Wandering and Wondering

Make America Kind (Again) is an important idea for me. Kindness means being nice instead of mean. It also includes being kind/nice in the face of meanness. Kindness involves being considerate, gracious, and forgiving.

My good friend Deb has a simple tattoo on her right wrist. It says, “Be Kind.” She has it facing outward to remind people to be kind as she shakes hands or reaches out in any way. At the retirement party for Deb two years ago, we all got temporary tattoos with that message. A couple of her proteges got real tattoos to honor Deb’s passion about kindness.

I have written before about the coffee shop in town called Kind Coffee. The organization suggests that being kind involves THE RESPONSIBILITY OF LIFE IN THE PRESENT TO PRESERVE FOR LIFE IN THE FUTURE. Therefore, the coffee sold provides environmental sustainability by being chemical free, fairly traded, shade grown, certified organic, and good for you and the environment. The business notes that “Kind is what coffee should be.”

The Dalai Lama stated, “My religion is kindness.” All religions indicate the importance of practicing loving kindness. In the Christian tradition, Mathew 7:12 indicates Jesus said, “In everything, do to others as you would have them do to you; for this is the law and the prophets.” The Islamic Prophet Muhammad emphasized, “Not one of you truly believes until you wish for others what you wish for yourself.”  Kindness is at the core of all spiritual and humanistic paths.

I believe, as these spiritual leaders advocate, if we dedicate our lives to kindness and to the qualities of care, we create peace on earth. This approach would lead to social justice and the healing of our environment.

Every year on November 13 is International Kindness Day. I thought about writing this blog closer to that date but decided to do it now. Every day should be Kindness Day. Kindness is a conscious choice and not just a random act. A belief in the goodness of people is expressed through kindness.

I lowered my day pack, pulled out my sitting mat, and carefully positioned it on a short, weathered log. It was two minutes until beginning my trail assignment. I was volunteering to count the hikers on a trail during a one-hour period so it could be calibrated with the gadgets strategically placed on trees and across the trail to measure hiker numbers. These data are necessary for management plans in the park.

I looked forward to the hike to this assigned spot, but was trepidatious about the hour I was going to sit still and unobtrusively record the number of hikers on a clicker. Much to my surprise, I discovered the longer I sat still, the more I enjoyed the experience. I realized how infrequently I just sit in nature. I love to be in motion hiking to desired landmarks. Stopping to sit pensively has not been my experience.

The trail was not busy. I had plenty of opportunity to “be.” I noticed the ants working diligently to get materials to their mounds. I could smell the damp earth. I heard the occasional buzz of a mosquito or fly as it went about its business. I recognized the screech of a hawk in the distance. I noted the squirrel flitting up and down the lodgepole pines. I heard the crunch of hiking boots on the trail before I saw the hikers.

In describing the experience, a friend noted that I was “forest bathing.” Forest bathing means immersing oneself in nature in a mindful way and using senses to derive benefits for one’s health. It is both a fitness trend and a mindfulness practice. The term emerged in Japan in the 1980s called shinrin-yoku (“forest bathing” or “taking in the forest atmosphere”). Its purpose was to counter technology burnout and to reconnect residents to the country’s forests.

Many Japanese embrace this form of ecotherapy. Science now supports what people in many other cultures already know: time spent immersed in nature is good for people.

Regardless of whether the term forest bathing is used, the idea is not just for wilderness-lovers like me. I am learning that regardless of where I am, I can slow down in any natural environment and consciously connect with what is around me. I hope to have a lot of forest bathing in the future.

A young park ranger that I worked with this summer was obsessed with FOMO-Fear of Missing Out. She is an enthusiastic conscientious young person who wants to garner as many experiences as possible related to “ranger work” as well as her personal life. She laments missing out on happenings when she is on her days off.

I have never used FOMO to describe my life, but I have experienced it. Contemplating FOMO has resulted in thinking about the opportunities I have had as well as the things I will never get to do.

I read an interesting article by Valerie Tiberius entitled, “Why you should swap your bucket list with a chuck-it list.” She claimed that some people have put too much emphasis on getting their bucket lists checked off. I admit that I may have focused on aspirations that I wanted to reach. I am also coming to the realization that I will never accomplish some of my goals.

Some things will most likely never happen. For example, I always wanted to run the Boston Marathon but never came close to getting a qualifying time, or perhaps I should say that I never worked hard enough to achieve that required time. I run little these days, so any marathon is not in my future.

I have travelled to every continent and visited dozens of countries. Yet, I still have a hankering to travel to new places. I also am questioning how important those destinations are as I get older.

Tiberius suggested that trying to achieve the bucket list may lead to disappointment and frustration. It also might lead to missing out or enjoying what wasn’t on that list—opportunities coming serendipitously or that were taken for granted. She noted that what is on your “chuck it” list may be as important as the bucket list. As I age, I feel my priorities evolving. I am finding that staying home for periods of time is enjoyable. I am giving myself permission, as Tiberius suggested, to remove those items that I may not get done—and not feel sorry about that.

A healthy FOMO is not bad. For me today, however, tempering my bucket list and my chuck it list may be more fruitful. I am grateful for all the experiences I have had.

My philosophy about retirement is that one should go towards something and not simply go away from a job. I knew when I chose to retire in Estes Park that I wanted to have a new “career” as a volunteer in Rocky Mountain National Park (RMNP). The park is home to me. Over the past 9 years I made my retirement goal a dream come true.

I was acknowledged recently at the RMNP Volunteer Recognition Event with my 10,000 Hour drop-down Bar. Doing the math, that equals 250 weeks of service or almost 5 years of full-time paid work. None of my volunteering at the park, however, feels like hard work. It is a service of love for the beauty of this park landscape and the habitats of the animals. I am privileged to spend my time surrounded in beauty working with other dedicated volunteers and staff to instill in visitors the value of these public lands and natural wonders.

I recognize I am an overachiever and did not necessarily intend that so much of my life at this stage would be wrapped up with this volunteering. Nevertheless, I do not know what I would give up if I had to volunteer less. Just as I felt my professional career was a calling, my service in the park is a calling.

People ask me what my favorite volunteer activity is. I never know what to say. Some days are not as much fun as others. Overall, however, I would not do what I do unless it was meaningful to me and to others. My blogs have described several of my service activities that are diverse such as weed warrioring, information office talking, and elk counting. Even within a single season, a particular volunteer opportunity varies from day to day.

My volunteering is not altruistic. I volunteer because it feels good, and I feel needed to contribute to a greater cause. I like being in the “know” about the park. Since I no longer associate daily with young college students, I enjoy the perspective of young staff as they seek to make sense of their lives and their work in the park.

I am proud of my 10,000 hours. I am grateful for the National Park Service and how it contributes to the edification of visitors. I am fortunate to play a small role.

What an unusual experience not to see another human being besides my backpacking buddies for over 36 hours! Or, as one of my companions suggested, to see more moose than people for two days! We experienced that surreal occurrence on our backpacking trip in the far north of Rocky Mountain National Park to Mirror Lake last week. I am glad to know that such remote areas exist mostly untrammeled by humans.

The experience of backcountry travel provides opportunities to reflect on life at its most elemental levels, even though the gear now exists to travel relatively lightly and comfortably. I have been lucky to backpack in several beautiful parts of the American West such as the Wonderland Trail around Mt. Rainier, the Beartooths of Montana, the John Muir Trail in California, the Wind Rivers and Tetons in Wyoming, the San Juans of Colorado, and all corners of Rocky Mountain National Park.

I love being able to get away from the conveniences of daily living for a short time if for no other reason than to be reminded of how grateful I am to live in great comfort. I revel in the peacefulness and the opportunity to disconnect from the world when I am in wild places. I like the focus on living simply and safely in the company of a few good friends. I delight in laying in my tent at night and hearing none of the background of traffic and other civilization noises but only the sound of silence in the outdoors. When it rains, I find nothing cozier than being in a well-designed rain resistant tent.

I am blessed with these opportunities and am also realizing that over time I may not be able to continue to enjoy them in the same way. My pack seems to be getting heavier as my legs, and especially my knees, are getting weaker. Getting in and out of my little tent isn’t as easy as it used to be, especially during those middle of the night bathroom calls.  I find myself more concerned about how to remain healthy and safe as I recreate in these isolated areas.

Nevertheless, I hope I have more backpacking trips left in me. I recognize that I am getting older and not as athletic as I used to be. Regardless, I will continue to dream about getting away, and remember warmly the trips I have enjoyed in the wilderness for over 50 years.

In the Christian tradition, the Lord’s Prayer has the phrase “and give us this day our daily bread.” Bread is symbolic of life, and I love literally having bread every day, and especially sweetened bread. If you put a cinnamon roll/donut, cookie, piece of cake, or slice of pie in front of me, I would always choose the bread item.

Bread has been referred to as the “staff of life.” It is a staple food used, needed, or enjoyed by many individuals. One of my favorite food adventures when I travel to international or domestic areas is to sample the variations of bread: Focaccia in Italy, Soda Bread in Ireland, Tortillas in Mexico, Pita in the Middle East, and Frybread in North American indigenous cultures.

My mother used to make our daily bread when I was younger. She was a great bread baker. I now deplore that my sisters and I used to beg for “boughten bread” (think Wonder Bread)—how little we knew about the delights of homemade bread. One of my mother’s hallmarks was the “coffee cakes” she gave away to family and friends during the Christmas season. Other people have holiday rituals such as tea rings or ooey gooey sweet breads, but my mom’s superpower was coffee cake.

As a young teen, I did a 4-H demonstration project on how to make bread and called the demonstration, “The Staff of Life.” I seldom make bread regularly these days even though I deplore the amount of packaging that comes with bread from the grocery store. Yeast breads, especially, take time. I do love the catharsis of kneading the bread and the surprise in how it deflates after rising only to bake with its soft roundness.

I love pizza and I think much of that has to do with the crust, the “bones” of pizza. Sandwiches are not the same to me unless they have bread on both sides.

Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra suggested that “All sorrows are less with bread.” I believe that statement especially when I convince myself that I deserve a donut or a thick slice of bread with butter and jam as a treat for hard work done.

Carbs come in different forms. I vote for bread items and am glad I am not gluten-free. The idea of breaking bread together is a simple pleasure that I am grateful to share as often as I can.

The mornings have a tinge of crispness. The plants along the trail are showing light yellows and bits of red. The Aspens are not the same bright green as they were in mid-summer. Days are noticeably shorter, especially in the morning. The season is beginning to transform in the high elevations of Colorado as summer wanes. Mixed emotions occur during this period of impending change.

Summer was my favorite season growing up mostly because it was full of long days and outdoor activities. I liked going to school, but I reveled in the freedom summer portended. I was not a fan of winter as it was hard on the farm. Making sure the animals were comfortable took an effort. Bundling up to go outdoors was time consuming.

As I age, however, I appreciate more fully the colors of fall, the pristineness of snow, and the harkening of spring wildflowers. Those observations add variety to my life. I no longer have a favorite season. The season I am in is the best. Although sometimes difficult to let go of the warmth of summer, I look forward to the evolving changes in nature that I see each day.

I am grateful to live in a landscape with stark and overlapping seasons. I appreciate the changes taking place and am also aware of the anxiety they can produce.

I love Yoko Ono’s quote: “Spring passes and one remembers one’s innocence. Summer passes and one remembers one’s exuberance. Autumn passes and one remembers one’s reverence. Winter passes and one remembers one’s perseverance.”

As I reflect about an appreciation for seasons, I think about the parallels of my life. When I was young, it was like spring. The years of my adulthood and career were reminiscent of summer with all the possibilities. I now reflect on the autumn of my life as I wind down with vagaries occurring in my energy levels and thinking. Winter will eventually come as my soul experiences the final cycle on earth. As Catherine Pulsifer reminded, “Embrace the beauty of every season, for it is in these transitions that we truly bloom.”

Last summer I answered an email question sent to romo_information@nps.gov, the park’s address for inquiries about the park. The writer wanted to know details about a particular trail near the Alpine Visitor Center. I responded with the information requested. A couple days later the same person  emailed with another park related question. In the meantime, I had hiked the first trail. I answered his second question and gave him a bit more detail about the first hike. We had a friendly and unremarkable informative interchange.

Fast forward to this summer. I was answering emails while volunteering again and got another question that was fairly easy to answer efficiently and (hopefully) effectively. A few minutes later I received a personal response on my park email from George:

I sent a quick note back expressing my condolences. George’s response was to wish me a wonderful summer season.

This interchange suggested that often what we do for people goes unnoticed or unacknowledged, and that’s OK. Sometimes, however, it makes a difference both ways. I appreciated George reaching out to me and then responding with his harkening that life is a gift. Although I know each day of living is precious, it was important for me to be reminded.

I was so scared. I tried to tell mom a few days before that I wasn’t feeling up to par. She thought I was needy and gave me lots of sweet pets. Scritch scratches soothed my soul, but they didn’t take away my belly ache.

I realized something was terribly wrong on Sunday afternoon. I hurt when I moved even a single step. I tried not to cry out from the excruciating pain, but I had to tell mom.

Estes Park has no emergency vet services at night or the weekends. Mom cancelled plans for volunteering that night and called the emergency vet in Loveland who told mom I needed to be seen as soon as possible. I was relieved but not excited about the cat carrier and speeding down the mountain. But it hurt so bad. Mom’s friend Deb came along, and her cooing sounds calmed me a tiny bit.

The vet rushed me into the exam room and began an IV with pain killers. Oh, bliss. I heard the doctors talking about a urethral obstruction that required an immediate operation. Mom was going to gulp at the cost of the procedures and my projected 72-hour hospitalization. I knew she would pay any price to get me well.

I don’t remember the next few hours. People were scurrying around. Other animals were in the metal kennels nearby and I didn’t care. When I woke from sedation, I had a catheter inserted as well as an IV fluid post. The pain was gone. I just wanted to sleep. I was continually monitored and offered a few kind pets with encouragement to eat as well as poop.

Another cat, Oscar, came in the second day with the same problem as me. We chatted about our parents and our maladies. Each hour I felt better. After 48 hours, they took out the catheter and waited for me to pee. It was a little embarrassing. I did urinate twice that night so early on the third day, the vet called mom to say I was ready to come home.

Before mom arrived, Oscar had to go back into surgery. He was unable to urinate, and I worried about him.

I was ecstatic, however, to see mom again. We were headed back up the mountain. I was feeling woozy but happy. I will be on special food the rest of my life and will need to take it easy for a few days. Thank goodness for veterinary medicine and a mom who loves me and had savings for my “cat”astrophic misadventure.

I am proud to say that I grew up in Iowa. I have been thinking about Iowa because RAGBRAI was last week, and because Estes Park residents are having their annual Iowa picnic this week.

Growing up in Iowa may not sound glamorous. I am not sure, however, what state might be considered exciting. People get the “I” states mixed up-Iowa, Illinois, Indiana, Idaho. Nevertheless, Iowa has an allure that I am proud to describe.

When I was a County 4-H Professional in Iowa in the early 1970’s, the state adopted a promotional slogan, Iowa—A Place to Grow. The 4-H staff added, 4-H–A Way to Grow. I like those ideas.

My pride relates to several ideas: RAGBRAI, food, Iowa nice, and open landscapes. I was working in Iowa when RAGBRAI started 50 years ago. It was a crazy idea designed to highlight positive perspectives about Iowa. The name did not become RAGBRAI (Register’s Annual Great Bike Ride Across Iowa) until it caught on as an annual event after the first couple years. RAGBRAI is “an epic eight-day rolling festival of bicycles, music, food, camaraderie, and community. It is the oldest, largest, and longest multi-day bicycle touring event in the world.” In 2023 it was estimated that 60,000 riders participated.

I have ridden RAGBRAI a half dozen times. I love the camaraderie of it and have introduced friends to Iowa from all over the US. I am proud that RAGBRAI showcases the hospitality and beauty of Iowa.

Part of the ambience of RAGBRAI is the food. I took food for granted growing up. Fresh fruits and vegetables abound as do carnivore feasts. Restaurants compete for who can provide the biggest tenderloin in town, although the biggest isn’t always best. Maid-rites are crumbled hamburger in a bun and are a staple of most Iowa outdoor events.

My friends have noted how nice Iowa people are. Iowans are kind but will let you know if they do not approve. It is not just the small town or rural farm connection, but a larger embodiment of the Iowa motto of respecting one another’s rights.

Finally, I love Iowa Grant Wood-like landscapes. Open spaces and places where the tall corn grows are part of my roots. I chose Colorado as my retirement state because it has both open spaces AND mountains.

I don’t return often since my parents passed. I miss Iowa and will always be thankful for my growth and education as an Iowan.