Good Guys

A couple of links that might be of interest:

Freecycle.org: www.freecycle.org is a movement that provides help for folks who wish to give stuff away or find stuff for free in their local communities. It’s basically an email message list that allows you to “Offer” something or “Request” something in your community. I used it to give away some stuff we didn’t need anymore but didn’t want to try to sell in our house moving. It was amazing: I had emails from folks within five minutes of my posted “Offer” who wanted the stuff. The came and got it; I didn’t have to worry about trying to sell it. The link above takes you to the home site which give you the ability to search for lists active in your local community. The whole idea is to keep from having to throw stuff away if someone else wants it. Freecycle.org helps hook up both parties to save the waste.

National Do Not Call Registry: https://www.donotcall.gov/default.aspx is the place to register you phone numbers if you don’t want to get the telemarketers or robot-calls coming in. It didn’t take any time at all to start getting those calls on the new home phone, so much so that I’ve stopped answering the direct line during the work day. I’ve registered the phone number now as well as my Grand Central number and new cell phone number. It takes a bit to kick in, but I think it helps.

Yellowpages Goes Green: YellowpagesgoGreen.org Worry about throwing away all those phone books that come into the house? We get three or four different kinds and we only ever use one so we end up trying to recycle the rest. It would be better to simply not have them sent in the first place. That’s what this group attempts to do: They will attempt to contact the phone book companies for you to request that they don’t send new books to you. Read the privacy policy if you’re concerned about giving your physical address to them but it wasn’t something I was worried about.

Catalog Choice: Catalog Choice does the same thing as the Yellowpages group but for unwanted catalogs.  Our unsolicited catalogs have dropped way off since signing up here.  It’s not perfect, but it works pretty well.

Recycle, reuse, reduce.  It creates a lightness in your step and gives your skin a healthy glow.

Hello Oregon

It’s all over but the celebration.  Although it meant going through one of the most tension-filled weeks I’ve been through in a long time, the house-buying process is done and put to rest.   Wells Fargo required brow beating, pleading and threats of walking away all peppered with enough ego-stroking to keep them on track.  They were a week late and caused us more anxiety than I’d like to admit, but in the end we got the terms we wanted and much, much more importantly we got the place itself.  Tucked up in the trees just a ways off the county road it’s five acres of quiet woods surrounded by the neighbor’s horses and a small herd of deer that wander around apparently unconcerned with the excited barks of the dogs.   At night with the windows open it is as close to silent as I’ve experienced since being at the monastery in Snowmass.  Our place in Montana was only a quarter mile from a major state highway and there was always truck noise.   Here we’re enveloped in a nightime stillness that is hard to describe.

A few times in the late evening we’ve heard the ‘barking’ of some Great Horned owl chicks crying after one of the parents for food.  It’s a weird sound and at first a little unnerving.  Although it’s called ‘barking’, in fact it sounds more like  SCRRAAWWWK.   The sound started off close by and then gradually wandered back to a corner of the yard and away into the night.  This morning I walked in that area looking for a frisbee one of the dogs dropped and couldn’t find.   All of  a sudden the tree above me broke into a frenzy of beating wings as an owl flew off to the next set of trees.  I couldn’t have been more than ten feet from it when it was startled.  It didn’t seem to upset - he hung out while I snapped a few pics and in the binoculars I could see it slowly close one eye at a time until he appeared to be resting quietly asleep in the woods we now are calling home.

Firsts

First new birds identified (Great Horned Owls, Nuthatches, Black-headed Grosbeaks)

First day as owners, not renters

First beer on the back deck

First bike ride down the county road

First big lightning storm

First time leaving the dogs behind when we go to town

First day putting the cat ouside for the summer

First meal on the unfamiliar stove

First family to visit the place

First new friends coming for dinner

First chat with the neighbors next door

First day returning to work after a week of moving

First nap on a Sunday afternoon

A man and his dogs

A man has two dogs.

One is sweet and has a happy disposition.  It loves to play, is always happy to see the man and is naturally drawn to companionship, loyalty, being contented, service and protection.

The other dog is mean tempered and unpredictable.  It snaps and snarls when it’s natural inclinations are disrupted.  It steals food, barks at people passing by, pisses on flowers and craps on the sidewalks.   It is constantly demanding recognition and lashes out with no warning.

Which dog becomes the pack leader?

The one that gets fed the most.

I am the man and I am both the dogs.   Whatever I feed and nurture in myself is what grows the strongest.

Haybales, revisited

I don’t know what it is about hayfields, but I love them.   When I was at Snowmass monastery I would occasionally get a chance to spend an afternoon or evening picking up hay on the stack wagon.  It was wonderful to be in the summer fields heavy with the smell of hay, having permission to miss Vespers in order to help get the hay in before nightfall or the next day’s rain.  Too rich for words, it can’t be described but is easy to conjure in my memory.  So these days here in the valley it is quite wonderful to walk with the dogs on the fields that stretch up to the ‘far ridge’ where the views across to the Bridger mountains or over into the Spanish Peaks wilderness area are spectacular.  As I think about my time here in Montana, I leave with photos, paintings and memory of the hay fields.

Good Luck Weasel

Back in March of 2000 we were returning to Bozeman along a backroad bounded on both sides by high rolling hayfields.  We had found a house for sale and were deciding what it would take to purchase it and set up residence in the open valley around Gallatin Gateway.  These fields were covered in snow and stacked with bales along the fencerows.   As the late afternoon sun was winding down we saw a weasel, eight inches long, pure white except for a black-tipped tail, darting along a ditch and old irrigation pipe left in the fields over the winter.  It was curious, unafraid and it bobbed it’s head up and around as it was looking at us and no doubt trying to locate some dinner.  We watched for a few moment and then it was gone out of sight.  I always thought this was a blessing of good luck on our move to the country.   Several times over the years as the backroad became one of our main roads into town we remembered our good luck weasel and although I looked I never again saw it.

Until last night.  Of course it wasn’t the same little weasel.  I was out with the dogs walking along “Yonder”, the road that has been the inspiration for several paintings (”Yonder Wheatfields” below) for what will be one of the last several walks I do with the dogs and by gosh and by golly, there was a beautiful red ermine bopping along the roadside.  I stopped and held my breath as it came bouncing toward me hoping that one of the dogs wouldn’t go chasing after it.  About 20 feet away it stopped, looked up and craned it’s head a little as if to say, “Good to have you, good luck onward!” and then disappeared into the grass.  What a happy little goodbye!

Saying Goodby to Montana

We’ve been here eight years, longer by far than any other place I’ve been since leaving home 27 years ago.  Although I’m ready for the move and am excited and relieved to have found such a nice place in Oregon, I’ve been spending the last few days acknowledging that I’m leaving here and will not return.  The house which we have put so much work into is now something I’m taking care of for the new soon-to-be owners.   The fifteen ponderosa pine that I grew from seed in the kitchen and are now almost four feet tall will pass to someone else to take care of or not.  The new rag tag set of gophers tearing up the side yard will maybe not be so safe; the garden will probably be in much better shape next summer after I leave.  The evenings on the porch and the bluebirds in the boxes will become realities for the next folks and objects of memory for me.  All these things…

The hot, dry summer walks up the “far side of the valley” where the hawks ride their thermals will soon be past as will the long trudges in the winter up the same snowpacked, wind whipped gravel road where the coyotes yipped out their greetings. .   This is a beautiful place and it’s close to time to leave,  so close.

Glancing Shot

After a long weekend in Oregon getting Denine moved over for her first day at work, I only have the energy for posting one picture.  Taken a couple of days ago, it’s a good example of the energy we get to see regularly from the dogs.  What fun they are…

9 months of winter, 3 months of family

Our brand of western living has meant some occasionally brutal winter weather.  But summer always follows and if the timing is right it brings with it some really wonderful family visits.  Several years ago we got to see my sister’s family in August.  My older brother and family managed to find a sweet spot this past February to come out skiing.  And just this week my younger brother brought his crew out for a week of hiking, horseback riding, wildlife spotting in Yellowstone.

Molly was an active part of the festivities while everyone was visiting the house and taking the early visit hike.  She played hard and was wiped out after the fun was over:

I always hold my breath when folks come to visit.  There is a way to enjoy being out in the full array of weather this place can supply, but I guess it’s natural to want blue skies, clear views and cool evenings.  This past week supplied all that and then as should be expected, it put in a few extra western experiences.  As excerpted from an email I got permission to post, here’s what happened during a horseback ride at the 320 Ranch in Gallatin Canyon:

“… We started out of the ranch on our two hour ride, headed across the highway and began our ascent up to some mountain meadows.  We had a wrangler in the front on the lead horse, and one bringing up the rear. For some reason the lead horse stopped on a ledge on a small rise about 12 feet above the rest of us.  Jack and Grant were on their horses next to this guy. Their horses had also climbed the small ridge.  The lead wrangler couldn’t get his horse to move, kicked it, yanked it, and then it happened.

The wrangler’s horse backed up, lost its footing over the ledge and tumbled backwards over the side.  As it fell backwards, it spun sideways trying to keep its footing.  The wrangler fought to stay on, which was not to his advantage.  The horse fell sharply on its right shoulder, slamming the wrangler into the ground, and then rolled over top the poor guy.  All in one driving motion, the horse rolled back onto its feet and bolted.  The wrangler was literally crushed in front of us.  He began his screaming immediately.  I literally thought he would not live but a few minutes, as I had a perfect view of it all right in front of me, and I knew the seriousness of the damage to his body.  He was crushed.

As all of this happened, God put his hands on my kids.

Grant’s horse was brushed by the wrangler’s, and also spun.  Luckily, his horse retained footing and ran directly over the ledge, which was not so steep that a horse couldn’t run down it.   Jack’s horse was in front of all the commotion, and I don’t think it ever really saw what happened.  It continued to look up the hill, and fortunately just stood there.

Rachel’s horse was in front of mine, and as all hell broke loose, hers jumped to the left and away from the action.  But all of the horses, including mine and Lisa’s (behind me), became spooked and started bucking to various degrees.

The rear wrangler rushed ahead to help his friend.  Luckily he had a radio and called for reinforcements.  We all dismounted and I ran up the hill to get Jack off his horse.  He was very brave as he had to sit up on the ledge by himself for a time as our horses calmed down.  He was 150 feet up the hill all by himself.  He never cried.  Grant never cried.

It took about a half hour for an ambulance to arrive.  We tied up our horses (actually someone did the tying) and left the scene and watched from across the road, since by that time about 15 cowboys had arrived from across the ranch.  Seeing real cowboys fly across an open field on a galloping horse to rush to one of their buddies was a site to see.

They took the guy to Bozeman , at least an hour’s trip in the ambulance.  We just learned that he had to be airlifted to Seattle for surgery due to the extent of his injuries.  They know he had a crushed pelvis, but didn’t know the full extent of other injuries.  I know his right shoulder complex will never be the same.

So it is likely the last you will ever find most of us on a horse.  It was really an awful thing to see – and hear.”

There’s no definitive information about how the wrangler doing now.  Later in the week, much to their credit, the boys got back on the horses for another ride and managed just fine.   Horses are such a common and visible part of the western scene;  I’m astounded that they were witness to the accident but so pleased they went back, metaphorically brushed themselves off and ‘got back on’.  An opportunity well received and a from all accounts, a week fully enjoyed.  It was certainly for the little bit of time we got to share it with them.

Odds and Endings

So, so busy lately…  It’s been quite an intense month and I have been too drained to find anything interesting to write about here.  And it’s quite likely the trend will continue notwithstanding my attempt here.  See, we’ve recently been given the opportunity to pick up stakes and make yet another big move - this time to northeast Oregon - and of course we’re going for it.  So Denine is finishing her job here, we’re selling the house and moving as soon as we find a buyer.  But what’s behind that statement is hours and hours and hours of work on the house, work on the yard, travelling back and forth to Oregon, organizing jobs, talking to buyers, talking to sellers, attending to the needs of the dogs, cats, spouses and our own mental health.  It’s a bit more than I’m normally involved with, but I’m managing fairly well.  How?  I think I owe a lot to the wee hours of the morning…

For years I’ve had a tendency to wake around 2:30am three or four days a week and be completely awake at that time.  I’ve always attributed it to a sympathetic ‘body memory’ of the few years when I was a novice monk at the Trappist monastery in Snowmass, Colorado.  The day started at 2:30am with Vigils in the beautiful brick & stone chapel there followed by an hour of meditation, reading & study, Mass and the day’s work in the eggery, bakery or on the ranch.  When I left I had a big hole in my heart where I missed the life even though I was compelled by some inner movement to find my life on the ‘outside’.  I have been happily bound to Denine for almost twenty years but there is this monastic place of memory that was mine before she was here that has remained compelling ever since.

Last Fall I found myself recognizing this inner push for some deep silence and quiet.  Denine often left with the dogs and I would steal those moments to sit on the couch, become extremely still and just be absorbed in the empty space that resulted.  I wasn’t long before my time awake in the early morning was transformed into an hour of regular meditation - if only after being assured by Denine that she was willing to deal with the cats waking, the floor creaking and all the other inevitable bumps in the night that come with it.   So, now my spontaneous awakenings at 2:30am have been replaced with risings at 4:30am.  I have an hour a day of formal sitting meditation and something feels like it’s come back home to me.

Does it make a difference?  I think it does.  I have managed to keep my good cheer about me during all the craziness of the past few months of shake up that’s been surrounding us.   The first few minutes of any ’sit’ is always bit of a shock as it feels like taking a deep dive into a lake - the transition to that still place usually feels like I’m moving a great distance.   But the slow, long lasting result is that the sense of quiet, calm awareness of each hour is now following closer in the passing moments of day-to-day life.   It’s a nice place to be while we prepare for saying goodbye to Montana and the home we’ve made here.   As James Taylor says, “The secret to life is enjoying the passage of time…”

Photos for the day:  Two recent sunsets taken from the porch.  (I love sunsets!)

Cheers!