Now he walks in quiet solitude the forest and the streams
Seeking grace in every step he takes
His sight has turned inside himself to try and understand
The serenity of a clear blue mountain lake
And the Colorado rocky mountain high
I've seen it raining fire in the sky
You can talk to God and listen to the casual reply
Rocky mountain high
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The prairie is my home. I live and work and wonder here, on the flats of sage and unrelenting wind. Tumbleweeds line the barbed wire fences that seem mandatory, along with no trespassing signs and ridiculously oversized pickup trucks. This lonely land, with it's dust and dirty patches of snow, has an unspoken beauty only seen by few. It's a place I've come to love. A place I had to learn to love.
Right now though, I'm coming down from my Rocky Mountain high.
Instead of staying home for Christmas this year, we escaped to the mountains of northern Colorado. The Medicine Bow Range is thick with forest. Healthy spruce, fir and pine trees, their branches drooping heavy with pure white glistening snow, looked just like a scene on a Leanin' Tree Christmas card. The snow was so deep, we cross country skied everywhere. And everywhere we went, there were moose. Standing knee deep in snow with their magnificant long faces and calm demeanor, we enjoyed watching them crunching on pine cones, without any worry. They have no predators right now. The humans with their guns won't come around until next fall. They're safe today. It's Christmas and it's cold and the sun is squinty bright and the sky is bluer than its ever been. That's typical Colorado.
I've come to the woods to learn. To breathe and exhale. I had forgotten what a forest can do for the soul. How to be one with the trees, standing side by side, taking what they have to share and breathing it all in. I had forgotten how staring at snow covered peaks brings a certain kind of peace. A kind of peace I don't find on the prairie. For some reason, I get restless looking out at the barren land.
I discovered something about myself up there in those mountains. I felt more serene, but also elated. There was a calmness in me, a completeness that's been missing. My occasional nervous energy had vanished when I stood on the wooden deck looking out east at my neighbors, the Never Summer mountains. The moment I stepped inside the Yurt, I no longer was restless. I knew all along that this is what I wanted. I also knew I needed to be here now, in this land so opposite to what I've grown accustom to. I knew this was going to be a windless time. A new kind of repose. I felt free. Like I belonged. The trees were my companions and the moose and fox were on my side. We were a team. Something I'm lacking out on the high plains.
I just had to go away to find myself again.
I'm happiest when I'm in the company of wildlife. Just knowing they are around brings me joy and a sigh of relief. My extraordinary soft spot for wild animals causes me to worry about them. I fret with fury over their well being. I lay awake at night wondering why people hate wolves so much. How anyone could find pleasure in a "contest" to see who could bag the most wolves and coyotes in a two day killing spree. Is that not harrowing? Is it just me? Am I the only one that feels that something is dreadfully wrong with this way of thinking? It sounds like wildlife management has gone awry. Didn't they learn anything about natural balance and recovery? Isn't that why they were reintroduced back to the land? To keep elk in check and so the land could flourish for all?
A last best refuge is in Colorado's high country for some animals. Along with the surging moose population, the lynx and wolverines are reaping the benefits as well. While skiing around we noticed plenty of fox tracks and found beaver dams and their cleverly built lodges.
Wait a minute. Where was I? Ah, yes. That's right. I'm in a yurt in the mountains living in harmony.
Now then, Yurts are amazing. I found this one to be cozy and roomy and pleasing to the eye. It had an uncluttered look to it inside, which I liked. (Remember, I admire the Amish). The woodstove rocked! It was heavy duty cast iron, with which we boiled water on and kept a pan simmering the whole time we were there. A log bed and futon chaise lounge was in there and a wooden table and chairs. Stacks of split wood and kindling were spilling out of a rustic wooden cabinet. More wood was piled high and stashed underneath the 6 ft. high yurt platform. The 42 natural golden colored wood beams were all in align beautifully, extending to a point in the center of the yurt, displaying a 5 ft. circle window to the sky. On our first night there, I didn't sleep, only because I could not stop looking at all the stars through that skylight. They kept moving and changing and getting brighter and brighter. It reminded me of camping, when you awake and look up at the sky on a pitch black summer night, and count the stars or spot satellites moving ever so gently.
I think I eventually closed my eyes and had a dream.
I dreamed we built a yurt at Red Feather. It had a woodstove and books and art supplies were spilling out of handmade wooden shelves and the animals came to visit and we were happy.
