Wandering and Wondering

Remember when the choices one had for ice cream were vanilla and chocolate (and maybe strawberry)? Today Ben and Jerry’s advertise that they have 54 flavors available. Making choices is more complex than when I was a child! I can live with options but I am increasingly stressed by divisive dichotomies that exist.

An idea that I have written about professionally as well as tried to model in my life is BOTH/AND as contrasted to EITHER/OR. The basis of both/and is that multiple things can be true (and available) at the same time. Everybody has a right to their experience. Not being locked into either/or thinking opens up new worlds such as the possibilities of trying interesting new flavors of ice cream.

I was brought up to think mostly in rational, dualistic terms that did not allow multiple perspectives or meanings–things were either right or wrong. Now I understand that dualistic thinking is not the only way to make sense of the world. Traditions such as Buddhism and Taoism understand and teach the paradoxical nature of reality. Examples of both/and thinking are:

Hard work and leisure

Solitude and community

Mind and body

Happiness and sadness

University of North Carolina-Chapel Hill (men’s basketball) and North Carolina State University (all sports)

Two examples of BOTH/AND thinking are evident in my life. I had the opportunity to collaborate with my mentor, Doug Sessoms, on a book about our professional organization. Doug wanted to title the book, The Noble Experiment: The History of the National Park and Recreation Association from 1965-2005. I argued with him that it was “a history” and not “the history.” The book was our interpretation and I fully realized that others might have different perspectives. Ultimately, we wrote “A History…” Other people later wrote with different interpretations of that history.

Second, I have a colleague who is also a family therapist. One time in a discussion, she reminded me that people were often quick to respond, “Yes, but…” She taught me that in writing as well as speaking, saying, “Yes, and…” was a better way to acknowledge multiple perspectives.

Either/or is an over-simplification that can miss the point (at best) or be harmful (at worst). I am learning to ask myself to fully explore my emotions and not always compartmentalize my thinking. I do not want to discard dualistic thinking as it provides guidance for living. Sometimes OR is important. I am more often convinced, however, that AND is a better response.

The people I most admire are those committed to giving their time and energy as much as possible to their families, friends, non-humans, and communities. Ordinary people can do ordinary things. I am privileged to give my time to people and causes that matter to me. Many family members, friends, and acquaintances also embody service living.

“Service living honors that part of each of us that is connected to the larger community of life. It is lifelong action that contributes to the health and well-being of all living things.” This statement opens a book (Service Living: Building Community through Public Parks and Recreation) that I co-authored in 2008 with my dear colleagues Doug Wellman, Dan Dustin, and Roger Moore. I am most proud of this book because it embodies how people can be responsible citizens in a participatory democracy. 

Every individual can make a difference as part of a greater community. In the book, we tell the stories of four ordinary people who made extraordinary contributions to public parks and recreation: Frederick Law Olmstead, Jane Addams, Benton MacKaye, and Marjory Stoneman Douglas.

The lives of the four people we describe were everyday citizens just like you and me who experienced life’s ups and downs and suffered through self-doubt, insecurity, and anxiety. Our conclusion in the book is that democracy is a verb. Anyone can make a positive difference in this world as these four individuals did.

We coined the term “service living” hoping that it would become part of common language. Unfortunately, it has not been widely adopted. We believe, however, that the idea informs a desire for lifelong service to others. Sitting on the sidelines and watching life pass by can hardly be called living. Retreating into the comfort and safety of our private lives may be necessary sometimes but it does not mean forsaking public service. This service living defines life worth living.

People’s everyday service to home, family, community, and the planet is paramount in both ordinary and extraordinary ways. I appreciate people who live(d) their lives in service living such as (to mention only a few) my mother, my cousin Mary, my sister Lyn, my deceased volunteer colleague Don Seedle, my friends in Estes Park including Deb, Gail, and Pat, and Jane Goodall whom I hope to hear speak next week. Their paths are (were) paved with service living.

Finders Keepers by Craig Childs is a book that investigates the past and asks questions about who it belongs to. This book was chosen as the “One Valley, One Book” reading for 2023. Initially I wasn’t excited about the choice but wanted to participate in the community event so read the book. It opened my eyes to the meanings of artifacts left behind. Although not the chief point of the book, I have taken away the idea that things have a spirit and should not be unlinked from their intent and location.

Childs talks about the “precious belongings that people cared for” and how best not to disturb them. He admonishes that to remove a relic, keep it as a personal possession, sell it, or even give it to a museum violates his personal ethic. For indigenous traditionalists these items may be seen as alive, extremely powerful, and dangerous when not treated with proper ceremonial care. Through the discussions, I learned that Federal law honors the ownership rights of Native American tribes to the remains of their dead ancestors and the funerary objects buried with them.

One of the important life passages is death, which is understood by many cultures as a transition and not an ending. Native American traditions appear to conceive of human beings as complex entities that bind together essences or spirits that undergo transformations after death.

Understanding more about these issues has resulted in my thinking about the “soul” of things that hold magnitude for me. I have items made by my father and mother that hold great power especially since my parents have made their transformations from their earthly lives.

Back in my “cowboy” days as a child, my dad hand-made me a holster for my toy gun. He crafted it of leather from a draft horse collar. I have it carefully stored away and periodically get it out to hold. I experience a powerful connection with my dad and that personal artifact. Similarly, my mother made a quilted bedspread for me when I graduated from college as well as several quilted wall hangings. When we had to be evacuated from the wildfires, those were the precious items I took with me.

I feel the spirit of my parents in these personal treasures and would never want them taken away without my permission. These items may not hold cultural significance, but they have a soul that resonates deeply with who I am.

I am glad I have rights. I firmly believe, however, that rights are not sustainable without responsibilities. I have especially been thinking about human rights in the broadest sense since I interacted with colleagues at a recent leisure studies conference.

Human rights are a huge idea. The contribution that a field like leisure studies that encompasses sports, arts, tourism, and community recreation is worth considering. I am grateful for the rights that I have related to leisure as well as daily living.

The Bill of Rights is the first 10 Amendments to the Constitution. It spells out Americans’ rights in relation to their government. It guarantees civil rights and liberties to the individual—like freedom of speech, press, and religion. It sets rules for due process of law and reserves all powers not delegated to the Federal Government to the people or the States. It specifies that “the enumeration in the Constitution, of certain rights, shall not be construed to deny or disparage others retained by the people.”

Because I have a right does not mean that I must exercise it. The second amendment guarantees me the right to bear arms. However, I do not have to own a gun if I do not want to. Rights enable individuals but they do not require participation. Rights offer freedom to choose. As noted above, however, rights portend responsibilities. If I own a gun, I have the responsibility to make sure it is safely stored and not used to hurt others. One can draw examples from all the other rights in a democratic society.

A was a contributor to the recently updated Charter for Leisure adopted by the World Leisure Organization. Leisure is a human right, which was established by the Universal Declaration of Human Rights endorsed by the United Nations in 1948. The articles recognize the right to rest and leisure and the opportunities to participate in the cultural life of the community. With these rights comes the obligation to recreate responsibly doing no harm to self or others. These responsibilities should be widely advocated and practiced.

Leisure has sometimes been debated as a privilege or a reward rather than a right. As a retiree, I see rights in all those ways but also believe everyone should have the right to leisure regardless of their status in society. Nevertheless, rights are a complicated idea and I continue to ponder what they mean.

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.