Infused with hopefulness and enthusiasm for a new day, I bound from bed to embrace life. I consider myself an optimist because no matter what the previous day was like, I’m usually rearing to go with each new sunrise. Rarely do I feel dread or any sort of negative emotion first thing in the morning.  An exception to this comes about when I am not living my life well; when I spend too much time doing things that don’t seem important in the scheme of life such as earning money, and spending it. When I’m not living true to my desires for days and weeks on end, then I start waking with feelings of dread dancing in my head.  The prospect of facing eight hours of distasteful activities–such as doing work that doesn’t satisfy me nor have much impact on humanity–eventually leads to a fading of sanguinity. When this happens, as it does from time to time in my life, then I step back and analyze the reasons for my unrest and vow to make changes. Another sign of an optimist, in my opinion, is that I can’t stand being unhappy for long and I take action to put things right. I am not apathetic or lazy when it comes to discontentedness.

Since we left for Africa I’ve been in high spirits, as I have since we returned. Though things aren’t perfect–I’m still not writing enough or living as authentically as I would like–I am attaining more balance in my lifestyle, more truth with myself and in relationship with others. As long as I feel movement in a positive direction–regardless of the increments–I’m imbued with hope.

This morning the sky was pink, then pale lavender, settling into blue. Dry, frigid air caused ice crystals to fill the Yamsi Valley. Nature’s diamonds, they waltzed with the wind and tumbled from trees. Ice garlands were strung like cobwebs between willow bows. It was three degrees so my nose and lips grew numb during our short walk to the edge of Owl Meadow.  Back at the cabin we ate breakfast then fell to work. As mid-day came into view it had warmed to near 30 and neither of us had gotten around to the outdoor chores that were the last tasks we had to do to prepare the ranch for winter. It became apparent that we weren’t going to make it back to town on this day so I decided to go ski before it warmed too much and marred the good quality snow. I decided to drive the truck around the 49 road, cross the Williamson River on the Rocky Ford Bridge, and find better snow at a higher altitude up on Yamsi Mountain. After trying out snow shoes in the yard Bob determine that his sprained toe could handle snow shoeing, though not skiing, so we both loaded up snow shoes and miscellaneous gear.

Bob tried to start the truck but it wasn’t behaving. After a few minutes I signaled to him to stop grinding the starter. I climbed behind the wheel to see if I could get it going. It has always been a finicky old truck when it comes to starting it but I’ve owned it for nearly 20 years so I’m pretty good at determining its moods. My technique worked and it started right up. I outlined the process I used to Bob and suggested he try it this way the next time…not a good idea when we both know that he is very mechanical and I am not. It just pissed him off. He said if I had given him another 30 seconds he would have gotten it started. Maybe so, or he might have flooded it or ruined the old starter. I think men can’t take much coaching from women, especially when it comes to manly sort of things.  Since this was our first outdoor activity together in three weeks (since he hurt his toe surfing) I really wanted to have a good time so I apologized and asked that we forget it and have fun. He readily agreed but then refused to drive because he didn’t want me telling him how to drive in the deep snow. I’ll admit I can be prone to backseat driver syndrome.  

During the 20-minute trip around the valley, across the bridge, and up onto the mountain–a spectacular drive in a winter wonderland–he never said a word other than the occasional grunt of agreement to something I was saying. I decided not to bother talking either. We drove most of the way in silence. We headed up the #610 road and discovered there was far less snow on the east slope of the valley than on Wild Horse Ridge to the west, where the cabin sits. We had to drive clear up to 6,000 feet to get into enough snow to make it fun. I suggested I ski and we go our separate ways since we weren’t interacting anyway and I prefer to ski. He said everything was fine and he just wasn’t talkative. I realized there wasn’t enough snow for a good ski anyway so I donned my snow shoes and joined him on the trail up Modoc Mound, which is a hump on the west face of Yamsi Mountain that gives birth to Modoc Creek that flows onto the ranch property in wet years.

Bob hasn’t been able to get much aerobic exercise in lately, with his bad toe and all, so combined with his desire not to talk or interact (though he denied it), he soon took off and left me in the dust. I thoroughly enjoyed the next hour and my time alone on “My Mountain”.  I had my little camera along and when the sun shined hotly on the bright orange-yellow skins of old growth Ponderosa Pines, I would stop and take dozens of pictures. The snow was so cold and light it left vapor trails as the back tips of my snow shoes flung powder into the air behind me. It felt good to climb and the snow depth barely topped my ankles.  The pitch on the 610 road is relatively gentle so I could put my head down and sink into a zone, plowing forward until my breathing was heavy and paced just right for a long haul up the hill. I vowed not to stop for at least an hour but every 10 or 15 minutes I would see another vista or snow covered log that cried to have its picture taken. My endorphin induced high was interrupted in this way a number of times but within the hour I knew I was close to the 610 intersection with another main logging road so I was determined to make it to this crossroads. About 5 minutes from my goal I met Bob as he descended. I told him I was going on up to the main road and he opted to backtrack and go with me. We took a few photos with a clear view of the Klamath Marsh Wildlife Refuge to the west then headed back down. I led during the descent and though we stayed together for the most part we seldom spoke.

It was a shorter drive home because we went to the eastside of the ranch so we could leave the truck on the mountain side of the river for future, faster trips up Yamsi. Brumby was walking toward the barn was limping pretty badly. A dreadful feeling came over me as I considered what might be ailing him and wondered if it was going to be “that time”…the time when he is so badly injured or sick that I am unable to treat him and he would have to be put down. When we caught up with him I left the truck and walked the rest of the way to the barn with him as he seemed quite resolute about getting to the hay. I checked him out after giving him some grain. He has always had bad feet for one reason or another and I concluded that they are just tender and the cold, dry snow is taking its toll. If I could find a Ferrier who would come out to the ranch I’m sure I could get his hooves in better condition. As it is I keep them trimmed the best I can, which probably isn’t good enough. The ranch is just too remote to warrant a visit from a Ferrier to deal with just one horse. I got Brumby a bucket of water from the river but he was more interested in the grain than me or the water, so Rio and I moseyed back to the cabin.

Bob had gone on before me and moved quickly into doing the last of the chores we needed to get done for the winter. I took Chami for a walk to the edge of Owl Meadow, put some things away, sat in the outdoor recliner for a bit and watched evening settle in. A delightful, fiery sunset graced the western horizon then reflected of Yamsi bouncing color back at me onto the river. The cold drove me inside where I took a sponge bath, did some marketing work, made dinner, read for a while, wrote some, did Yoga, then went to bed. Bob settled down to his computer as soon as he came in the house so we barely spoke all day.

I didn’t get everything done in my day that I had planned for at the start of my day, but then I seldom do.  I had to sacrifice writing time for business work and my time with Bob was the opposite of what I’d expected. Still, I went to bed tired and thankful for the day I did have: my time in nature, the words I was able to put on paper. And I’m have great expectations that tomorrow I’ll write for hours, play outside, laugh with Bob, eat good food, earn a bit of money, and have a perfect day.  I hope.

Cold and clear again today. We thought we would do something different for our daily dose of exercise so…we went kayaking. The snow isn’t great for skiing and the boats were easily accessible now that we keep them stored under the outdoor office platform. We bundled up and put extra padding on our seats because the frigid temperature of the water, just above freezing, bleeds through the thin plastic shell of the boat.

Launching was tricky because there was a three-foot berm of ice along both sides of the river. Because the water depths have risen, then fallen a number of times in the past month due to weather fluctuations, the ice was steeply canted downward, reaching far out into the moving water. We got settled into the kayaks while still on the flat, solid earth, then scoot our way forward onto the ice-slide. With roughly half of the boat on the ice, gravity and slipperiness took hold. It was quite a rush, both figuratively and literally, as we plunged into the green-gray liquid of the Upper Williamson River. Neither of us tipped over during the launch and the rest of the journey downriver was sublime. The sun kept our faces and hands warm while the myriad ice sculptures sprouting from reeds, willows and grasses along the banks turned it into a trip through Mother Nature’s art gallery. Of course every time we came to a section of the river where large, steep ice slides had built up along the shoreline, Bob couldn’t resist “surfing” them. He would power up his speed and steer at an angle that thrust him high onto the frozen slope. Then, by leaning his body weight and using his paddle to “brace” off the ice, he could tail-slide into a 180 degree turn and lunge back into the water. I tried the maneuver a few times but it seemed a bit sketchy and the small thrill wasn’t worth the potential of ending up out of my boat and in the chilly river.

We got our aerobics in during the 30-minute paddle back up the river. Getting out of the kayaks was far harder than the launch because we couldn’t get back up the steep, icy banks and resorted to sidling alongside the dock and wriggling out of the boats and onto it, while keep the kayaks from floating off downstream without a captain. With the remains of the day we topped off bird feeders and finished all our chores so we can head back to Bend early tomorrow morning.

We considered having our annual Winter Solstice party at the ranch this year since the holiday falls on a weekend. However, we tossed the idea out to those we thought might come and it didn’t fly. It is pretty rough spending time at the ranch during the winter months, though Bob and I will do just that starting tomorrow.

Instead, a dozen friends crammed into our little home in Bend. I made a turkey, mashed potatoes, and gravy. After eating and gossiping we made our way into tiny living room so we could sing solstice carols. Our sweet next-door neighbor brought his electric keyboard over to keep us in tune while we sang. Alas, we needed a miracle for that to happen. Still, we had a blast. Few people ever go caroling these days and everyone was enthusiastic about the prospect of doing something unique. I was surprised how few guests knew the words or tunes to these old classics and no one in the group had a good, strong voice so our singing was all over the place. I think we laughed as much as sang. I have spent years rewriting the words to many of the most popular Christmas carols, to give them a pagan relevance. Since almost all Christmas traditions–and songs–are rooted in Winter Solstice ritual, the lyrics are often drawn from nature and the symbols of the solstice so the transition is easier that you might expect. I’ve posted several Winter Solstice Carols on this website for all to enjoy.

Since I’m a stickler for celebrating nature based holidays on the actual day it falls, we didn’t do any solstice rituals as we have in year’s past. Some guests were disappointed but the point of celebrating the Winter Solstice is to take advantage of the cosmic energy and you can’t just make that happen at any time. The sun is going to be reborn at a specific time and that is when we should rejoice and tap into this rebirth. Still, it was a wonderful evening and Bob and I didn’t mind staying up past midnight to clean up because it gave us a chance to rehash the evening.

For more on celebrating the Winter Solstice go to Earth Connections: A Guide to Celebrating Nature-based Holidays in the SPIRIT section of this website.

Ah, Solstice Eve. This is the last day that our soul-energy will be spiraling inward. This hushed, dark, introverted descent of energy influences all beings throughout the northern hemisphere including people, the land, and of course wintering wildlife. Tomorrow the planet’s relationship to the sun begins to change and our part of the world will gradually tilt closer and closer to this star resulting in longer and longer days. Coinciding with this transition will be the outward movement of our own energies. But today we reach the innermost depths of our being and we spend the day honoring this shadowy place and the slow, gentle pace of our life-force. We embraced the opportunity to linger mentally and spiritually deep inside our souls, to contemplate our inner beings and connection with Spirit.

With this in mind, Bob and I decided to stay in town instead of trudging to the ranch. We slept in late, took a short walk in the morning and evening, ate very little, and spent a lot of time meditating and contemplating spiritual dimensions.

For more on honoring Winter Solstice Eve go to Earth Connections: A Guide to Celebrating Nature-based Holidays in the SPIRIT section of this website.  You might also want to check out The Nature of Depression in the WRITING section for an alternate approach to understanding and dealing with “mood swings”, “depression”, and “Seasonal Affective Disorder” a.k.a. SAD.

Sunrise was at 7:37 this morning in Bend. Bob and I walked up Pilot Butte and made the summit well before daybreak. Apparently mountains and buttes and hills in the east kept the sun from showing itself until nearly 8 a.m. By the time it rose we were cold with the waiting so there was no hesitation about jumping for joy– literally and figuratively–when the rebirth of the sun fell upon us. We chanted, prayed, meditated and rejoiced in the knowledge that, henceforth, the days will get longer and our soul-energies will begin moving outward into a more physical, exterior existence. 

Mom and Dad joined us for a hearty breakfast in celebration of the abundance to come. I whipped up some Aspen Ridge Scramble, which is different every time I make it but generally includes fried potatoes, onions, garlic, and red bell peppers mixed with organic (free range) ground sausage then brought together with a mixture of eggs, sour cream, milk and spices. We made coffee as a special treat and Dad never noticed that it was decaf since we made it strong and used a dark roast from Strictly Organic, which is yummy and robust. After feasting we adjourned to the living room and I shared my list of “Solstice Carols” with the folks. Since they know the words and tunes (more or less) to all the classic carols, and since Dad has a good, strong voice, we sounded much better than the crew from our party. An hour later and lots of laughing, we finished the whole song book. Mom and I, with the worst voices, couldn’t help but sing boisterously. We love to sing and we love the winter holidays. I don’t know how Dad stayed on pitch. Next we exchanged gifts, played pinochle for a few hours, and they left as the day ended.

Since most people participate in formal Winter Solstice celebrations we didn’t have to worry about businesses being closed. Bob and I went out dancing in the evening and collapsed into bed (after a lovely end-of-solstice ritual) and dropped quickly into sleep. With each morning, henceforth, we will be sure to acknowledge the extra few minutes of daylight we are now getting to enjoy.

Check out the Sun/Moon Calculator in the CHAOS section of this website to determine exact dates and times for sunrises and sunsets in your community.

A huge snow storm blew across the Cascade Mountains yesterday, dumping nearly a foot of snow in Bend. We had planned to drive to Seaside yesterday to be with Bob’s family for Christmas Eve but the driving was treacherous and Bob’s Grandma Jackie, who is dying of lung cancer, had softened into a coma. Bob had said a warm and loving good-bye to his beloved grandmother a couple of weeks ago (he didn’t want to wait until she wasn’t coherent or able to appreciate the moment) and he wasn’t anxious to spoil the time he’d had with her by seeing her in a much depleted state. So, we stayed put in Bend. 

Still, when we learned this morning that she had passed during the night and had been awake for a few moments with all the rest of the family around, we were a little sad we hadn’t braved the weather and made the trip. I don’t feel guilty about our choice and I still feel it was best for both Bob and Grandma Jackie that they held the tender memories of their last meeting as their last. However, Bob is struggling with his decision.

Grandma Jackie died peacefully, though only Bob’s father was with her at the time so we only have his account of it. Since he tends to protect the family (his job in life, of course) I suspect their may have been more to it than a plunge into everlasting sleep. Considering her body was riddled with cancer, I’m glad she left this dimension without staying around for too much pain and suffering. What a delightful, feisty woman Grandma Jackie was. I loved her most for being such a present and generous grandmother for Bob. Nowadays few kids get to have grandparents who are an integral part of their lives.  Bob and his siblings were blessed to have a grandmother who was ever-present in their lives. From the stories I’ve heard of her younger days, she wasn’t a particularly good mother, but she made up for any failings as a parent by being a loving and caring grandmother. Namasté, Jackie.

The holidays are coming.
It is storming and the roads are nasty with packed snow.
The holidays are here.
Bob’s grandmother dies, as we expected.
It is storming, the roads are worse.
We stay put, working and warm by the fire.

For quite some time we’ve come up with a number of excuses for not going to the ranch but today we ran out of legitimate reasons for procrastinating so we headed south for a few days. It isn’t that I don’t like visiting Aspen Ridge Ranch, in fact I love it. It is the emotional tug of war once I’m there, that makes me hesitate. We can’t get as much business work done from the ranch in the winter as we can in town. The solar power can be insufficient to run our computers/Internet, or heavy storms might interrupt phone and/or internet service. We need the money, we need to work. Also, it takes a lot more time just to do the daily tasks while living an off-the-grid lifestyle, so less time for work. And did I mention the temptations of being surrounded by oodles of outdoor activities. I find it hard not to play more than work. However, the biggest reason I put off visiting the ranch is because I fall in love with it all over again each time I’m there–the land, the cabin, the quiet, the simple lifestyle–and I don’t want to leave. But leave I must.

If I stay away from the ranch then I’m not tempted to drift back to it and away from society, from work, from the real world that I’ve gotten used to being a part of again. For 17 years I lived full time at the ranch. I was probably a hermit; certainly an eccentric loaner. I have a loving partner now. I have friends in town. I have work and financial responsibilities that need my time and commitment. Out of site out of mind works for me in this situation. Also, I must confess I feel a bit guilty when I’m back at the ranch. The Yamsi Valley and Aspen Ridge Ranch have been the one, constant passion in my life for nearly two decades. The land, Mother Nature, my tiny log cabin have sustained me emotionally, spiritually, and physically for years, never letting me down. Now, I sometimes feel I’ve abandoned it all. Granted I still live at the ranch for the better part of the “fair” season, which is April through October. I’m in love with Bob who prefers living in Bend and Seaside. And frankly, it is hard work wintering in a remote valley at 5,000 feet with no running water or reliable power in a 16 x 16 log cabin that is six miles down a lumpy logging road and your nearest neighbor is almost ten miles away. I think I got tired of being exhausted so much of the time. Now, we winter in town and I prefer not to be reminded of my magical valley dressed in sparkling white, teeming with wildlife and solitude and nothing else. So I stay away.

About once a month, however, we must drive the 120 miles south from Bend and check on things. I can’t shirk my responsibilities completely. Since there has been so much snowfall in Bend and the surrounding Cascade Mountains of late we assumed there would be a lot of snow in north Klamath County as well so we prepared to ski in. We left the dogs and cat in town with friends and family. We fit everything we might need into backpacks. Then when we got to the Klamath Marsh, only 15 miles from home, we were surprised to discover very little snow. A blanket of cobalt blue sky set off the white and icy meadows and mountain peaks to perfection. The deep waterways along the marsh were frozen solid. Rough-legged hawks perched on many of the snow-mark posts and in willow trees.

When we got to the turn-off from the pavement onto the cinder rock of the Blue Jay Springs Road we were surprised to discover the route had been plowed. In the 18-years that I’ve been using this road it has only ever been plowed when I arranged it. So who plowed it this time, and why? As chance would have it there was a large, new pickup truck parked at the turn-off so while Bob put chains on the 4-Runner I walked over to investigate. Turns out a family from Eugene now own a bit of land at the north end of the Yamsi Valley and they come to visit most weekends, keeping the road plowed themselves. While I appreciate part of the rugged route to the ranch being plowed, I can’t say I’m happy to have neighbors.

Our fork of the road veers east and south about a mile in from the paved road; the snow-free fork goes north. It was shocking to learn that others live nearby, even if they aren’t full time residents. The plowed road saved us a mile of hard driving but I have to say I was glad to jam off the graded drive into a foot of deep, untracked snow to make our way another five miles to our part of the valley. I suppose having someone else around makes things safer and easier, but for me it diminishes the wildness of the place. I hope they keep to the north and let me keep the 25-mile section of the central valley all to myself.

We made it to the cabin by late afternoon and, as usual, the view was breathtaking. The cozy cabin was undisturbed and inviting though there had been a few intruders. Bunny and coyote tracks littered the yard and the rabbit family living under the big woodpile appears to march across the snow-covered lawn to get under the cabin, with some regularity. Bob quickly built a fire while I walked out to the hay barn to see if I could entice Brumby with a bucket of grain. Though not a mustang, Brumby goes quite feral when we leave him alone for stretches of time. He seldom leaves the good feed that lingers under the snow in the dense aspen grove where he hangs out with a herd of elk. I believe he considers himself one of them, instead of a horse. The nice weather must have encouraged Brumby to graze into the meadow and he actually came to the barn for some scratching and brushing and grain. As usual I sang to him, getting him used to human voices again. I don’t think he cares much for my singing–few others do either–but when else would I have the opportunity to sing old cowboy songs.

Since we only brought enough stuff with us to carry in our packs, figuring we would be skiing to the cabin, it didn’t take long to settle in. Light was fading fast and we hadn’t gotten the two to three hours of exercise a six mile ski to get to the cabin would have provided. So, we snow shoed up past the Indian Camps to see if anyone else was driving around these parts. The snow was a bit too deep and clunky to encourage much joy-riding or firewood cutting but I still like to know what’s going on around us. We didn’t come upon any human tracks but we did come across the prints of a bobcat, several coyotes, an elk super highway, along with the usual bunnies, squirrels and mice.

Back at the cabin with dusk settling in we decided not to work and to celebrate the coming New Year instead. I didn’t want to spoil the mellow mood that had settled in after our long trudge through the snow in the sweetly quiet valley so we opted  to use candlelight, instead of solar powered fluorescents. We did have some added illumination from the new DC (direct current) colored holiday lights that now garland the window, along with one oil lantern. With the bits of breeze that make their way into a hand-built log cabin in need of more caulking, the dozens of candles burn more brightly than in a still room. This is not necessarily a good thing since candles also burn faster this way. However,  I don’t mind because there is an astonishing side-effect of having a lot of air blow across a burning candle. The wind on wax creates wondrous sculptures; at once marvelous and mysterious for the ethereal artist that created them.

We ate a simple meal then made Aspen Ridge Snowballs to toast the fine year of 2007. Bob beat me at Scrabble, again, then we took a late night walk in the snow. It was very cold, nearing single digits, and the stars were sharp and magnificent against a jet black canvass. The Northern Lights were brighter than usual with shimmering towers of white and hazy strips of incandescent green. There weren’t any streaks of red as often found in the Aurora Borealis of summer. Ah, summer. Hard to imagine it when surrounded by ice fairies flickering with color as your headlamp plays off frosted pine bows, and your boot clad feet swirl through drifts of white powder, and the screeching and scratching of birthing icebergs begin stacking up in the river.

The echo of a Great Horned Owl hoots and hoots it way up and down the valley. Happy New Year, Happy New Year, it seems to say.