sunshine on my shoulders

Not that the sun is exactly shining right now, but it has been for most of the month of May.  Overnight, it seems, our yard has turned green and leaves have burst out on the trees.  There is leaf shade out our western windows and dappled light dancing on our walls, and the purple smell of lilacs in the air.  Ahhh.

Sometimes I like to go away for holiday weekends.  Over President's Day weekend we headed west to visit Andrea and Philip in Bellingham.  It was a lovely ski-to-sea weekend.  Cross-country skiing in glorious feet of snow near Mt. Baker?  Check!  Ferry ride to Lummi Island?  Check!  Donuts from Rocket Donuts?  Check!  A hike in the fern-draped forests of Lummi?  Check!

This weekend, however, we decided to stay put, and there is something so delightfully delicious about a "staycation."  We've slept in every day, puttered around in the garden, read books, taken long ambling hikes in the wildflower-laden hills.  Several friends have visited from out of town, and it's been good to reconnect and enjoy their company.

Last weekend Greg led a botany field weekend for the Montana Natural History Center, a slightly more advanced course created for Master Naturalist students.  I chose to attend as well, and we (along with seven other Master Naturalists, including Greg's parents) had an intense but lovely weekend learning about plant families and how to key out wildflowers.  We would arrive at a trailhead, walk seven steps, see a flower, then hunker down, pulling out our Vascular Plants of Montana books, then counting petals, stamens, pistils, peering through our hand lenses, and carefully dissecting the flowers with our forceps in an attempt to gather all the crucial information.

New definition of nerd:  one who actually enjoys having a plant in one hand and a dry, nearly picture-less book in the other, trying to determine whether the plant in hand has "involucral bracts with pectinately arranged processes about 1mm long toward tip" or "involucral bracts not as above."  Yes, this process does involve frequently referencing the glossary . . . which often involves referencing the glossary.  For example:  I flip to the glossary to look up "involucral."  I find that "involucre" is defined as a "whorl of bracts or small leaves subtending a flower or flower cluster."  I then look up "bract," which is a "reduced or modified leaf often in the inflorescence." I then look up "inflorescence," which is the "flowering part of a plant."  By this time I've forgotten what I was looking up in the first place . . . and I still have to look up "pectinate" and "process."  My other option, last weekend, was to call, "GREG??  Help!" which often resulted in reaching the answer much more quickly.  :)

Despite a forecast of rain for both last Saturday and Sunday (70% on Saturday and 60% on Sunday), we were blessed with two utterly glorious warm, sunny days, and the rain only came in the last half hour of the class on Sunday, just as we arrived back at MNHC for a debrief of the weekend.  Excellent timing.

We spent some time drawing some of the flowers we'd seen over the weekend, and put all our drawings together in a lovely little booklet.  Here's a sampling (this is very like the kinds of entries I make in my field journal.  Sketching is just one of the many reasons I love field journaling!):

I drew Disporum trachycarpum, rough-fruited fairybells, in the lily family:

Greg drew some bright blue forget-me-nots (borage family),

and Bill drew arrowleaf balsamroot (aster family), which are blooming in profusion all over the hillsides of Mt. Jumbo.

All in all, it was a delightful weekend.

As I mentioned earlier, we've also had some good friends in town over the past couple of weeks.  My dear friend Rachel is here for a few weeks, on her summer break from her job with the Uganda Studies Program in Mukono, Uganda.  It's been wonderful to have her here, and to share tea, dinner, ice cream, and ambles in the hills.  Greg's friend Bill visited for a few days as well, and we went for a beautiful hike on the Mt. Jumbo saddle with both him and Rachel.  A few pictures from our hike:

The hillside awash in arrowleaf balsamroot.

Arrowleaf balsamroot up close.  Fun fact:  this "flower" is made up of myriad flowers--two different types, disk flowers and ray flowers.  The ray flowers are the tiny yellow cups in the middle, and the disk flowers are the yellow "petals" on the outside.  Cool, eh?

A silly moment.

Me and Rachel in the wildflowers.

Looking down the hill into the Missoula valley.  I so love living in this place!

My friend and former co-worker Jessie was in town just for the Memorial Day weekend, and we took yet another hike up Jumbo, on a loop that I've never been on before.  It was stunningly beautiful.  Our hike was sandwiched by rain showers, and the grey clouds and damp air brought out the deep green of the ponderosa pines and douglas firs and the leaves of the flowers.

We saw not only balsamroot and larkspur and prairie stars, but shooting stars and even two buttercups that were just starting to bloom--buttercups, the first flower of spring, ones that are rare to see in early May much less almost June.  We also saw lupine and bluebells, Indian paintbrush and heart-leafed arnica, kittentails and pussytoes.  The diversity of wildflowers was a gift.

Rain showers washing over the Missoula valley, bringing out (and on) the green.

Today we planted our corn seeds (!), as well as beans and squash, and Greg has also been working on the chicken coop.  The chickies are seven weeks old today, and we'll be able to put them outside soon!  Only a few more months until we get our own eggs . . . I can't wait.

My stomach tells me it is lunchtime, so off I go.  A happy Memorial Day to all!

May flowers, among other things

Somehow it's the middle of May, and I'm not quite sure how that happened.  Mentally, I'm still back at the end of April.  I guess two weeks behind isn't too bad . . .

I'm sitting here on the living room couch while Greg makes dinner.  The evening sunlight is streaming through the window, and the new leaves of the maples are backlit and glowing.  In just the past week everything has leafed out--maples, cherry, apricot, kiwi, lilacs, and even our oak tree.  Pale spring green leaves arch over the streets; all the trees are misted in myriad shades of green.  On the solo hike station for our 4th grade field trips at work, there's a card that asks, "How many shades of green can you see?"  This time of year, the spectrum is vast.  Deep green ponderosa pines.  Pale greeny-yellow cottonwoods.  Bright green larches.  Yellow-green maple flowers and slightly deeper green leaves . . .

After too many weeks of chill, clouds, and rain, we've been getting the warmer side of spring weather.  Temps in the 60s, sunshine, spring breezes, poofy white clouds.  AT LAST.  I've been able to wear my flip-flops (!) and skirts without leggings underneath.  The Farmer's Market has started up, and we've bought local cheese and asparagus and native plant starts.  So many delightful signs of spring!

And our garden is finally starting to take off.  The garlic, of course, is doing marvelously, as is the spinach (from last fall), but now this year's spinach is leafing out, as well as our kale and onions and broccoli.  Despite the slow start, I have high hopes of a good harvest this year.  Our chickies are growing rapidly, too--then again, they have a heat lamp, which our plants do not have.  They're now five weeks old, and this past weekend we expanded their home.  They're supposed to stay indoors until all their feathers have come in, so we have a few weeks to go, and the box they've been living in has become far too small.  Thank goodness for $1 screens from Home Resource and vast quantities of duct tape!  Here are their new digs:

(Their original home was the cardboard box on the left side.  Yah, it was definitely time to enlarge their space!)

We have now named two of them, and are still waiting for inspiration on the last two.  In the picture below, the dark Araucana (the one standing next to the water dish and looking at the camera) is Isabelle, and the larger of the Buff Orpingtons, just left of the thermometer, is Henrietta the Fierce.  Henrietta's been named since day 2, but the other three we've been calling Peeper, Cheeper, and Fuzzbucket (guess who picked those names?  Hint: it was NOT me!) while we wait for their personalities to be revealed.  However, if you have name suggestions, feel free to share!

Other exciting happenings:  our tulips are blooming!  They are so beautiful!  Pictures are most certainly worth a thousand words in this case, so enjoy:

YEAH, tulips!

In February, I finished the field journal I began last year in the Montana Master Naturalist Class, which was an exciting accomplishment.  Even more exciting, however, was beginning a brand new journal.  I love new journals.  All those empty pages with nothing written on them yet, clean and white and fresh-smelling.  Since February 14th, I've been writing and sketching in my field journal several times a week, often during my 15-minute "sanity breaks" at work.  MNHC is located right on the river trail, one block from a huge city park, and two blocks from the Clark Fork River.  In the afternoons, I try to make a point of spending 15 minutes outside, breathing the fresh air and experiencing the weather instead of staring at a computer screen.  I find a place to sit, note the time, weather, and temperature, and then simply look, listen, smell, breathe.  I draw swelling cottonwood buds and snowflakes, the curves of the mountains, the shapes of the clouds, and birds that sit still long enough.

I am so grateful to be taking note of the world around me.  Sometimes I come home, open up our Sibley's Guide to Birds, and sketch a new bird that I've seen that day or week, trying to get to know it better.  Or I'll sit and draw a flower, pick one to press and tape into my journal, and then, at home, I'll look it up in our field guide and learn a little more about it.  I love having this gorgeous, intricate, achingly lovely world around me to explore.  The more I learn about it, the more I love it, and the more I want to get out into it and learn more.

Today I went out to Council Grove, a state park a few miles west of Missoula, to help lead our 4th grade field trips.  One of the stations is a wildlife hike, which MNHC's top volunteer, Valerie, led, but as we walked along looking for birds and animal sign, I was amazed at how much I knew.  I can identify a Lewis' woodpecker and a rufous hummingbird.  I know the calls of the northern flicker, the western meadowlark, and the red-winged blackbird, of the osprey and the cedar waxwing.  There is still so much that I don't know, but I know so much more about the natural history of western Montana now than I did six--or even two--years ago.

This may be my plug for getting to know your place.  So many states have Master Naturalist courses, and even if you've lived in your place for years or decades, there's always more to learn.  It may be one of the most important things you can learn:  the natural history of your place.  Even if there is no MN course available, you can buy yourself a bird guide, a plant guide, an insect guide, and teach yourself.  That may be one of the things I love most about this discipline.  I am grateful for a husband who knows the intricacies of Montana's plant world, and for friends and co-workers who are passionate and knowledgeable about birds and insects and mammals, but even if I didn't have these people in my life, I could teach myself simply by going outside, being curious, and looking closely at the world around me.

If we don't know what's in our world, we'll have little motivation to protect it.  But the more we learn about our place--its seasons, its rhythms, its intricacies, its balances--the more we will want to preserve it in its entirety.  When it comes down to it, we can't afford not to learn about our place, because we can't afford not to care about it.

All right, stepping down from my soap box now . . .

I'll end this by posting some other signs of spring:

Ice cream at the Big Dipper!!

Snow melting from the low mountain areas, leaving behind green landscapes and pools of water:

Transplanting tomatoes into bigger pots as they grow:

Kitty cuteness in the OPEN window!

Two words:  Future.  Cherries.

(Last year, we got four blossoms and no cherries, due to a late May frost.  This year, we have dozens upon dozens of blossoms and we are hoping for no more severe frosts . . . )

The Dude (i.e., Basil) in his happy spot, viewing his domain.

The Shmub (i.e., Nutmeg) looking cute and deceptively dignified.

Gorgeous sunsets, with the sun setting much farther north:

Naps for Greg, who is done with classes for the semester and has a week-long break before the summer session starts, and for Nutmeg, whose life is basically one long nap interrupted only by eating and pooping.

Greg and the kitten have a very special relationship.  One of massive cuteness, among other things.

Happy spring!

April . . . showers?

I'm sitting cross-legged on the living room floor, with my computer on the coffee table, listening to Seth Martin & the Menders and smelling the delectable wafting scent of the double chocolate layer cake that I'm baking for two of my co-workers' birthdays, which happen to be only a day apart.  I may have to exercise some particularly deliberate self-control to keep from sampling this cake before tomorrow . . .

I don't know about the rest of the country, but Missoula has had a particularly grey and chilly spring.  I know that warm weather will come, but I am ready for it NOW.  To be perfectly honest, I don't mind the chilly weather so much as the grey.  It is sunshine that I am craving, so when I woke up this morning to a clear blue sky and dazzling sunshine, I was thrilled.  Of course, by mid-afternoon the clouds had blown back in, along with some whirling snow flakes, making my bike ride home rather brisk, but the sun did have a final say this evening, and argued quite convincingly for the beauty of both snow/rain (look close; you can see the precipitation!) and sunshine:

Two weeks ago we woke up to this:

One week ago we hiked on the north side of Mt. Jumbo, looking for wildflowers.  We found numerous patches of snow:

And--success!  Buttercups!  Of course, buttercups usually arrive in March, and by April there should be yellowbells and bluebells and blue-eyed Marys . . . but this year, thus far, we are content with these bright little harbingers of spring.

This past Saturday, we got wind and rain and sun all mixed together, making for a wild and beautiful wedding ceremony for my friends Ann and Nathan.  I have no pictures of the ceremony, but here's the nearby sky and landscape just a few minutes before the wedding:

And then another glorious mix of rain and wind and sunshine and snow this evening:

I'm so grateful for these moments of sunshine--looking at my pictures, I realize they have been present this spring, but I am looking forward to full days of sunshine.  Yet these moments when the sun radiates through, in long golden shafts of light between earth and clouds, bring me hope and remind me of the beauty in all types of weather on all types of days.

Before the wedding last Saturday, I spent the morning with a group of volunteers, clipping the seed pods off invasive species in a local natural area.  It was overcast and grey, and had I been home I would have been lamenting yet another dark day, but being outside, smelling the freshness of the earth and the creek and hearing the singing of dozens of birds (and realizing, once again, that I have a long ways to go along the path of bird identification)--I was just so very content to be outside and part of all that life and springtime energy.  Note to self:  spend more time outside on grey days!

Since this is a bit of a rambly post, I'm also going to mention something interesting I've noticed lately in my yoga practice.  In just the past week or so, I've found myself processing noisy thoughts and strong feelings during yoga.  Whatever I might be worrying about at the moment becomes more present and persistent when I begin my yoga poses, and this forces me to notice that worry, to really look at it, and then, as I breathe in and out, go from forward bends to bridge to upward dog, to work through it.  And, no matter what the issue, whether work or friends or politics, I come to a more peaceful place by the time I begin my meditation.  Perhaps it's not a place of complete peacefulness, but I always feel as though I've  reached some sort of resolution, an inner quiet space.  Inhale.  Pause.  Exhale.

Six days till Facebook!

Spring, Sprang, Sprung!

Perhaps it is too early to declare that spring has come, but I can definitively say that the day I have been waiting for has arrived, and it was yesterday.  Sunny, 55 degrees, with the freshest air and smells all around, earth and grass warming in the sunshine, playful breezes, spring saying "I am here!"  I know it'll probably get cold again, and we'll probably get more snow, and that's absolutely fine.  The herald of spring blew her horn, and that was what I was waiting for.

Ah.

As the days roll by, I am increasingly grateful to have made my commitment to the spiritual practices I mentioned in the previous post.  Already they are making a difference.  I have spent so much less time on the computer than usual.  I didn't even turn it on this past weekend--and I know that part of that was due to the gorgeous weather, but part of it was me simply not feeling the need to be online.  And not being on Facebook hasn't been too difficult (yet), despite the fact that my good friend Amy just had a baby boy yesterday (!!!!!!!) and, though he is as yet unnamed, I am sure there are pictures on FB already . . . (Must. Stay. Strong.)

One other change I made last week was to my work schedule, going to work at 10 instead of 9, and using that entire extra hour to do yoga.  I have never done an hour of yoga every day, and it has given me so much more time to try new things . . . or not.  There are some poses that I simply cannot do.  Yet.  And then there are some that I cannot hold for 10 seconds, much less 2 minutes--camel pose, for instance (it's not as easy as it looks!):  

I am interested in seeing how I improve as the weeks pass.  And oh, is there room for improvement.

Making these changes, I feel free.  How to explain this?  I am proud of myself for holding to my practices these past few days.  I know I have five weeks to go, but I have increasing faith that I will be able to continue along this path I have chosen.  I am amazed at how the different practices are fitting together so well.  My resolve to take a hiatus from Facebook is helping me to minimize the rest of my online time.  My morning yoga is both energizing and calming, and I find myself craving healthier foods, other forms of exercise, and more time outside. And praying to Mother God encompasses it all; it is freeing and calming and energizing and humbling.  It feels like coming home.

What I love the most is that for these past few days I have felt that I am living the life I've been wanting to live for a long time.  It's so easy to get caught up in the busyness of life, in a cycle of work, come home, kick back with a movie or some mindless online time, go to bed, repeat.  And perhaps there's nothing terribly wrong with that, except that it just didn't feel like enough.  I am blessed, right now, with a good deal of free time.  Most people my age have kids and the mountain of responsibility that comes with that.  Greg and I don't have kids (yet), and I want my time to be spent more meaningfully.  These are all small steps in that direction.

I'll sign off with an absolutely scintillating recipe that I have been savoring this past week.  I found it in my Yoga for Women book, and if you want something refreshing and divinely delicious, this is for you:

Mango Lassi

*1 very ripe mango, peeled and cubed (I find it easiest to peel it, then just cut off slices/chunks straight into the blender . . . and lick my fingers afterward!)
*1 cup plain yogurt
*1 tablespoon honey or pure maple syrup
*small handful of ice cubes or 1/3 cup of cold water

Combine in blender.  Pour into glasses (makes about 2 servings).  Drink . . . and know that this is evidence that God loves us.  MMM.

Blessings to you all, friends.

Spring Adventures

I love this time of year.

Of course, I seem to love every time of year as it arrives. I love the changing of the seasons, the constant renewal and new beginnings as we cycle through the year. These past several weeks have been weeks of rain. This is not a normal thing for Missoula. We'll get some rain in the spring, of course, but 16 days straight of rain? Rare, very rare. As a result, everything is incredibly verdant, and I am reveling in it. Our garden is growing enthusiastically, as are the wildflowers on the hills, and, unfortunately and inevitably, the noxious weeds. C'est la vie.

Spring is also a time to get out the tents, thermarests, and other camping gear, as the weather warms up just enough for us to get out into the wilderness. Some pictures from our spring excursions:

We took our first camping trip of the year to a little Forest Service campground on Rock Creek, about 30 minutes away from Missoula, and enjoyed a lovely, sunny weekend of relaxation:

Of course we had to take a bit of an amble in the woods:

and stop to admire all the lovely wildflowers, including the lovely Calypso bulbosas, or fairy slipper orchids.

Our next camping trip was a little less . . . dry. Over Memorial Day weekend a huge wet system moved in, covering most areas within a day's drive of Missoula. "How about the Rocky Mountain front?" Forecast: 4o degrees and snow. "Central Washington?" 51 degrees and torrential rain. "Oregon?" Rain. "Yellowstone?" Cold and rain. "Idaho?" Cold and rain, possibly snow. "Utah?" 95 degrees and sunny . . . but oh, wait, it's a 12-hour drive.

We wanted to camp somewhere, so we finally decided to head down into Idaho and brave the weather. The first night was a little drizzly, but not too bad, and the next day we took a hike in the misty cool mountains, feeling as though we were hiking through Ireland or northern England.

We were well equipped with our rain gear, at least!

It was truly lovely to amble up and over and amongst the hills, in this wild and untamed piece of Idaho.

The wildflowers were stunning. We saw too many for me to remember, though we stopped, examined, and admired them all. Thanks to my wonderful Greg we (and by "we" I mean "Greg") were able to identify most of them; here's a little rain-dampened phlox. I could post pictures of 25 more flowers, but I'll spare you. :)

Mmmm . . .

We then drove farther south, past Salmon, down to the Pahsimeroi River valley, where we drove along a little dirt road up into the mountains, where our gazetteer promised us a Forest Service campground. After splashing through a stream or two and a large puddle, we came to the end of the road . . . and the campground, which had only two sites, tucked between Morse Creek and the hills. The sun came out, and we went on another pleasant amble, checking out the territory for the hikes we hoped to take on the following days. Then we set up camp and started dinner.

I think I may have a landscape crush on Idaho . . .

Britta built the fire

while Beth updated her nature journal

and Greg popped a Cold Smoke (okay, okay, so the rest of us did, too!),

and I took pictures of everyone. :)

We ate supper in the sunshine. And then it began to rain, so we moved under the tarp we'd hung from two trees and the truck. And then it began to rain harder, so we packed up the dishes and food box into the truck, and dashed into the tent to stay warm and dry.

And then the tent started leaking. And then it started hailing/graupeling. So we went outside to wipe the hail from the tent, had a minor incident during which half the tent collapsed, eventually got it stable again, and dashed back inside to thaw numb fingers and toes. Water was seeping in under the floor, as well as through parts of the roof and walls, so we moved all our sleeping gear to the middle and decided to just tough it out . . . don't I look tough?

We slept fairly well, though it rained all through the night, though it seemed to let up every once in awhile. Beth and Greg made sure to check the creek level, as we didn't want to get washed away in a flash flood. Or crushed by a falling tree. Or eaten by a bear. Or stuck in the campground, unable to get out past the washed-out road. Or . . .

Okay, so it was a rather long night. But morning came at last . . .

and we woke up to this:

Not to mention wet sleeping bags/gear/clothing. So we decided to pack up, throw everything in a sodden heap in the back of the truck, and head back to civilization for the rest of the weekend, civilization being a decadent brunch at a diner in Salmon and two days at Greg's parents' house and hot tub in Hamilton.

The drive out offered some pretty spectacular scenery:

We are all determined to go back sometime soon, on a weekend when there is no hint of snow in the forecast!

On Sunday we went on a hike up Bass Creek--the same hike that Greg and I took on our first date, about two years ago. Of course, it was a beautiful bluebird day.

We scrambled off the trail to sit at the base of a waterfall pouring over the rock above us, a perfect place to eat lunch (aside from the ticks, that is).

The waterfall dries up later in the summer, but there was still enough snowmelt for us to enjoy it.

I have no idea what everyone is laughing about . . . but it must have been funny.

Oh, to walk in the woods is a lovely thing. Here's to many more outdoor adventures in the coming months!