Bozeman Thanksgiving

 dearest friends

 branch art installations

 the Winemaker

 an incredible meal, after a 21 day cleanse

 mountains, snowshoeing, and light

these four 

you are exactly where you need to be

road trippin' (gypsy august)

W2 to Minnesota... 

Grand Teton, Wind River Canyon to Thermopolis Hot Springs

Sundance, Buffalo, and Devil's Tower, Crazy Horse

Minneapolis and Hudson, Wisconsin

AmeriCorps Graduation [more on goodbyes]

Be ahead of all parting, as if it had already happened
like winter, which even now is passing.
For beneath the winter is a winter so endless
that to survive it at all is a triumph of the heart.

Be forever dead in Eurydice, and climb back singing.
Climb back praising as you return to connection.
Here among the disappearing, in the realm of the transient,
be a ringing glass that shatters as it rings.

Be.  And, at the same time, know what it is not to be.
That emptiness inside you allows you to vibrate
in resonance with the world.  Use it for once.

To all that has run its course, and to the vast unsayable
numbers of beings abounding in nature,
add yourself gladly, and cancel the cost.

-Rilke, Sonnets to Orpheus, part two, XIII

happy solstice

well, it didn't go exactly as planned, but...

snowshoeing: two days in a row!

In all things,

at all times,

you will abound with everything you need.

elle, after almost three years

going north for thanks

A peace that springs soon after sorrow
of hope surrendered, not hope fulfilled.

has this day really already passed?

Recognizing Women, Part III

Narrowing down to three out of all the women I´d like to celebrate is no small choice, but this third one is undoubtedly one of the strongest and beautiful women I´ve ever met. And as life would have it, I got to spend quite a bit more time with her in the year before moving south.

Patty Ediger, carpenter, horse-back rider, gardener, animal lover, listener, frequent crier, and source of clever commentary, is becoming like another mom to me. She´s fairly tiny but word has it she could out-arm wrestle her sons until they were 7th graders. She helped build her family´s house and their business and is self-taught and capable with legal, company, and non-profit financial bookkeeping. She gives classy DIY projects for Christmas. She goes on canoe-camping trip dates with her husband. She is basically the woman we all want to be.

Patty turned 50 on March 10th and wrote me,

´I cringe with the thought of it....why? Maybe because I have had a certain image of what 50 will be and didn´t like it... maybe because as a woman in this culture I already have had to struggle to find value in a man's world and becoming older in a culture that actually marginalizes older people rather than honoring and valuing them ...well it´s just a bit depressing I have to say. However, your words cheer me up and I need to take [a Tibetan friend´s] advice and just choose to not think about it. I feel great, I feel strong and young and I should be happy about that.´

I love her honesty. May women know more honor and value in the Northwest and all over the planet, calling it out in each other and wearing wisdom and strength and beauty as crowns.

Recognizing Women, Part II

A woman who reminds of writer and former Westmont prof Marilyn Chandler McEntyre (who deserves an entry to herself) is Kettle Falls´ own Lynn Schott. Also a poet and teacher, I got to write an article about this lady last summer when she retired from teaching high school English. That was in the town eight miles from mine, so I never got to have her, but her reputation as a teacher in a forest-industry town is highly upheld. Born and raised in San Francisco, and having spent several years of her 20s in Guatemala, Lynn´s choice to teach at a struggling high school in a poor, rural area greatly blessed hundreds of students. For me, meeting Lynn brought with it increased respect for all good teachers (especially those lovers of language and story) and a seed-idea that maybe at some point I want to try my hand at teaching high school or community college English. The woman holds to high standards, asks questions that push into the comfortable and accepted, and demonstrates kindness to even the most difficult students. She doesn´t have email or a computer, so she won´t be reading this, but if you could meet her, she´d make you coffee and you´d sit in her garden or by her fireplace and have a long, rich conversation.

Recognizing Women, part I

This little post from the lovely Ms. Lisa Borden reminded me that Today is International Women's Day.

I want to take her lead (another beloved woman worth emulating) and recognize some women this week who have been mentors and role models to me.

#1) Rosemarie Springer. Like Lisa, who got to know Rusty on Westmont College's San Francisco Urban semester in Spring '82, I found the acquaintance of the lady during my time in the city in Spring '08. Rusty, who just celebrated her 80th birthday, was 77 then, a retired Urban professor who sat on the board of Sojourn, the non-profit multi-faith chaplaincy at General Hospital, where I interned. My professor, Brad Berky (who was on Urban '82 with Lisa!) kept insisting I meet Rusty. When we finally met, it was love at first sight. She is a lover of literature, poetry, conversation, food and drink, and, of course, the city. She lives in Little Italy and still climbs four flights of stairs each day to her apartment. She's never been married (though she was once engaged), but still goes on dates. Rusty once told me that she has learned to 'Celebrate the days as they are,' and those small instructions have written themselves into me. I deeply hope to spend another day sharing coffee or tea with her when I return from Central America. Having a friend so much older feels a bit precarious, with the future of even this year unknown. But I wouldn't trade anything to know Rusty, she is one of the most beautiful women I have ever spent time with.

More coming!

´here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;
which grows higher than the soul can hope
or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that´s keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart
(i carry it in my heart).´

-e.e. cummings

giving thanks

For dear friends, a ridiculous family, delicious food, a warm house in the (7 inches and counting!) snow, and four bomb pies, including this apple one that I just can't resist bragging about... I'm sorry, I've just never made a pie so pie-ish looking!



And also, for a man who is endlessly patient with me, who helps me walk a path of Peace.

Yes, gratitude is a discipline I want to practice more.

[on being back]

People look older. Some have gained weight,
or are losing a little hair,
Others have grown thinner, facial structures more pronounced.

I've been in the desert since Thursday, Anza Borrego, the Salton Sea, strange places,
felt the 6.9 quake with Elly,
my grandmother who kept cordially asking what we do, where we work, who we are.

Now it's back to this beach town, after nearly a year
Staggering in the streets at the smell of climbing wisteria and jasmine
walking at the salty ocean between windy surf and stars

I burst, it shattered through me like a bullet through a bottle
(telling me to believe that all of this is real).

The sun still shines, but it presses wearily through fog and branches
The cat sleeps (I feel fonder of it than I used to)
Funny how we measure compatibility by feelings toward pets:
one dog, medium-to-large, outside, beloved.

Well I have made pumpkin into soup, steamed golden squash,
crushed apples into sauce and boiled jars in preservation.
I have crossed our field and picked apples as the sun went down.
My sister and I carried canvas bags
and I will not soon forget the image of her standing in the tree,
stretching to reach each apple.

I have read the words of a carpenter,
those ones that say there is a Shepherd who leaves 99 sheep
in order to find one who is lost and lonely,
in order to pick her up and carry her home.

And I think I want to scrawl Isaiah the poet's words on every wall and corner of my house

They will rebuild the ancient ruins and restore the places long devastated;
they will renew the ruined cities that have been devastated for generations.
They will be called might oaks, a planting of the Lord.

Well now,
Ciderfest has come and passed, and we finished the Harvest not three days ago.
I have heard the Canadian geese honking overhead,
and studied symbols of the coming cold in everything:
the tall mullen stalks aging brown and thin,
the yellow grass rattling in the wind at dusk,
the maples and aspen turning golden and deep red.

My hands are dryer than they've been in months,
(And I've been reading about the drought in East Africa, the worst one this decade)
Oh, forgotten lands!
But I will not forget you!

We have heard the Buddha saying, truthfully,
that to live is to suffer.
And maybe we can receive this even as we mourn the drought.

Maybe grief will grow on us like the changing of the leaves,
subtly at first, before we notice its overwhelming color.
For as long as we trade careful and authored farewells,
as long as I long for your hewn words,
I will watch the trees,
kayak glassy lakes,
miss you pensively.