys’ 4-H club. I wanted to raise sheep, do gardening, and not learn to cook, sew, or do home furnishings. In retrospect, however, I am glad I learned those homemaking skills as I enjoyed them far more than I thought I would—and they have come in handy!

I was an overachiever in 4-H as has been my life tendency. I earned blue ribbons at the fair and acquired leadership skills. 4-H was a place where I could “learn by doing” (the 4-H slogan) and get rewarded for my efforts. I was proud to be elected president of the Linn County 4-H Council my senior year of high school.

My parents were supportive and willing to schlep me to all kinds of meetings. Both were leaders of the local clubs and volunteered hundreds of hours to make 4-H successful in my county. My first 4-H leader, Winnie Henderson (a distant relative) inspired me early to set goals and strive to “make the best better” as has been the motto of 4-H since 1927. 

My dream job was as a 4-H professional when I served in Tama County (Iowa) for five years after I graduated from college. My life was changed forever by spending six months on a 4-H international exchange program to Turkey in my young adulthood. I intended to continue in 4-H youth development employment after graduate school, but chose other opportunities in higher education. Nevertheless, I will always be indebted to 4-H and the development that it provided to make my best self better.

I love trails. I enjoy walking/hiking on them. Reading about people’s adventures on well-known trails (e.g., Pacific Crest Trail) is irresistible. I revel in talking about the 300+ miles of trails in Rocky Mountain National Park.

A trail is defined as a marked or established path or route. They are found most often in a forest or mountainous region but can include any type of terrain for walking, hiking, snowshoeing, biking, x-country skiing, or even for watercraft use.

I appreciate that trails have a beginning and an end. I find comfort in knowing that someone else has done the trail before. The names of local, state, national, or internationally known trails have meaning, and people often share similar experiences on trails.

I have been fortunate with the means and ability to walk some of the famous trails in the world. I have done more than half of the gorgeous John Muir Trail in the Sierras. I have backpacked a portion of the Inca Trail to Machu Pichu. I was challenged in taking the heavily used path from Katmandu to Everest Base Camp. I have enjoyed parts of the Camino de Santiago as well as the Tour de Mont Blanc. I walked the 102-mile Cotswold Way in England in 2022.

I have hiked most of the trails in Rocky Mountain National Park. People sometimes ask me what my favorite trail is.  I enjoy some trails more than others, but my stock response is “the one I’m on that day.” I am happy to describe trails and to remind folks that we allow U-turns on trails if conditions are not what was expected. The same trail can be vastly different in the summer and the winter.

Although I love trails, I am not interested in long trails that require thru-hiking and days of commitment. Some people enjoy going “off trail” frequently. They have better navigational skills than I do and are more adventurous. Going off trail requires that minimum impact techniques are followed. I prefer staying on the beaten path, although it is nice to get away from crowds from time to time. 

North Carolina has designated 2023 as the year of the trail. The website states: “In North Carolina, there is a trail for each of us. An open invitation for bikers, hikers, paddlers, and riders. For amblers, explorers, and commuters. These paths are a place of refuge and recreation, connecting us to the very essence of this state.”

I hope every year is “the year of the trail.” So many trails to experience. I hope that all of us can enjoy short, long, ordinary, hilly, flat, historic, remote, challenging, or whatever opportunities are accessible for years to come. Happy trails to you.

What does one do with 36 beer glasses/mugs? Have a big party? Then what? I have spent the past weeks de-cluttering my house. I have more work to do as I make decisions about how to lighten my house’s load.

I like to think of myself as a minimalist. This moderate approach aims to live intentionally with only the things I really need—items that support my purpose. I want to remove the distraction of excess possessions so I can focus on what matters most. Do beer glasses support my purpose?

Organizing and de-cluttering my house is a first world problem. Unlike some people, I have the choice to possess or eliminate what I have. Walking into my home, you would assume that I am tidy. Most everything is in its place. However, the dark secret is that behind those closed drawers and closets is anything but organization, and until recently, not a reflection of only what is necessary.

I would much rather be active than keeping my house clean and organized. Hiking and volunteering always take precedence. After living in this new space for over nine years, I am compelled to open those spaces where I have stuffed stuff and re-evaluate what should be taking up space in my house.

I am getting myself organized so I know where I have put “things” that I might need someday. I discovered that I had four temperature thermometers in my bathroom drawers. I guess it has been easier to buy a new one than look for one amidst the clutter. Now I know where all four are!

What to do with the hundreds of books I have is a challenge. I dispersed textbooks when I retired—students LOVE to get free books. I still have scores of reference books. The library’s secondhand bookstore has been the recipient of popular literature as well as dozens of travel-related topics. I hope someone will enjoy those books. But what to do with books by authors who feel like old friends—bell hooks, Mae Sarton, Mary Oliver, and other lesser-known writers?

My efforts are forcing me to look deeper at my values and passions. Living a good life is not found in accumulating things. I cannot purchase happiness, although I would argue that good books can bring me joy as can warm Gore-Tex mittens. But how many books or mittens do I need?

I don’t require more things. I seek to value relationships, experiences, and taking care of my soul. Cleaning, de-cluttering, and focusing on minimalism reminds me to acknowledge the essentials and be grateful. I am keeping only beer glasses that are special, and not far more than I need!

Happy New Year! Celebrating the new year is a means for looking back and looking ahead. I gave up making new year’s resolutions years ago, but an appealing idea is Celebrating the Old Year and acknowledging small moments I remember (and in some cases wrote about) in 2022.

The new year offers ways to improve myself and support the communities I care about. It also creates opportunities for reflection on things that made me smile:

• Seeing my kitties’ quiver butts of excitement when they are about to be fed
• Listening to the calls of cow elk to their babies, and vice versa
• Noting the first pink light from sunlight on the Continental Divide
• Discovering mountain lion tracks along a trail
• Bubbles rising in ice on an alpine lake
• Sensing the wiggly bottoms of happy dogs
• Clouds that look like an image of something
• Warm creamy hot chocolate
• The first sip of coffee in the morning
• Coming upon a tiny snowperson on a trail in the park
• My kitties nudging my hand to tell me it is time to get out of bed (and feed them!)
• A snowshoe hare peaking out from his hiding place in the trees
• The stealth sound of goose wings as they fly overhead
• Putting on festive socks each Monday to celebrate “Sock Monday” at the park
• Getting an unexpected call/email/text from someone from my past just to say hello
• Birds delighting on the fresh seeds at the birdfeeder
• Remembering the fun and funny aspects of people who began their unearthly journeys this year
• Hearing a song associated with warm memories from a time long passed
• Wailing on a trumpet fanfare in band
• Anticipating the first sight of the full moon rising
• Stopping and staring at a beautiful landscape
• The seriousness and pride of a child getting sworn in as a Junior Ranger
• And much more…

December 21, the Winter Solstice, is a monumental date for me each year. The Winter Solstice is the day with the shortest period of daylight and longest night of the year. The sun is at its lowest daily maximum elevation in the sky. At noon in sunshine on December 21, I cast a long shadow and appear to be taller than any other time of the year. I revere the date because everything is “UP” (except my height!) from there.

I prefer light over darkness, as do most people. I like the yin-yang of light and darkness. I convince myself that darkness helps me appreciate the light. Light fills the dark spaces. I do, however, sometimes feel the “winter blues” related to limited sunlight.

I know people who have Seasonal Affective Disorder, a clinical diagnosis that makes this time of darkness quite difficult. They may require phototherapy, counseling, and/or medication to get through this period. I try to ward off down feelings by staying busy and looking for signs of light as the days get longer. Because Colorado has so many days of sunshine (300 days a year), I can get outdoors most days and get my dose of Vitamin D. In addition, one additional minute of light each day buoys me.

Cultures and religions highlight the importance of putting light into our lives. For example, Chanukah’ (12/18-12/26) is the Festival of Lights because the central symbol of the festival is the menorah, the seven-branched candelabrum. Christians celebrate Jesus as the divine light coming into the world on Christmas eve. Iran has the Yalda festival that marks the day that Mithra, an angel of light, was born. China’s Dongzhi festival emphasizes when winter’s darkness begins to give way to light. Scandinavians celebrate Yule, or Ule, a multi-day feast when people celebrate the return of the sun god.

I decorate my house each year with red Christmas lights around the mantel. After I take them down in early January, I replace them with blue lights that I illuminate every night until the Spring Equinox. Our town puts up Christmas lights before Thanksgiving and keeps them up into mid-February. Although it is artificial light, it brightens my world until the longer days return.

I enjoy winter. I like winter activities. I don’t mind the cold. An advantage of the long nights is that I always see the sunrise this time of the year. Nevertheless, I celebrate the promise of more light each day when the Winter Solstice passes.

Energy is needed for holiday gatherings. I particularly think about my mother and her obligatory vigor over the years to ensure that our family was comfortable and happy on Christmas Day. She supplied physical and undervalued invisible emotional labor to keep us contented and cheerful.

Emotional labor is a term coined by sociologist Arlie Hochschild. She proposed that emotional management requires the consumption of human energy. It can occur in the workplace and/or at home. A compelling leisure research analysis by Leslie Bella, The Christmas Imperative, described how little fun holidays were for some women because of the amount of labor they not only put into preparations for family gatherings but also the momentum expended to make sure that everyone was compatible and had an enjoyable time with limited awkward moments. Holiday rituals are significant, and mothers are usually responsible for them.

I am grateful for everything that my mother did. I don’t think I realized how important it was until later in her life. Although I returned to Iowa for most holidays and was there Christmas eve day and Christmas morning to be her sous chef, I didn’t have the emotional investment she had.

Having tasty food was important to mom and she tended to vary the menu. An important prerequisite was the dinner table. Regardless of how many people were invited, she insisted on everyone sitting around the big table, or the kids’ table nearby. The red tablecloth provided a stunning backdrop for the plain white China and Crystal glassware. Festive Christmas cloth napkins added flare. Every year she made new placards so there would be no questions about where to sit when it was time to offer Christmas blessings and begin the feast. During the meal, she guided the conversations as she assured that everyone got plenty to eat.

Mom loved her role, but eventually it was not only the physical busyness but also the emotional stress that resulted in her giving the Christmas tableware to my sister so she could continue the family traditions. My sister was not invested in the details, and the actual Christmas dinner was never the same when we gathered. I miss my mom’s Christmas celebrations.

I wish I could tell my mom again, as well as my grandmothers and aunts, how much we appreciated the efforts, physical and emotional, into making Christmas dinner and all our holiday gatherings a lifelong happy memory.