Category: Musings

General Thought Posts not related to specific topics

Compost Posting

Note: Thanks to Jan for the concept. I don’t know what I would have written about this week otherwise 🙂 You can skip to the bottom to get to the point of all this verbiage if you like.

Cooking for two people is challenging. But usually, leftovers are consumed quickly without much food waste. Open bags, cans, and bottles sometimes remain in the refrigerator too long and their contents must be discarded. Cooking for one creates significantly increased challenges.

Each day and week for many years I’ve been disappointed whenever I throw rotten food or leftovers in the trash, or through the disposal and into our water treatment system for that matter. This coincides with efforts to minimize paper and plastic waste and recycle whatever is allowed by our city/waste management company.

The city offers an option to rent a 20+ gallon container on wheels in which I must place a $1.85 yard bag to fill and put out at the curb for pick up. It would take me weeks to fill, and I would most likely replace it often, adding to the cost. I convinced myself that the “aroma” would overwhelm me and my garage long before. Plus having to find space to keep a third container.

Normal recycling has been and is going well. Now that I am single, I rarely have more than one “trash” bag to put out each week. And with an 85 gallon recycling bin, and all that I recycle, I still only put it out to the curb every two or three weeks. I feel good about that. It may not be much in the scheme of what our society wastes each day, but as they say, “Every little bit helps.”

My son has a large family of seven and a corner lot with a big yard. I envy his energy and ingenuity to build a rain water retention system, complete with solar powered, battery operated pump system to supply water for his extensive garden and small orchard. Additionally, he implemented a two-barrel composting station that supplies nutrition to the garden. He and his family are proactive about saving composting material every day (which can be significant with seven people, even when there are few leftovers – as you can imagine). My daughter’s family saves compostable materials in a small covered can on their counter. There is a convenient drop-off a few blocks away where new insert bags are also freely supplied.

Which brings me back to my plight. Knowing that they, and others, find some way to compost, whether privately or through public options, exacerbates my guilt feelings when I throw too much leftover or old food in the trash! So I researched my options. The least appealing was the city option. With the storage issues and an ongoing payment plan, it was easy to eliminate.

I seriously considered the rotating drum option. But the combination of where to house it, and keep it accessible even in the dead of winter, and the need to keep an interim container in the kitchen or garage, made this a cumbersome, though slightly more attractive option than that provided by the city.

Ah, Amazon! A myriad of options, as usual. Almost so many one can get lost trying to compare and choose. I decided to concentrate on countertop electric composters. Still, many options. Read the features. Read the reviews. Watch the videos. I know you’ve all done the same for whatever device you’ve considered buying.

Having made a decision after days of angst, I purchased the Airthereal Revive Electric Kitchen Composter, 2.5L Capacity with SHARKSDEN® Tri-Blade, Turn Food Waste and Scraps into Dry Compost Fertilizer for Plants. A big decision! Expensive! Worth it!

Composting my coffee grounds, tea leaves, table scraps, even rotten cottage cheese, gives me a feeling of doing something good! I’ve already “made” about a gallon of compost in a couple weeks, running it about every other day. The charcoal filter nearly eliminates any odor (it smells a bit like something is baking in the oven), and the sound is similar to a quiet dishwasher. I am impressed with this unit.

I don’t have a garden – yet. I do have plants and landscaping, and some lawn areas in much need of fill and nutrition. I do have room for a garden. It might be my next step in being food and planet friendly.

Back to the top to wind your way through how I got to the point

“Are You Sitting Comfortably?”

What a question. What a concept.

In fact, I was sitting comfortably, sipping my morning coffee, listening to SiriusXM radio Deep Tracks (Channel 308) from my stereo speakers connected to the TV, when The Moody Blues song asked just that question.

Take another sip my love and see what you will see,
A fleet of golden galleons, on a crystal sea.
Are you sitting comfortably?
Let Merlin cast his spell.

Ride along the winds of time and see where we have been,
The glorious age of Camelot, when Guinevere was Queen.
It all unfolds before your eyes
As Merlin casts his spell.

The seven wonders of the world he’ll lay before your feet,
In far-off lands, on distant shores, so many friends to meet.
Are you sitting comfortably?
Let Merlin cast his spell.

Raymond Thomas

I know I’ve touted the beauty of The Moody Blues music previously. This is another example of how, over many years, their songs continue to speak to me or reflect my current lot in life. Sitting comfortably is something I have rarely been able to do for several years. Yet here I was. Feeling rested. Feeling strong. Aware of my loss, yet not consumed by it at the moment.

Then comes this mystical music and tantalizing lyrics. I’m also a big fan of J.R.R. Tolkien’s Middle Earth fantasies, and of the stories of King Arthur’s court. Raymond Thomas sets the lyrical stage while The Moody Blues weaves its musical spell.

Several challenges face me in the coming weeks. In addition to the traditional holiday season and what would have been our 27th wedding anniversary, my siblings and I are preparing to transition our nearly 99-year-old (January 7, 2024) Mother to a memory care facility in the middle of this time. Sitting comfortably for a few minutes, listening to some of my favorite music that mirrors my emotions, is a true ethereal gift.

Also good is my recognition of such gifts. It is easy, as the days grow shorter and colder, to sink into the gloom with the season. In deed, last year at this time I was pretty much an emotional mess! I’ve been concerned about how I would fare this winter. But though it has not actually arrived yet, my comfortable chair and easy listening offer a glimmer of hope to me and to the season.

I will be with various geographically distant family members over the holidays. Last year I worried whether I could remain emotionally stable – for good reason. I was only marginally successful.

I still anticipate some difficult moments. Last year my family was instrumental (no pun intended) in my coming through the darkness of my grief. This year I am hopeful to enjoy them and celebrate them along with the holidays. I am not a religious person, though I have delved deep into faith and dogma. Nor am I a fan of the commercialization of the holidays. But I do appreciate people. I love people. I love family. And I love our common hopes and dreams for ourselves and each other.

So here I am, sitting comfortably in my office chair, writing these optimistic and hopeful words. I don’t really care who casts the spell. But if it continues to be a good one, please don’t break it!

Tomorrow (Sunday, November 12, 2023) marks the 18 month anniversary of Pam’s passing. I had no concept of the emotional challenges that I would endure nor how my life would change without my other half. I still love Pam and am in love with her. This fact has given me strength to reshape myself into a new life. It is transformed and is still transforming. I can no longer be what I thought I would be with Pam. I can only go on being me without her. Yet, knowing she will always be part of me. In doing so, I am confident that, even with my fits and sputters, she would be happy that I am.

I can sometimes now sit comfortably with that knowledge.

Dreams – and the Blues

Just one more mornin’ I had to wake up with the blues

Greg Allman

Thursday morning was just like many, feeling the emptiness of a moment I used to enjoy, saying good morning to the one I love. But also like some other mornings in the past year and a half, I was singing Dreams in my head. Not only do the lyrics speak to me at some level, the music is entrancing.

Just one more mornin’
I had to wake up with the blues
Pulled myself outta bed, yeah
Put on my walkin’ shoes

Went up on the mountain
To see what I could see
The whole world was fallin’
Right down in front of me

‘Cause I’m hung up on dreams
I’ll never see, yeah, baby
Ah, help me, baby
Or this will surely be the end of me, yeah

Pull myself together
Put on a new face
Climb down off the hilltop, baby
Get back in the race

‘Cause I’m hung up on dreams
I’ll never see, yeah, baby, yeah
Ah, help me, baby
Or this will surely be the end of me, yeah

Pull myself together
Put on a new face
Climb down off the hilltop, baby
Get back in the race

‘Cause I’m hung up on dreams
I’ll never see, yeah, baby, oh
Ah, help me, baby
Or this will surely be the end of me, yeah

Greg Allman

I am not a blues artist. I am a fan of some southern rock, The Allman Brothers in particular. I was fortunate to have seen them multiple times in the early 70’s. Pam’s brother, Dave, gifted me with prints of Duane and Greg Allman that he meticulously crafted (Dave German Art). So many of the great guitar players and song writers of my generation learned their trade by listening to, and playing, the blues. But I am not writing this about that genre, rather, how the lyrics and music express how I feel.

Blue is how I feel these days. It’s not all I feel. I have a love of life – of my life – even as it so deeply hurts to live it without Pam. I enjoy my surroundings. I enjoy being and interacting with family and neighbors. I might even be making new friends!

Many routines are now metamorphized extensions of those we used to share. Which, of course, make me sad that I perform them alone. Even such things as doing the dishes or making the bed leave me feeling empty and blue. But often I also smile that I still perform them. Not necessarily exactly as she would have or how we might do them together. But they, as she, are part of the fabric of my being.

I am crying more often again these days. I miss Pam so much. Sure, life goes on. Much of what I am is good, better having known her and been loved by her. Sadness engulfs me without warning. Any of the many things such as those mentioned above trigger its onset. Such a paradox. Living and loving life. I rue Pam’s death to the depths of my being.

Last July I wrote a note of expression, “Letting go means giving up on all your dreams.” Sharing that with someone close to me, she suggested that I’m not giving up all my dreams, only those I had for Pam and me together. That may be true. They are/were more important than mine alone. And those I still cling to, such as creating and performing my music, are emptier now without her. I guess I’m still “hung up on dreams I’ll never see.” But it surely won’t be “the end of me.”

I live without Pam, and with her, and in honor of her. Yet, I dream.

Another Season

Driving the back roads toward central Iowa this week, I was reminded again of the beauty in the changing seasons. Giant, rolled hay bales break up the landform of freshly harvested, stubble fields. Machinery still dots tire-track paths around them.

And the trees! I was lucky to have picked this week to travel. Last week would have been too soon. Next week the cold and wind will bring down most of the colored leaves in the trees and turn those remaining, brown and brittle. As viewing goes, this year’s turning is, in my opinion, above average, with the full range of greens, yellows, oranges, reds, and browns splattered on the clear blue canvas sky, in contrast to plain tan/brown fields at the feet of trees on the hill tops and along the waterways. These pics were taken on my return trip. A cloudy day with periods of spitting rain.

(There is more to read after these pictures)

Near the Iowa River
Cemetery Road

Two recordings came to mind while driving and gawking at the wonders of nature. The first is Leaves That Are Green by Simon and Garfunkel. Beautiful poetry! Kind of sad. Light and lilt tune.

I was twenty-one years when I wrote this song
I’m twenty-two now, but I won’t be for long
Time hurries on
And the leaves that are green turn to brown
And they wither with the wind
And they crumble in your hand

Once my heart was filled with the love of a girl
I held her close, but she faded in the night
Like a poem I meant to write
And the leaves that are green turn to brown
And they wither with the wind
And they crumble in your hand

I threw a pebble in a brook
And watched the ripples run away
And they never made a sound
And the leaves that are green turn to brown
And they wither with the wind
And they crumble in your hand

Hello, hello, hello, hello
Good-bye, good-bye, good-bye, good-bye
That’s all there is
And the leaves that are green turn to brown

Simon and Garfunkel

The other “song” is The Dream from On the Threshold of a Dream album by The Moody Blues. I’m sure I’ve quoted The Moody Blues in prior posts. So many of their songs spoke to me in my youth and young adulthood. Shout out to Sam who suggested To Our Children’s, Children’s, Children as the first vinyl album I ever bought. At one point, I’m sure I owned a copy of them all! My brother, Bruce, always suggests their earlier music, pre-Justin Hayward. Also good stuff. He also gave me an excellent Moody Bluegrass album.

When the white eagle of the North is flying overhead
And the browns, reds and golds of autumn lye in the gutter dead
Remember then the summer birds with wings of fire flame
Come to witness springs new hope, born of leaves decaying
And as new life will come from death

Love will come at leisure
Love of love, love of life and giving without measure
Gives in return a wondrous yearn for promise almost seen
Live hand in hand and together we’ll stand
On the threshold of a dream

The Moody Blues

Also previously mentioned, nearly everything I experience on a daily basis reminds me of a song or some music. Or, in moments of revelation, I create my own. Simply said, I love music!

“To everything there is a (another)…“

Ecclesiastes (and The Byrds)

On Thursday, a neighbor showed me a picture of our neighborhood, taken from a drone, showing the fall colors. Beyond the Field Day Brewing Company building and condos are our homes. I can see the red-leafed tree in my back yard, and the one in the picture leading this post! Amazing photograph and colors. Enjoy!

Another Milestone

Sunday was a difficult day – but not all of it.

Our daughter and her partner came for a visit on their way back from a seminar in Indianapolis. Please direct your thoughts and prayers for Greg’s daughter, Val, as she fights a medical battle!

Knowing of this visit in advance, Kelley and Greg brought a covered pickup truck to take the last of the boxes filled with Pam’s stamping materials and a bunch of holiday decorations I no longer want, but may have sentimental value to other family members. I prepared a spread of smoked brisket, pulled pork, and baby back ribs, with sides of beans, corn, and Texas toast. Way more than we could eat, but they took home the leftovers. I had the rare pleasure of preparing the meal and having people visit!

Just a few days prior, I considered they might be able to use some of the extra furniture, specifically, Pam’s office chair and her recliner. The ones matching mine. I’ve been looking at it with trepidation for over seventeen months now (more on that a bit later). As Kelley and Greg hauled boxes from downstairs, I dismantled the recliner. A wave of sadness gripped me (and still does as I write this), realizing another loss related to losing my dear Pam. I broke down crying even before we had a chance to get the chair out the door! So hard to let go, but I knew I had to.

Then, off they went. And, due to my nature, I could not let things remain in disarray. Get out the vacuum. Rearrange. Tidy up. Good for my psyche. More crying. I found myself saying, “I’m not getting rid of ‘you’, I’m just getting rid of stuff.” And don’t worry. There are many reminders of Pam still here. Many things we bought or created together. Things that meant a lot to her. Things I still use and enjoy every day.

Having completed my rearranged “therapy”, I took a picture and sent it to Kelley so she could see the change. I also sent it to my sister by text, knowing she would like to visualize the new configuration. She replied, “All yours now.” I must admit that it stung to read those words. But I know she meant well and, reflecting later, I realized that it is true. The transformation of this house, from ours to mine, is pretty much complete. Basically, every room now has my personality stamped on it. I know not what additional changes I will make. Hopefully, I won’t add too much “stuff!”

I took a walk around the neighborhood on that sunny, cool, autumn Sunday afternoon after all of the commotion. It dawned on me that last Thursday was October 12th, seventeen months since Pam died. For the first time, a monthly anniversary passed without my acknowledgement. Another milestone – one that passed without notice!

The evening was filled with sorrow for missing Pam! I sat in my chair and cried. I may be further along some continuum of recovery, but the pain is still sharp when it rears up. I miss her nearly every hour of every day. Yet I go on with my rearranged life alone in my rearranged house. Again I say, Pam wanted it this way. Every time I notice something of hers, something of ours that we acquired and enjoyed together, when I do things around the house the way she would (and obviously “trained” me), I have to say, “I love you, Pam.” Rearranged life or not.

“Grief is a Relentless Companion”

It takes so many forms, and affects so many aspects of learning to live with major loss.

Written in the journal I keep by my living room recliner on September 29th, the statement continues to resonate as the days have passed since then. The journal itself is a gift from my son and is from his trip to Machu Picchu. It is a wonderfully hand-made leather book of empty white pages bound by a leather tie, that I, being left-handed, turn upside down to write on the pages from right to left. I’ve been adding entries periodically since last October.

At times I’ve thought that being in this house exacerbates the ongoing reminders of Pam missing out on our retirement years, of the emptiness I feel as the months go by without her, of the forfeiture of my hopes and dreams of our future together – of my future alone. I constantly change things around, rearrange the bedroom furniture, new linen and quilt, some of the wall hangings. I have changed the towels, mats, and shower curtain more than once in the last year, trying to change what was ours into what is now only mine. But I still get into an empty bed and wake up in the same. Getting into the shower, grab bars still in place, reminds me of Pam’s last year when she needed help with her intimate needs. The grab bars remain as an admission that I, too, am aging and admit the potential need for assistance, another reminder of having to make do on my own.

But it’s not the house, now my home. Reminders are everywhere. Go to a restaurant, a park, visit a friend, go bowling – which we enjoyed so much together. As I found out many years ago during my rebellious time as a youth, being happy, being “good” or “bad”, loving and hating , etc. are not dependent on location or one’s lot in life. Extricating myself from everything I know and have in life does not eliminate what is going on inside my head and heart.

Nearly seventeen months after Pam’s passing, I continue to live hour by hour, day by day. Some are better than others. And though I have few elated moments, I can still slip into despair that I cannot live up to what I think is worthy of Pam’s love and faith in me.

As she and I discussed, and I have mentioned before, I knew, and it has come to pass, that I am not the same person without her, not as “good” as I felt when bolstered by her love and presence in my life. Just this week my sister reminded me that Pam knew me, knew my weaknesses, knew my strengths, and loved me for who I am. Those things she saw in me are still part of me.

I believe this is why I am able to continue to get into an empty bed and wake up in the same. It is why I continue to reshape my surroundings to reflect who I am without her, still not understanding who that is. Yes. Grief is my relentless companion. But Pam’s love, the love and support of my family and friends, and my own will to live keep grief from having complete dominion over me.

On a lighter tack, as part of my process of carving out a new life without Pam, I recently attended a 55+ luncheon at the rec center. I’m pretty sure that at age 69, I was the youngest attendee. Lunch was catered and, I still can hardly believe it, I played Bingo after lunch and even won a round!

Two positive outcomes emerged as a result of my attending. A nice man named Frank took the initiative to sit with me during the luncheon. He recognized that I was new and graciously helped me feel less alone. He is twice widowed! Frank invited me to join a seniors bowling league, either bowling for at team, or as a sub. Three weeks ago I did just that, substituted for someone who could not bowl for their team. I bowled poorly, but I have always enjoyed bowling, and the challenge of being better at it than I am. I’ve now been there three weeks in a row and am known as a “regular” substitute available to anyone who cannot attend. My bowling has improved significantly since the first week and I look forward to subbing again next week. I’m getting familiar with some of the people there, have heard a few stories about their losses, and I am becoming familiar to them.

But this positive aspect of my new life is still tainted by my relentless companion. Pam and I used to enjoy bowling together with family and as members of church leagues. She was quite the bowler with the straightest delivery I have ever seen. Starting down the middle and barely wavering by a board! It is hard to avoid the guilt of enjoying bowling without her. An example of how life is changed and grief lingers.

In addition to my new social interactions, I received an email, through this web site address, wutjavia@gmail.com, from the 55+ luncheon coordinator, the only person attending who was clearly younger than I! I had given her my Wutjavia card after the event. It turns out that Bingo is not the only weekly luncheon entertainment. Guest speakers are invited to present, I suppose, just about anything, to the luncheon audience. She perused this site, read about my Glacier travels, and has asked me to present a travel log of my choosing to the group, inclusive of narrative and pictures. And though it won’t be delivered until sometime early next year, I enthusiastically agreed to do it.

One of the blessings of being with Pam was our mutual respect for the things we loved as individuals. She had her stamping and greeting cards. They were amazing outpourings of her love of people and of life. She attended conferences with her stamping friends, conducted online research, bought incredible tools, paper, and stencils, and created phenomenal works of art that she gave freely to others to honor special occasions, or just “thinking about you.” Sometimes she even asked for my advice on a design, or to hold paper or ribbon while she attached them to a card.

I had my travels (and my music), mostly to mountainous regions, camping and backpacking. With camera attached at the ready, I hoped to capture, as much as a picture can, amazing landscapes, vistas, and animals experienced along the way. And though she hated me being gone, and in potential danger, Pam encouraged me and supported me each year as I planned, either on my own or with my son, then departed on another adventure. She used to make “car treat” bags with anything from Pez candy to mini tissue packs, games and booklets. Anything she thought we might enjoy and laugh at as we drove many hours to our mountain destinations.

Now, though I am constantly reminded of what I have lost, I also remember what I/we had and can at least get a glimpse of a life that continues to evolve, with grief as my relentless companion.

On to Old Man Lake

Traveling to Old Man Lake would be another bucket list journey. We had seen a segment of Dawson Pass Trail, between Flinsch Peak and Mt. Morgan, from Old Man Lake for the first time in 2008 when we were too exhausted to continue our journey from the lake up to Pitamakan Pass and on to Triple Divide Pass far to the west. This time we attacked from the south, up to Dawson Pass and along the trail going north. The map and Google Earth view are copied here for reference.

Red circle around Continental Divide Trail which we were on from Pitamakan Pass on
An aerial view from Google Earth

Packing up after an uneventful night, we continued to talk about our fantastic experiences at No Name Lake as we looked up ahead, literally, at what awaited us during this pristine mountain morning. Within an hour or so hiking through the forest at a relatively gentle incline, we had our first encounter as we passed within a hundred feet or so of a pair of young black bears frolicking in the woods nearby. They didn’t seem to notice us, but we immediately set watch for a mother bear, just in case. She never showed. We added this to our story list and continued onward, reminiscing even more about our good backpacking fortune.

Clearing the upper woodlands, we continued a long, open, stretch of uphill hiking as we approached Dawson Pass. The views were amazing!

Section from No Name Lake to Dawson Pass
Looking back at Two Medicine on the way to Dawson Pass – Photo by KAJ
Dawson Pass – Looking Southwest – Photo by KAJ
Dawson Pass – Looking Northwest – Forest fire smoke in the air – Photo by KAJ

The stretch from Dawson Pass west of Flinsch Peak was treacherous for me. It may be hard to believe, but I have mild Acrophobia. I guess I’m a glutton for punishment! The trail was about a foot to 18″ wide, basically crushed rock on a extremely steep rock scree. Looking right, Flinsch Peak loomed high above. To the left, a drop of nearly three thousand feet at what is about a seventy percent slope! As usual, my son took the lead. I noticed him looking back often as I lagged behind, stopping multiple times to maintain my equilibrium.

Dawson Pass to Mt. Morgan

We got a relative respite between Flinsch Peak and Mt. Morgan, overlooking Old Man Lake from the west. It also gave us a preview of the steep decent from Pitamakan down to Old Man Lake!

View of Old Man Lake from Dawson Pass Trail – Photo by KAJ
Looking West from Dawson Pass Trail – Photo by KAJ

Acrophobia trials continued as we hiked to the west of Mt. Morgan where we reached another amazing vista point as we made the turn to the north side of Mt. Morgan, and more steep scree hiking!

Turning the “corner” at Mt. Morgan – Photo by DBJ

That’s as close as I was willing to get to the edge. I’d had about enough Acrophobia!

Mt. Morgan to Pitamakan Pass

The stretch from the Northeast side of Mt. Morgan near Cut Bank Pass to Pitamakan Pass was relatively gentle compared to what we had experienced the previous few hours. We were greeted by some mountain goats sunning on the rocks and got a good view of Pitamakan Lake as we approached the pass.

Pitamakan Lake and Pitamakan Pass approaching from the west – Photo by KAJ

Now it’s on down to Old Man Lake. Though the drop is only about 500 feet, the trail was much longer as we hiked the steep decline along the trail cut into the side of the mountain. We had stared up at this section, the trail, and the peaks from Old Man Lake in 2008 when we chose not to continue our cross-Glacier trek and turned around at Old Man Lake. Personally, I was happy to have traversed Pitamakan Pass!

Flinsch Peak from the trail down to Old Man Lake – Photo by DBJ

Old Man Lake campground, which consists of six dispersed tent sites, is about 200 yards and 50 feet up from the lake. After setting camp, we ventured to the lake for a water refill. Ah yes, that last 15 feet down to the lake. Quite steep and rocky. Not so fun after a strenuous day of backpacking!

After an uneventful night, we headed back to the water for another fill up and some fishing, only to find that a large rock, just above the water’s edge, had been displaced overnight. It could only mean one thing; a bear had turned the stone in search of grubs! Fortunately, we saw neither grubs nor bear. I enjoyed some camera work while my sone fished.

Moon setting over Dawson Pass Trail – Photo by KAJ
Look close to see the fly line laying on the still water – Photo by KAJ
Flinsch Peak on the left. What an amazing place!!! – Photo by KAJ

As I recall, my son caught a large trout shortly after this pic was taken and my camera was stowed away. It was catch and release. We still had a full day of hiking back to Two Medicine.

However, back at Two Medicine, more fishing ensued with some success and a tasty morsel before heading to our next adventure. What great fishing form!

And on we went. Back to a civilized campground with running water, a store with hotdogs and beer, and our car. This segment of the 2015 Glacier backpacking trip was over. On to the next adventure!

Please consider giving this post a “Like” if, in deed you do like it, so I can get an idea if my readers do. This has been only a short annal in a series of backpacking adventures spanning ten years and nine different trips in Colorado, Wyoming, Montana, and The Great Smoky Mountains. And I DO like to tell stories! Thanks for reading!

No Name Lake, Glacier National Park

The Mountains Are Calling And I Must Go

John Muir

I have a T-shirt printed with that quote. Mine is Yellow Haze. I think of it often when I think of the mountains – which is also often.

Last week included a little change up when I joined my next door neighbor in front of his garage for a chat, instead of at my place. We were discussing fishing in the pond across the street and how the Iowa DNR stocks it with trout. That led the conversation to the trout farms and streams in NE Iowa, which ultimately led to one of my favorite fishing stories; trout fishing at No Name Lake in Glacier National Park Google Earth View. Be sure to zoom out to see it in the mountain context!

Our itinerary was simple and would not extend us too far physically. Just a few days backcountry to No Name and Old Man lakes. It was not the first time for Old Man, but would be a new route coming from the south rather than the east. And though the story is primarily about an afternoon of fishing, it does include interesting accounts from the rest of the trek.

Red circle around Continental Divide Trail which we were on from Pitamakan Pass on
An aerial view from Google Earth

Leaving the campground at Two Medicine Lake we headed west along the north side of the lake where, after about four miles, we veered toward the north side of Pumpelly Pillar heading for No Name Lake.

Heading west toward Pumpelly Pillar and No Name Lake – Photo by KAJ

We enjoyed the campground that afternoon and evening, wandering around on the rocks at the head of the lake near the snow pack and investigating the lake. My son had a close encounter with a yearling black bear while fetching water from the incoming stream. It decided to climb from a tree within a few yards of him. Quite a shock; something he will never forget, but no worse for the experience. Others saw the bear around the grounds that evening and, of course, we kept vigil basically all night. I snapped one of my favorite backcountry pics from the west side (head) of the lake as the sun was setting behind the mountains.

I would be fishing from this spot the following day – Photo by KAJ

An uneventful night woke to a glorious morning in the backcountry. After breakfast we grabbed our four-piece fly rods, reels, and gear, and headed for the lake. Getting around along the shore was no easy matter, with downed trees, rocks, and, worst of all, slippery rocks in the water. Understand that the snow pack feeding this lake was merely a hundred yards from the shore. But we waded in wearing shorts and water shoes, into the nearly freezing water in hopes of a catch.

We were not disappointed! It didn’t take long for either of us to catch our first trout. And they just kept coming. Many were in the 8″ to 10″ range, with some smaller and a couple larger. We realized there was a shelf about 25 yards from shore where the trout would lay wait in the deeps and see the flies near the edge. For them, an apparent feast. For us, pure delight!

I didn’t have my camera with me in the water, so no pics. But we spent several hours wading and catching and releasing the rainbow beauties. Whether we ignored the cold assaulting our legs, or they went numb didn’t matter as we cast our lines over and over, stripping them in with another fish attached. Neither of us realized how sunburnt we got, nor that we hadn’t eaten in hours. It’s difficult to express our continued excitement and delight. But those who know me will understand that we caught so many trout that I didn’t even count them. That, in itself, is testament to the fun we had! It didn’t matter that we didn’t keep any fish nor cook them that evening over an open fire. We had a once-in-a-life experience that we will never forget.

On to Old Man Lake

Stay tuned next week for part two of our 2015 No Name Lake / Old Man Lake Glacier segment.

Boys On Bikes

NOTE: This is not the subject planned for release this week. But the experience is too good not to share. Stay tuned for what will likely be a two-part travel log beginning next week (Sorry, Jan).

A Ray of Hope in a Troubled World

Back in June, when I was in Clear Lake for the Galilean gig, a woman came up to me where I was playing guitar on a park bench at the sea wall to put a $5 bill in my guitar case. I’m a professional! I told her it wasn’t necessary but she dropped it in the case anyway. It is still there as a reminder that what I do matters in some way to others.

On Wednesday of this week I was playing music in the garage as is my usual daily venue, but with the added activity of smoking chicken hind quarters on my Weber. It was after five in the afternoon, the normal time when parents with babies in buggies, parents with dogs, children and adults on motorized skateboards, bicycles, and scooters, all enter and exit the park on the walkway across from my driveway. And though many wave and smile, few stop to listen or interact with me in any other way.

Two boys on bikes were lingering a few hundred feet away on the walkway. Then, here they came, stopping at the street to make sure it was clear of the vehicles that travel much too fast on the long, straight residential street. They appeared to be between 10 and 12 years old. I was still playing as they entered the driveway, talking at me though I could not hear what they said. I finally stopped playing.

Cynical me started thinking of all the things kids might say and do that, frankly, I might have done as a youth. So when the taller, blond boy asked “Do you mind if I ask you something, not trying to be mean?”, my mind began to race. Would he complain about the smoke, or chastise me for using the smoker in the garage? Or would he complain that I was too loud playing, telling me to keep it down, that I might be disturbing those who were taking advantage of the beautiful day in the park. I feigned a smile and said “sure.”

“Would it be okay to give you some money for playing so good?” the boy asked while holding out his hand. The second, shorter, dark-haired boy chimed in to say, “It’s only change, about 45 cents.”

My heart melted as I looked at these two young men sincerely offering to reward my playing with what might be their soda or candy money. Of course, I declined their offer. Thanking them for the gesture. “Just your offer is wonderful. No other payment is necessary. Really, it means a lot to me.”, I said as they mounted their bikes to leave. The blond with the change smiled as they rode away.

I know I am not alone in being too quick to judge others before knowing their hearts. Preconceived notions based on my own ignorance and fear. Somehow I know that my aging has something to do with making it worse. Two young men who might have been here to harass me, instead gave me a huge compliment.

A ray of hope in a troubled world. These two youth (or “yoots(s)” as Joe Pesci would say in My Cousin Vinny) are part of the future of our society, our planet! Maybe not all is lost for them. It is nice to see some good in the midst of the negative news of our day. May yours be also blessed!

On and On Life Goes

The heat has broken. It finally feels like autumn, though still no rain here. It’s been two weeks since returning from Atlanta. Home alone reality is setting in. Pam passed away nearly sixteen months ago. Apparently, life goes on.

If there is a new normal, hopefully this isn’t it. To do lists have many checked boxes. Though there is more to be done before winter sets in. Daily routines are established, varying slightly from week to week for appointments and brief getaways. But the familiarity and comfort of established norms do not stave off the sadness and ache of missing Pam, nor the sorrow of her missing out on life. In some way, it seems the intensity has grown.

So much has been written describing grief, many pictures and animations. One such depiction arrived this week in a text message.

What to make of this? Where’s the fit? If the graphic is accurate, the message true, then some point along a continuum should be recognizable. But not. Life apparently goes on, but has yet to grow big enough to assuage the pain of loss. Conversely, if grief diminishes over time, apparently life must go on a long time before it begins to smother the grief. Either way, it’s a struggle to relate.

Sometimes anger wells up amidst the sadness and sorrow. How could she be taken away?! Were we not all the better for her presence in this life? Yes, we were! Yes, we are!

On the Other Hand

Better memories of Pam are emerging as time passes. Earlier pictures are reminders of happier times. Every one depicting the beautiful person she was, a beacon of kindness and compassion. One should hope to be such a person. Though she was so loving, and so loved, she was so much better than she ever thought she was. That, too, is part of her beauty.

So all is not just gloom and doom. Life cannot be all bad (though the news sources seem to differ) when such amazing people sojourn among us. We just have to recognize their positive contributions to our lives; enjoy their nature. Live to honor their lives. Live in hope that the circle will somehow, some day, grow to comfort us, to buffer us from the pain and sorrow of our grief.

Further Reflection

All of the above was written earlier in the week. Consideration was given to tossing it all out as being too depressing. But no. It stands as is. But said again, all is not just gloom and doom! Much enjoyment comes from the home we shared, now home alone. Much joy is felt when talking to and being with family and friends. Neighbors are friendly and encouraging. Autumn is a beautiful time of year in Iowa. And though it foreshadows winter, it also holds its own beauty for us to enjoy.

Now. Here’s the test. Can you figure out the missing word in this week’s post? You may post a comment in response. Or, if you would like to submit your guess privately, send a message at wutjavia@gmail.com.

Have a great week!!! Here’s hoping for happier topics as life go on.