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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you doing?” the man asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

When I am volunteering at the park, someone often will ask me about a “rule” we have (e.g., where dogs can go in the park, where one can walk off-trail). I am happy to discuss these questions but am chagrined if someone follows up regarding what the penalty is for breaking the rules. I despise people who think they can do whatever they want if they don’t get caught.

These questions prompt me to think about moral development and especially how the Authority of the Resource dictates how policies are made and how visitors understand the implications beyond punishment for breaking the rules.

The Authority of the Resource principle and technique, promoted by the National Park Service, focuses on the natural authority inherent in the requirements of a healthy ecosystem, rather the influence of the agency (e.g., law enforcement). It centers not on regulation and the requirements set by people, but rather on the requirements of nature itself. If an environment such as a National Park is to be sustained, people need to understand the implications of their actions and why we have “rules.” The emphasis is on WHY the policies exist to protect the environment and safety of recreationists.

Most people have integrity and want to do the right thing. If they venture into the outdoors, they generally care about the environment. Sometimes they just do not know what the right thing is and sometimes their moral development doesn’t reflect an evolved thinking.

One of the ideas that intrigued me most when I did my undergraduate studies over 50 years ago related to moral development in children. Although theories of moral development have been debated, they help understand human behavior. The theories suggest that moral development ranges on a continuum from being concerned about the consequences of breaking the rules to a recognition that living in society is a social contract where the goal of each individual is to improve society (and the environment) as a whole.

I enjoy using the Authority of the Resource Technique to explain why recreating in the park, or on any public lands, is a celebration of the collective good. I believe people have a moral duty to act in ways that protect the public land, and that staff and volunteers have an obligation to help others see why policies are necessary. I love the notion of the Authority of the Resource to facilitate meaningful recreation experiences while preserving the natural environment.

Fifty-five years is a long time. Could any of us in the Class of ’67 have imagined that 55 years later we would be gathering to reflect, tell stories, mourn those who passed, talk about our families, and marvel at the years gone by?

My high school class was typical of a small rural midwestern town. Everyone knew everyone. Secrets were well hidden. Cliques existed but we interacted with everyone. Many of us had been classmates since kindergarten.

I have gone to every class reunion since we started having them in 5-year increments. I am a reunion junkie. I make them a priority. I keep up regularly with a few classmates. The Facebook connections have helped maintain additional contacts.

The capable and caring event planner for many of the class reunions over the years is my good friend, Nancy. For this reunion, she put together posters of some of the highlights from previous reunions. Several observations were evident to me.

Change over the years reflected typical life stages. Not much had changed after the first five years except people who had gone to college had graduated and everyone was starting their careers whether as teachers or as farmers.

Twenty years marked the celebration of parenting and people feeling successful in their chosen occupations. The pride folks had of their grandchildren and maturation of their work endeavors was evident at the 40-year mark. This year’s reunion marked retirement for most people, but also suggested the inevitability of mortality.

From a graduating class of 40+, eight people are gone including three who passed since the last reunion. We honored their memories. I fear that we will venerate more of our peers in the coming years.

I am lucky because my parents lived into their 90s. This class reunion, however, was the first one without my mom. She was our 6^th grade Science teacher so knew many of my classmates as well as had been friends with their parents. I missed not spending the day after the reunion telling her all about the reunion activities and the conversations I had.

Regardless of the years, most people have similar personalities as in high school. We evolve over time, but high school leaves a permanent imprint.  Those quiet folks remain that way. The leaders during high school stand out. Although most times I am not concerned about my appearance, I felt I was thrown back to high school as I perseverated over what to wear to the reunion. I felt like a teenager going to the homecoming dance as my 17-year-old’s anxiety emerged.

I wish we had more time to visit at the reunion. I want to know what brings people joy today. I want to know how they have been resilient over the years. I am grateful, however, for 55 years of knowing these people. It will never be enough.

Idleness is not my strong suit. Retirement is a time for people to kick back and relax. If that is the case, I have failed miserably in retirement. The truth is that I have never been much for slowing down or doing nothing. I get over-scheduled, but I would not want it any other way. Voluntarily slowing down isn’t in my genes.

I recently read an article in The Atlantic by Arthur C. Brooks titled “How to Embrace Doing Nothing.” He described how hard doing nothing is for many people.  I find it hard to sit still unless I am doing something. I grew up a family with a strong work ethic and watched my mom and dad take little time for leisure.

My lack of understanding of my parents’ leisure ethic was what intrigued me to study leisure throughout my academic career. Although “doing nothing” can be leisure, it has never worked well as a definition for me. I like to think of leisure as something that is positive and active. I like days that I have little scheduled with fully the opportunity to do nothing. However, it never really ends up that way as I fill my day with activities I want to do.

For many years I have pondered the quote from the Sound of Music that Captain Von Trapp said to Maria, “Activity suggests a life filled with purpose.” I like to think that my volunteer and outdoor activities during retirement are filled with meaning, and I strive to assure that case.

I am envious of people who relish doing nothing as part of their daily routines. Brooks notes that learning to do nothing is good for people. Letting the mind wander during unstructured tasks can make us better at creative problem-solving. Unconscious thought can produce original ideas.

The key, as is true with all of life, is balance—to know when to do something and when to take some time off. The secret may be to find equilibrium between activity and idleness where neither is neglected. Although I doubt I will ever enjoy white space in my life, my friends on our Cotswold Walk reminded me of the words of William Henry Davies, “A poor life this if…We have no time to stand and stare.”

TIMING is important, perhaps essential, in life. I appreciate the verse from Ecclesiastes 3:1: “For everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven.”

The challenge is to recognize timing. The good things that happen to me are a result of appropriate timing—being in the right place at the right time. When the timing is off, either things don’t happen, or they may not have positive outcomes.

One morning this week as I was working on this blog, I looked up from my computer to see the rosy bright alpenglow on the Continental Divide. As I watched and wondered, it disappeared as quickly. I caught it at just the right time!

The Bible verse gives a conclusion about timing and includes more description. People in my generation, however, also are aware of the verses based on the popular song, Turn, Turn, Turn written by Pete Seger in 1959 and recorded by The Bryds in 1965.

A time to be born, a time to die

A time to plant, a time to reap

A time to kill, a time to heal

A time to laugh, a time to weep…

A time to dance, a time to mourn…

A time of love, a time of hate

A time of war, a time of peace…

A time to gain, a time to lose…

A time for love, a time for hate

A time for peace, I swear it’s not too late…

I am grateful for good timing during my life. The timing was good in 1974 when I had the opportunity to spend 6 months in Turkey with experiences that changed my world view forever.

It was perfect timing for me to be able to leave the University of North Carolina-Chapel Hill and spend the last 10 years of my career at NC State.

The timing was mostly right to retire so that I could pursue my second career of hiking and volunteering in the park. I loved my professional work but wanted to move to new opportunities while I was still at the top of my game, and while I was still energetic and healthy.

Although the timing is never right when someone passes, I am glad that my mother left this world before the COVID pandemic. She would have been unhappy in those quarantine circumstances. Although I would give anything to have her back, her passing enabled me to use my inheritance to do good things that I will see in my lifetime.

One never knows for sure if timing is right. Sometimes I don’t know if the timing has been wrong or missed, but I continue to learn lessons that help me appreciate the purpose of every season.

“Did you see the tractor yet?” Dad asked as I wandered into his shop to say hello. “Over here,” as I stepped over tools and tractor parts scattered across the floor. Dad’s hobby in retirement was restoring antique tractors and he had enough projects to last him well through the next century.

“This was my dad’s new tractor. It’s a John Deere H. I drove it home from Coggon over 60 years ago. I was a high school senior. It was brand new.”

I suspected this was the first and only new tractor dad had ever driven. He never bought anything new but reveled in his ability to make something old run and look like new. He was in the process of putting the two-cylinder tractor back into working order as well as painting the parts with the John Deere green. Mom was helping by painting the wheels yellow as they originally were.

“Do you remember your grandpa’s tractor?”

“Oh yes.” Grandpa came out to the farm everyday when I was little. I was never sure what he did, but he puttered around helping and always drove that tractor when they were baling hay.

Scratching his head, dad reflected, “My dad always loved that tractor. I can’t wait to get it up and running again.”

“What are you going to do with it?” I asked.

“I’m going to drive it in the parade for Harvest Home.” Harvest Home is the local event held every summer in our small town. It traditionally includes a parade, a carnival, and a livestock show. The parade usually had antique tractors refurbished by his buddies in the local “Two-Cylinder Club.” Restoring old machinery seemed to be common hobby of retired farmers.

Dad didn’t say much more to me as he rummaged through a tray of bolts. I watched him for a bit and envisioned him driving down the streets of Coggon later this summer. With his bald head and graying sideburns, he would be a contrast from the blond haired 16-year-old who had driven that tractor home to the farm 60 years ago. I imagined, however, that there would be no less pride in his heart than there had been years ago when he took his first spin with the “H.”

This month marks the 8^th anniversary of my dad’s passing. I love to recall conversations we had over the years and especially this one on an early summer afternoon in 2000. I never see a green John Deere without thinking about my dad and his love for old tractors.

Every morning when not rushing off, I turn on the Weather Channel. I am intrigued by the weather especially from growing up on a farm and learning how our livelihood depended on optimal weather conditions. I turn the TV on so I can see what the weather is like at the homes of my friends and family in places such as Iowa, Oklahoma, Missouri, California, Texas, and North Carolina.

Climate change is making my fascination for weather greater. People are experiencing more fierce and frequent major weather events these days no matter where they live.

Growing up in Iowa, the main worry was tornadoes and hailstorms. Even though my parents were wary, they made sure us kids were safe by having a plan for going to the basement in the event of bad storms. I ran down there far more often than needed, but it made me feel better even though I worried about the rest of the family that was not necessarily joining me.

An anomaly of Iowa was the derecho that hit in 2020. Most people had never heard of such phenomena before that severe windstorm happened. I am glad I didn’t worry about that growing up.

North Carolina was notorious for hurricanes. I didn’t live on the coast, but I experienced the effects of hurricanes as they came inland with the dousing rain and intense winds. I will not forget the night that Hurricane Fran roared through the Raleigh-Durham area. I had never experienced such unrelenting winds.

When I moved to Colorado, my concerns with hurricanes and tornados were over. However, I had not considered the growing potential for forest fires year around. Mostly the rain is never cursed because it mitigates fire danger. Fires used to occur only in the fall, but they are possible any time.

Chances of experiencing the catastrophic weather events that now occur has changed. According to the US Geological Survey, a 100-year flood does not mean it happens only once in 100 years but that there is a 1 in 100 chance of an event of this magnitude occurring during any given year. The probability is increasing.

Scientists have proven these natural disasters are exacerbated by human-caused climate change. The events should more aptly be named climate disasters. The seven warmest years in the 1880-2020 records have all occurred since 2014 and these global temperature changes are creating extreme and frequent severe weather.

Although nature creates these climate disasters, nature can also heal the earth. I must live with daily weather, but to prevent climate disasters is a daunting challenge. It will take individuals, government entities, and citizens of the world caring enough to address the changing climate to mitigate dramatic weather events into the future.

Walking and hiking are my favorite activities. Since the pandemic began over 2 ½ years ago as well as for other reasons, I am gratified with slow movement when walking or hiking. After over 40 years a runner, leisurely movement is practical and satisfying for me.

Walking is a realization that I am becoming my mother. My mom was a walker and prided herself in the 3+ miles a day she did most days through her mid-80s. I remember the walks we took along Iowa roads. Sometimes I would run first and then meet her to walk home. Other times we just walked and talked.

A friend has been an avid marathon runner for years. I asked her recently how her training was going. Surprisingly, she replied, “I have been doing a lot more walking than running these days.” I figured she was referring to the stress that running puts on one’s aging body. “No,” she replied, “I notice the world and nature around me more when I walk than when I run.”

I still run sometimes, but walking is primary. The idea of relaxed activity is a cultural shift toward slowing down life’s pace. I now have the time and ability to take life more slowly, and walking is a form of exercise and an opportunity for mindful meditation.

At an eco-village in Peru years ago, I participated in a group walking meditation on a spiral path. I learned that walking meditation, or mindful walking, is a practice of giving full attention to movement and the feelings it produces. It allowed me to focus on the present moment without judgment.

Ralph Waldo Emerson noted, “It’s not the destination, it’s the journey.” Slow movement, walking, walking meditation, and hiking give me an opportunity to appreciate my surroundings. This focus was evident as I walked/hiked highlights of the Tour du Mont-Blanc last week. Movement was a challenge with the elevation gains and declines.

I concentrated, however, on keeping my breathing regular with each step. I kept myself grounded to the earth as a noticed my feet striding in a rhythmic pace. I enjoyed the deliberation of each step and was mindful of the beauty of the landscape around me. I appreciated the gentle breezes and the sunshine on my shoulders. My body and mind worked together.

I enjoy the variety that walking offers. Sometimes I do not want to experience slowness. Regardless, I try to be mindful of the day and focus my awareness of whatever my pace and destination. I am developing my own form of walking with or without meditation that enables me to be alone with myself and/or enjoy the company of others.