Lost Lake Hike

Caitlin suggested a hike up to see the aspens, and Saturday morning she, Shannon and I headed up to Eldora. We took Hessie Townsite Trail to Devil’s Thumb and on up to Lost Lake. The aspens were gloriously gold against the deep green pine and it smelled wonderful.

I told the kids about the last time I had headed up this trail with the two of them; Shannon was riding in a backpack on my back, and Caitlin was still cozy inside me, waiting to be born about a month later. I was hiking with my brother and my husband and people would pass by and look at us curiously, seeing a small very pregnant woman with a kid on her back and two big men hiking beside her, kid free. But Shannon wasn’t comfortable on any back but mine, and so it goes. The picture is from a slightly earlier time, but you get the idea.

It was a glorious blue sky September day in Colorado, and we laughed and talked a lot all the way up, past a rushing stream, big rocks, and many dogs enjoying the trail and especially Lost Lake itself as they sloshed around the banks and fetched sticks thrown out into the lake.

I was glad my kids enjoy my company on a hike like this, and grateful to Caitlin for coming up with the idea. Also I was filled with joy to see again how well Caitlin and Shannon get along with each other and how much they enjoy each other's company.

They are friends, and that is not always the case with brothers and sisters. It is a wonderful memory.

Mitchell to Blue Lake Trail

Yesterday morning Mark and I drove up to Brainard and hiked Mitchell Lake Trail most of the way to Blue Lake. As we had hoped there were plenty of parking places the day after the holiday on a weekday.

It turns out Mark has very fond memories of this trail, recalling a hike he took on it with his Dad and Shannon, when Shannon was about seven years old. He remembers there was a snowfield near the top and the three of them had a snowball fight in summer – a happy memory.

We let two pleasant looking yet chattering women past us, and then headed up the pine-shaded trail, the light dappling the rocks, ferns and fallen logs in that way I love. I took lots of pictures. The smell of pine was deep and delicious. We stopped at one point and stood very still, listening to the peaceful silence in a moment of Zen. Only the rush of wind through the trees and the sound of running water could be heard.

Further up, Mitchell Lake was in a tranquil state, the water glimmering shades of brown, gray and green. As we moved above tree line we could look down below to a series of small lakes and rock formations, while above the clouds moved and reformed and grew as though alive in the blue sky overhead.

We made it far enough to sit on a promontory overlooking walls of talus and a fall of water staining the otherwise sandy-yellow rocks a darker gray. The water tumbled into a small stream below lined with bright green plants and a few alpine flowers. Mark spotted a fat marmot who, startled to see us, hustled away up the talus and was quickly camouflaged by the surrounding terrain. That’s the first time we’ve seen a marmot in the mountains in perhaps fifteen years.

We ate our ham and cheese sandwiches and rested awhile, then headed back down, our bodies protesting the long hike back over rough rocks much of the way. It was a wonderful day, and Mark asked me to send the best pictures to his Dad to help him remember that other happy hike long ago.

Summer Flowers

As the summer ends I want to hold fast to the memory of the beautiful flowers Mark's green thumb has kept blooming in our yard. They have given both him and me hours of joy, even though they are a lot of work. By sharing them here, I give a little past homage to my father's practice of sharing his Indiana garden flowers with friends, neighbors and nursing homes. Even though Mark and I don't pick the flowers and deliver them to others, we share them with the neighborhood and I now share them here.

There can be something calming about watering the garden and keeping it groomed, and at the same time it is a chore that calls to be done over and over again in the hot, dry Colorado summer in order not to lose the flowers to the heat, a chore that makes us ready for Autumn when it comes.

There is an essence of healing in flowers. Mark has created a small garden in the front yard we call the "Yellow Garden," which is one of the first sights I admire in the morning, and one of the first I am glad to see when I return home from work each evening. It always cheers me up.

It has several varieties of yellow flowers including a yellow snapdragon that brings back the memory of my grandfather first showing me how the snapdragon got its name, by holding the flower and squeezing the little jaws to open and close them like a little dragon.

Each year Mark says it was too much work; he will scale back or discontinue the gardening next year! And each year spring comes around and he has new ideas for expanding the yellow garden, or planting more morning glories.

Breathe

I have been working on taking deep breaths that fill my lungs and push out my belly, and then holding for a second and releasing the air in a big whoosh through my mouth. As I practice this, I sometimes relax into a state of well being, and often I yawn. Perhaps it's my imagination, but it seems occasionally I am rewarded with the tiniest rush of endorphin. I think this means I'm doing it right. I practice this several times a day, when walking, stretching, driving, sitting at the computer or bouncing on the ball I now have in my office.

I remember my Dad used to hold his breath, then release it in a rush through pursed lips: pffffff. He did it when he was working hard, concentrating on a delicate task of some sort, or otherwise working with his hands. I used to think he was just forgetting to breath, holding his breath as he concentrated and releasing it all at once when he remembered. However, Dad was stationed in France during World War II and one of his jobs was to defuse bombs. He rarely discussed this so I can only speculate: Could it be that way back then, at age 20, he had instinctively learned a way to breath that was calming and head-clearing, producing focus and mindfulness for a dangerous and delicate task?

Eckhart Tolle had this to say in "A New Earth:

"Someone recently showed me the annual prospectus for a large spiritual organization. When I looked through it, I was impressed by the wide choice of interesting seminars and workshops. It reminded me of a smorgasbord...The person asked me whether I could recommend one or two courses. "I don't know," I said. "They all look so interesting. But I do know this," I added. "Be aware of your breathing as often as you are able, whenever you remember. Do that for one year, and it will be more powerfully transformative than attending all of these courses. And it's free."

He also says:

...Being aware of your breath forces you into the present moment--the key to all inner transformation. Whenever you are conscious of your breath, you are absolutely present. You may also notice that you cannot think and be aware of your breathing. Conscious breathing stops your mind--but you are fully awake and highly alert."

So simple a concept: Remember to Breath.