Wandering and Wondering

What date will we get the first measurable snow in Estes Park? This is the question that is readily on my mind this time of the year. As the days grow shorter and the mornings are cooler and crisper, I feel a sense of anticipation in the air.

I look forward to the first snowfall of the season with a mix of excitement and wistfulness. It marks the beginning of winter in all its beauty. I like the change of season and the quietness of snowfall with the way it transforms the landscape and the atmosphere. The snowfall also marks closure on the warm summer days.

I am grateful to live in an environment now that has such distinct seasons, although people might argue that fall is way too brief when the first snow is put into the mix. After years of living where snow was mostly an anomaly, snow is inevitable here. The unique aspect is that we often see it high in the mountains before we experience it on the ground in our yards.

First Snowfall on Longs Peak, September 22, 2014 (Photo by Deb Bialeschki)

I love the anticipation of the answer to this perennial question about the first snowfall in the mountains and in town. The question is discussed with friends as well as strangers.

For almost 10 years, my friends and I have held a contest to predict the first measurable snowfall in Estes Park each year. The measurement occurs at noon on the snowfall date on a stump in an open meadow in town. At least one inch must be on the stump. The facilitator, Deb, sends an email to people along with a Google document to sign up for predicted days. It costs $1 for each guess with up to five opportunities. The money is collected and when the snowfall arrives, the winner receives the take. If no one has chosen the date, all donations go to the Pet Association of Estes. Usually, the winner also donates the earnings to the Pet Association since we all support this organization.

As the days creep closer to winter and the first flakes fall from the sky, anticipation builds not just for the snow itself, but for the experiences it brings—moments of wonder, joy, and the peace that winter can offer. Of course, whoever wins our pool gets bragging rights regarding snowfall prediction for the coming year!

“Rocky Mountain National Park. This is Karla. How may I help you?” That’s how I answer the phone dozens of times each week as I volunteer in the Information Office at the park. When staff organized volunteers in the park over 30 years ago, it was fashionable to have “cute” names (e.g., Bighorn Brigade, Tundra Guardians, Roadhogs) for the groups. We were the Rocky Talkers, although we seldom use that moniker these days.

Many questions are repetitive regarding planning a trip to the park, campground reservations, or the timed-entry system. The Information Office fascinates me because one never quite knows who will be calling and what they want to know.

Another volunteer invited me to be a Rocky Talker over 8 years ago. At first, I hesitated to consider the opportunity. I have never been a telephone talker, probably because I grew up on a “party” line in rural Iowa and my parents never encouraged us to talk long or to talk about anything that might be gossip. I, however, gave volunteering at the Info Office a try. I now love working there and “being in the know.”

They say there are no dumb questions, but I think I have encountered unusual ones as a Rocky Talker. Sometimes people catch themselves in the process of asking a silly question. This week a caller asked me if he had to walk to the trail that had all the zig zags on it. I said I wasn’t sure what trail he was talking about, and he replied, “Of course you don’t but I just thought I would ask.” Duh…

Last week I had a conversation with someone about when Trail Ridge Road usually re-opens in the spring. This person wanted to come in early May, and I told him that we aimed to open it Memorial Day weekend and no earlier. He replied, “Well, Memorial Day weekend is in March, isn’t it? It would be open then when I come in May.” No…

On one hand, I have had people hang up on me when I give them information that they did not want to hear. On the other hand, people have told me I made their day or saved their vacation by giving them the options. I take the positive comments with grace and ignore the grumpy people.

We always work as a team with at least one other person staffing the phones. I love getting to know the other volunteers. I have also treasured working with my supervisor, Katy. She kindly thanks the volunteers daily for being there. Katy is planning a well-deserved retirement after 27 years as the Manager of the Information Office. She told me that when she started our desk manual, called “Just the Facts,” was 16 pages. The latest version has 209 pages.

I continue to be amused by the questions. Nevertheless, we Rocky Talkers know by answering the phones, returning emails, and sending information that we are contributing to helping people have cherished memories of our beautiful park.

I was returning from a long hike to Lawn Lake. A family had stopped at a junction a few yards from the beginning of the trailhead. I overheard the matriarch of the family say, “Here comes someone with sticks, they can probably help us.” I wasn’t sure that having “sticks” showed the possibility of wisdom, but I answered their questions about where the trails led. In retrospect, having hiking poles may signal a type of intellect.

I have been using hiking poles for almost three decades. I feel naked when I hike without them. For “easy” hikes, I might only use one but when I have both in hand, I feel like I have double the stability that I would not have without them. Regardless of the terrain, having two extra points of contact with the ground helps me prevent falls and maintain balance.

I climbed the Grand Teton three decades ago. One 25-year-old male guides that led us to the top used hiking poles. It seemed a little unusual especially for a young man. I thought he had knee problems. When I asked, he said that he loved hiking/climbing and being in the outdoors. He said he wanted to be able to be active for the rest of his life. As someone old enough to be his mother, I took his viewpoint to heart and began using the poles to minimize wear and tear on my body.

I understand that using hiking poles can also help improve endurance. By engaging arms and shoulders, you spread the effort across more muscle groups and reduce fatigue in the legs. They also encourage a more upright posture, which can improve breathing by opening the chest and lungs. The poles’ versatility also enables me to probe stream depth and assess the stability of rocks or logs before stepping on them.

I don’t know if poles have saved my knees. It is often impossible to measure prevention. Nevertheless, I know that poles have saved my balance on numerous occasions. Using them is a smart move for me and I look forward to wandering with my poles for years to come.

I loved being a vegetable gardener when I was in 4-H. I marveled every day as the vegetables grew and matured. Every morning, I could not wait to get to my garden to see what sprang up overnight and to contemplate when harvesting might begin. My first garden project was a 10’ x 10’ plot but expanded to include the whole family garden during my teen years.

I no longer have vegetables outside my door, but interesting small flora are abundant in the open space next to my townhouse. Every summer day I am thrilled at seeing the tiny wildflowers and the native thistles outside my home.

Thistles have a bad reputation. Many of them are invasive throughout our community and in the national park. However, our montane ecosystem is also home to native thistles that are not only beautiful but part of the ecology that helps to deter wildland fires. They live in harmony with other wildflowers and proliferate while not pushing other flora away.

Native Wavyleaf thistles can thrive in a variety of places. They are frequently visited by bumblebees and other pollinating insects. Birds use the bristles to line their nests. Native Americans used wavyleaf thistle for food and medicine.

The leaders of my condominium association do not appreciate my nurturing of the little Wavyleaf thistles. Two years ago, they mowed down the one thistle that I had so delighted in seeing. Last year I put up a placard to protect it. Although one of the HOA Board members whacked it down in the fall, it had procreated with a half dozen babies growing several feet away, fortunately on city property that should not be mowed. This year I have more blooming thistles, and they are spreading their seed further into the public space.

I delight in these thistles as well as the other wildflowers that struggle in this high desert environment. The area is far different than the rich Iowa soil that nourished my 4-H garden. Nevertheless, I enjoy the young thistles and other wildflowers every day.

As fall approaches, the thistles are becoming dormant. My morning observations in the winter will change to seeing footprints in the snow instead of flourishing flowers. I will patiently wait, however, for what spring brings.

Just like being a farm kid in Iowa, it’s the little things just outside my door that delight my heart every day. Mother Theresa reminds us that not everyone can do great things, but we can all do small things with love.

Mom keeps the radio on all day to keep us company. Lately I have heard references to “childless cat ladies.” I think our mom claims that label although she is also averse to labels in general.

Nevertheless, we are the children of this lady, and we are glad that she chose us, and we chose her to spend our lives together.

Over 14 years ago when both of us weighed only a couple pounds, she took us to our forever home. We moved from North Carolina to Colorado but as long as mom was with us, we were at home.

Mom understands cats. She lets us be cats, which means different things to different cats. My brother Gitch is different from me. We have our own routines each day. After mom feeds and medicates us each morning, Gitch goes on patrol throughout the house—checking to see that all is in order and to see what wildlife might be outside our doors.

I assume the relaxing position in mom’s lap as she reads online newspapers, checks Facebook, and sends emails. I spend most days in that chair after she leaves for whatever she is doing that day—hiking, volunteering, going to EVLT functions. When she returns home, I reluctantly share the chair with her. Occasionally I stretch my legs but mostly, I just snooze and listen to the radio in the background.

Mom feeds us late in the afternoon. We like to meet her when we hear the garage door. She greets us with, “Hi Sweethearts. How was your day?” She then proceeds to tell us a little about her day. Gitch talks to her yammering on about this and that. I just wait to be fed.

I am glad we have this woman as our cat lady and am thankful for many other cat ladies and cat gents. I cannot imagine life without this mom. I sometimes long to be outdoors again but I am now quite content in my senior years to look outside at the mountain landscapes and feel the cool breezes coming through the cracked windows. Viva cat ladies!

About eight years ago I met a woman who was a weed nerd. I don’t mean marijuana but exotic plants-weeds-that don’t belong somewhere. As I associated with her around weed eradication in the park and later as a friend, it became apparent that weeds were foremost on her mind. No matter where we went or what we did, weeds came into the conversation. I thought her fixation on weeds was delightful and a little weird.

Today I see myself headed that direction, although I still nurture other interests. I, however, have come to loathe invasive weeds and am continually aware of weeds—in my neighborhood, along public roads, and in the park.

Invasives thrive on disturbed soil such as recently burned forests and meadows. Birds, wind, or unknowing humans often distribute them. Seeds can travel great distances. If left unchecked, invasive species can displace intact, healthy native plant communities and have a significant negative impact on an entire ecosystem.

Photo by Deb Bialeschki

I am part of a volunteer group in the park called the Weed Warriors. We go out twice a week all summer to designated areas called EMUs-Exotic Weed Units. Most areas are in public facing areas where we want people to see the beautiful waving grasses and sedges as well as the native wildflowers. Spraying herbicides is effective on some weeds, but other exotic plants such as Mullein, Musk thistle, Russian thistle, and Houndstongue are best removed manually.

People sometimes ask us if our cause seems futile. Removing invasive plants feels endless. Yet I get great satisfaction when I see an area where we have slayed the weeds. This week I took a walk through Aspenglen Campground where we had worked a month ago. I didn’t see one single weed, and I was happy. When we return next year, I know more weeds will emerge, but they will be minimized!

Removing invasive weeds is not always visible to the public unless people like me have tendencies toward weed nerdism. Nevertheless, as I drive through the park or walk around my neighborhood, I see what we have accomplished. This form of volunteerism is altruistic.

Although our weeding is hot and tedious, I am in the fellowship of good people who care about native beauty and working hard. It is never a bad day when I can be in the park. I am becoming a weed nerd.

When I was in my undergraduate days and even into early adulthood, I could move all my possessions in my car. Sometimes life comes full circle. After 50 years, moving everything that I important in my car comes around again.

The recent wildfires near my home forced me to think again about what is important to me that can fit in my car.

I wrote about “stuff” in 2020 when I had my first fire evacuation experience due to fires. As I reflected and thought about evacuating again, I prioritized my life that fit into my car. I do not have a fire bag/box ready, but I know what I would gather up quickly.

My kitties (yes, I am a childless cat lady!) would be my first concern for safety. I only need them, but it would be good to bring their litter box and food in case I could not purchase those things easily.

My second important belonging is my computer. I could use a computer anywhere to access my accounts and digital documents. I do, however, have photos stored that might be difficult to recover even if stored in the cloud. Nevertheless, having my computer gives me security.

My third priority is a lock box that has my will and other documents that are hard copy versions of what is on my computer.

Finally, I would take special quilts that my mom and sister made for me. I also have family photos that would be nice to have.

I learned a little bit from the 5-day fire evacuation in October of 2020. I would take a variety of clothing—nothing special but I would prepare for warm weather as well as cold. Someone told me that if you grab something quick, take your full laundry basket because it has the “essentials” in it.

I might also throw in camping equipment if I had time, A tent, sleeping bag, and my propane stove could be useful but like 99% of the things I own, are easily replaceable.

Those priorities would fit into my Subaru Impreza and would give me security. I could live without most “stuff.” Beloved animals and special personal mementos are not for sale. Thankfully, this time I did not have to make these decisions. Fleeing a wildfire, however, may be something I will face again. It would be a one-car limit!

I was so inspired by the 1968 Olympics in Mexico City that I boldly announced to my friends while watching the event in my college dorm that I was going to be in the Olympics someday. I am not one to make pronouncements such as this without having the intent to carry through. I considered myself an athlete.

Intercollegiate athletics for women, however, was not a “thing” in 1968 even though I participated in competitive events with other universities in field hockey, swimming, and volleyball when they were offered each quarter. I thought my strength was as a longer distance runner. I really didn’t like swimming that much and training with a team was not likely.

I told one of the physical education faculty members the next day that I wanted help to design a training plan for the next 4 years. She informed me that the longest distance available to women in the Olympics was 800 meters. I knew I was not built for speed and my hopes were immediately dashed. Doing something like archery or fencing didn’t have much appeal and I knew no one with those talents. Little did I know that 1984 would be the first Olympic Marathon for women in Los Angeles won by Joan Benoit.

My dream to be an Olympic athlete obviously did not come true. I did enjoy almost 40 years as an amateur runner, and I am proud of that. Every year when the Olympics occur, nevertheless, provides me with inspiration and a tiny bit of disappointment. I am moved by the ability and achievements of the athletes. I get frustrated sometimes by the commercialization of the games and the one dimension I get watching TV.

Yet, I find myself glued to the TV for two weeks and eager for stories in social media about the perseverance of the athletes. I admire the extraordinary dedication, discipline, and resilience that comes with competing at this highest level. I especially admire the women who have come to do so well in a variety of sports. I support the winners from the USA and admire the national pride and overall global unity that these events provide for me and many others. Vicarious experiences are different from being there, but I always come away appreciating the power of sports performance, and dreaming about what might have been.

I was in Iowa at my sister’s house looking through old letters and memorabilia that my mother and grandmother had kept. Among the archives was a kindergarten report card for my dad. It had no date but would have been done in about 1928. I remember also seeing something similar from my own kindergarten days, although my mother didn’t preserve those reports.

I don’t know if these assessments continue today, but the criteria reported about my dad offered insight into what was important when I was raised by him more than 20 years later.

Report cards reflect a student’s academic journey. Yet, in addition to subjects and assessments, they once described the intangible qualities of good citizenship—kindness, fostering a sense of belonging, and lending a helping hand.

Citizenship as defined in my father’s youth was not about how much children raised their hands but about character and integrity within the school community. It spoke of empathy, responsibility, and respect for others. In kindergarten the reports seemed to suggest how that child functioned in society.

Growing up, I sometimes wondered how my dad could be “only” a farmer with no voiced aspirations to save the world, as I did when I was in my late teens. I now realize that citizenship occurs in big and small ways. My dad was soft-spoken and yet vehement about what it meant to live a good life. He cared about his family, his animals, his soil conservation practices, and giving back to his community. I learned a lot from him.

Reflecting on my dad’s kindergarten behavior underlined what I had known as an educator for over four decades. Education isn’t only about mastering equations or understanding research literature. It was, and continues to be, about nurturing individuals who know how to think critically and contribute meaningfully to their communities. Education is useless unless it focuses on using knowledge to embody good citizenship.

Five years ago on July 26, 2019, my sisters and I scattered half of the co-mingled ashes of my parents over the farm they owned for almost 50 years. Less than half also were buried in a small plain brown box at a granite gravesite marker in the Coggon cemetery. I also got a small urn of ashes bottled for me to keep. Those ashes and the memories of my parents have now travelled around the world.

My mom and dad loved to travel. I enjoy having them with me physically and emotionally as I experience the outdoors and travelling. They are in a sealed container in a soft blue bag that is easy to carry.

Last week I was hiking in the park. At the destination for lunch, I reached into my pack to pay a moment of homage with the urn. I realized I had left it (them?) on my dresser where I placed it after being out of town the week before. Something was missing in my pause.

I know that my mom and dad are eternally with me. They would have enjoyed my trips whether hiking or visiting miles away. I don’t have to have that tiny vessel with me to remember them, but I like having a physical part of them continually in my presence.

Since the ashes were comingled, they have been out of the country to Croatia, England, Ireland, Scotland, France, Italy, Switzerland, and Canada. In the US, they have been to Baltimore, Salt Lake City, Palm Springs, San Diego, New Orleans, Tolono (IL), Stillwater (OK), Portland, San Francisco, North Carolina, Iowa, New York City, Santa Fe, Orlando, Ft Myers, Dallas, Tucson, St Louis, and Chicago. The ashes are well traveled. In addition, they went on backpacking trips in the mountains as well as accompanying me on most of my hikes and recently, a Yampa River rafting trip.

I miss visiting with my parents about travelling. They were always interested in what I was doing. Therefore, I continue to “show” them my world. I know they approve.