Western Wildflowers, late summer, early fall

I arrived and began acclimating to this altitude, and decided to pay close attention to valley wildflowers left over from a summer of bloom and drought-- classic in this valley.

Alpine wildflowers are so different, but each day I noticed more and more examples...some in full bloom and some with seed pods, past their prime and waiting for the first snow to come...

Beautiful blue-gray sagebrush that, after a rain, perfumes the valley with the aroma of wild sage; heady and pungent and distinctive.  not blooming but the fine seed heads are wispy and blow in the breeze.....

past its prime, but seed heads are beautiful...

 the seedheads are the beauty of what is left!...

tiny white starflowers...so delicate...in more ways than one way!

the remains after a cold night, just as delicate and beautiful as when it was in bloom.

on the West Bank of the Snake River, closer to our cabin and away from the arid valley we found more lush flowers, but still the same in many ways...tiny, delicate,

the classic nodding heads of the thistle plant....tough yet beautiful!  All of the plants in this high arid plains, with vast extremes in climate, struggle and succeed in their own beauty!

On another day we entered the lake area forest, another story,

Here we were warned of a recent attack on people in this beautiful forest by a calm and quiet lake

armed with bear spray and wearing our "bear bells" we walked through the deep forest in quiet and peace....

it was stormy and moody this day, but beautiful....

and the threatening grey skies gave way to blue skies and quickly moving, heavy white clouds.
The change of seasons has begun!

but the treasure lay deep in the woods on this day....luxurious and green, moist and rich.....

tiny jewels deep in the forest...

this is where my heart resides,  richly blessed and filled with the presence of God.

Living and Learning, Past Present and Future...

Living here...

I once had the greatest impatience for folks who came to this valley and didn't understand what this was all about here, on MY terms. I was filled with my own busy-ness and impatient with what I viewed as laziness and ignorance.  After all, I understood! So many people get off the plane, and play a match of tennis and wind up with a splitting headache that doesn't go away for the entire stay...

The climate here is tough, and the "air is thin" which is shorthand for the altitude makes for a dearth of oxygen for those who aren't acclimated.  Breathing is a basic need...here you have to try harder!  Seasonal activities are cold-weather-- October though May. It can snow in August in the high country.  My worst case of frostbite came at the end of August in Box Canyon; both of my feet were severely frostbitten...so badly injured that I could barely walk. My uncle Louis demanded to know why I was hobbling around the cabin after a  summer season on trips up high in the mountains.  I took my boots and socks  off so he could see my feet, and revealed the grayish white of the frostbite that had occurred weeks earlier. He nearly fell over in shock; incredulous that I would have waited so long!!  My feet recovered, thanks be to God!,  but I am left with a particular sensitivity to cold and a vulnerability to frostbite in the future.

I love it here.  There is no other place in the world I would rather be.  My heart and my very soul are here.  The best times are here, the most Love is here, the best memories from the past and present are here.  I can still go to the location of the cabins at the base of the Teton Range, directly at the base the Grand Teton mountain.  The property was sold to the government years ago and is a part of the National park now.  It was painful back then to see it sold, but now it is a good thing it was.  It isn't private property today, and I can go back and find the remnants of the driveway laid of river rock... back to the cabin foundations, which still stand among the cottonwood trees alongside Cottonwood Creek.  I can sit and listen to the soft flowing murmur of the creek and remember my father and grandfather and uncles stepping off the front porch to fish the waters ....coming back to the cabin with supper to be prepared and cooked over a log fire.  Everything was so simple then.

Last year, Jim brought me back to this valley and we knew that I was very seriously ill.  As we drove into the valley I wept at the thought that this might be the last time I would come back.  The tumor that had been found was taking all of my strength, my kidney function was impaired, and the pain was overwhelming, My right side was deadened and weakened from the effect of the tumor on my nerves and muscles.  Now I was humbled, and I learned some very tough lessons.  Last year, I experienced a dearth of oxygen.  I was unable to hike any of the trails I normally hike without effort, and so Jim took me out to the valley to walk the valley bike paths.  The bike paths are paved and flat with just a little bit of rise and fall.  I could not walk 100 yards on the bike paths without experiencing excruciating pain and low oxygen levels. I tried to fish the Firehole River, as we always do each year, up in Yellowstone.  I pulled on my waders and insisted on wading out into the river, only to find that because I couldn't feel my right side or lift my right leg, I was unable to get back to the riverbank on my own! 

God has always taught me lessons that I have needed to learn and He hasn't always taken the easy road to teach me.  But one thing is sure....The Lord has always been there for me, no matter how difficult, no matter how painful, no matter how frightening or impossible. When I have found myself at the most hopeless point, I can see how He has been there for me, how He has released me, how He has healed me, how He has provided the solutions and the way, the Path, to follow. He has humbled me again and again; and on occasion He has held up a great big mirror for me to look into, to see the answer that was there all along!

Jim brought me back here to this valley this year.  I am healing still, and almost whole again.  Surgery and rehabilitation have put me back together. The Lord has provided his healing hand through prayers from so many wonderful people who helped me through this ordeal. But there are lessons that I must remember. We have been here a week, and for the first 4 days oxygen levels were lower than average.  I had to take the time....the time that I criticized for others...to build my oxygen levels over time.  The first day we walked the flats 2 miles.  The second day 2.5 miles. The third day 4.5 miles on a trail up the mountain I had not been able to hike for 2 years!  The next accomplishment was a 10 mile bike hike....and I am gaining speed and endurance.  I have gained much of what I lost, and learned the lessons I needed to learn at the same time. Still,  I have a long way to go!

What about the future?  For Jim and for me, a five-year plan to relocate, ... is not a done deal. I found job opportunities here and was tempted, but now is not the time. Jim loves it here... but not as much as I do and not enough to throw everything away. There is a church family here, and a place to live, and so much work to do. How will we accomplish all that we need to make the dream reality?  Only God knows the way, and we leave it in His hands. It's one of the things I have learned, kneeling at His feet where I belong.

Sunday~Worship, and "Home"

In my childhood, with my grandmother, we often worshiped in this little chapel in the town of Moose, Wyo.  while my grandfather, my father and uncles would go to fish or hunt on Sunday mornings.  The men would also hunt and fish on almost every other morning too, leaving before it was light and returning in time for supper.  This little chapel, the Chapel of the Transfiguration, holds many blessed memories of the times in this valley.

Inside it is tiny, with handhewn pews of carved pine and a simple cross in front of the window over the altar, framing the mountains beyond.  The chapel is part of the Episcopal Church, and always has been a mission of St. John's Episcopal Church in the town of Jackson. It was built in 1925 and is the same today as I remember it as a little girl.  I can recall the times with my grandmother as we would prepare for service and drive from the cabin to the chapel, always sitting in the second pew  on the left, together. 
Simple wonderful times of worship in this place.

Things change, and we have become involved in another chapel South of the town of Jackson.  When we come back to the valley, I look forward to returning to worship in this church with these
wonderful folks.  The Chapel at River Crossing...

It is not part of the Episcopal Church, and it also not an Anglican Church.  In the beginning, Anglican liturgy was used for the early service and the second service was very contemporary, with Worship and Praise.  But that has changed once again, and their services are non-liturgical in style.  We begin with Worship and Praise, we greet one another at the Peace.  The sermon follows with scriptural teaching, and ends with the breaking of the bread and communion together.  What I have noticed is this:

the church is more modern and so much larger. But  beyond the altar which sits at the base of the  stairs made of huge pine logs, the cross is imposed on the lectern. Simple candles are lit, and huge pine logs frame the window. Outside is the scene of the mountain range and the beauty of the surrounding valley, just like at the Chapel in Moose.

We arrived late on Saturday night and were up and out very late that night.  But I could barely sleep anticipating our return to this church family.  Service was to begin at 8:45, and we were up at 6:30 to be there on time.  Walking in, I felt like I was coming home; it felt like we had not been away long at all.  It was so familiar and so good to be there.  The service started at nine, and I thought maybe the Pastor of our church would not be there.  Last year, his son-in-law Jason led the service.  After a long summer of worship, our Pastor Mike Atkins and his wife Patty were taking some time away.  This summer, the church had it's first theatre production, designed to draw visitors as outreach to the community.  I knew it was a busy season.  And I was prepared to miss our Pastor again this year.  He was nowhere in sight, and as we began to worship, Jason was leading worship and praise with the band.  And then I noticed that somehow Pastor Mike had slipped into his seat in the front row. Both Jim and I felt a Peace about this time in our church.  We truly had come "home" on this Sunday.

This is the church where I accepted God's will in my life, the Chapel at River Crossing.  Pastor Mike led deliverance that first year, and he called all of those members up to the altar who were prepared to surrender their own will to God.  I will never forget it, because I had been so opposed to the altar call.
I was looking for something back then, and Mike knew how to reach me.  And as I sat in my seat and listened to Mike Atkins speak about surrendering your own will, and calling God into your life, to be the all in all...I could not stop myself from approaching the altar, and kneeling before God, and accepting God's will as my own. What a great night that was.
And What a change that night has made in my life!

It was a great Sunday this past Sunday.  It was a blessing to see everyone again, to hear Mike's teaching, to worship with this wonderful congregation.  It felt like home.  It felt right.

As you leave the church, this message is carved above the entryway:  it means alot to see this!

HOME, where I DO belong. We will have several more Sundays with this church family.
We went off to town for breakfast after service, and met some folks in the parking lot who were also looking for Mike Atkins.  They said they were "Lost" and could we help them?"
We sure could.....they weren't lost at all.  They had found The Chapel at River Crossing, Pastor Mike Atkins, and his congregation.  Home at Last...Amen!

Denver to Jackson

Preparing to leave Denver on Saturday,  we weren't sure which route we could take.
We talked about backtracking east, turning north and catching I80 east of Cheyenne.  This route would add several hours to the trip to Jackson Hole Saturday morning.  We were trying to have more
hours with family in Denver, and we didn't want to get into Jackson Hole very late.

 Mother nature was having her way with the Denver environment north of the city all the way to the Wyoming state line.  Interstate 25 was closed at Longmont,  Secondary roads were under water.  We listened to terrible Stories of folks stranded, missing, dead; vehicles driving on seemingly solid roadways, and falling through into washed-out holes.

This was a hundred-year flood.  Storms passing over the mountains on the front range dump massive inches of rain on the dry river beds, creeks, rivers, reservoirs and streams high in the mountains.  The water begins to fill these dry river beds, creeks, rivers, reservoirs and streams and begins running down the slopes of the mountains, through the towns where folks have settled in large and small communities.  Everyone wants to live by a beautiful rushing river!!  The beauty and the calm are soothing.

The reservoirs serving the town's water needs fill and the dams burst, sending the water fast downstream-- flooding the towns along the route.  It can be a terrible disaster, and it has been an awful time in Denver.

Jim's brother Tom tells us  there is no problem 30 miles to the west over the mountains..  The storms are passing over the front range.  I70West is the best route to take.  Once past the front range, the way is clear.  He is going to his cabin in Frasier Colorado on Saturday to deal with the damage from a porcupine chewing through the side of his cabin, and the mess left by this visitor!

In the morning we decide to try heading North to see if the roads are open but we quickly learn that even more roads are closed, Route 76 East is closed, and so we head West on I70 and drive through the beautiful mountains and ski areas of the Colorado mountains.  At Silverthorne Colorado, we turn into the mountains and begin the route that takes us up toward the Wyoming state line.

From Silverthorne we wind up through the mountains, headed toward Steamboat Springs and the famed ski resort, memories from my days of skiing run through my mind.  I remember Steamboat from many years ago. We descend Rabbit Ears Pass into the town of Steamboat Springs

  The area is just as beautiful, but built up to be a place that is much larger than it once was.  Yet still, Steamboat remains a Western town with some of the best skiing in the Western United States and some pretty great nightlife in the winter, as I recall...SMILE...

From Steamboat Springs we continue through the towns of Milner and Hayden, to Craig Colorado... passing through small towns with huge power plants, quaint western towns with one church for the entire community and one gas station, one grocery, one doctor's office for miles.

At Craig, we turn North to head toward Rawlins, Wyoming and Interstate 80.

All along the route, we have had sunshine, but as we enter the desert areas of Northern Colorado and Southern Wyoming we begin to see the storms build, all the time staying just behind or aside us.  Rain shafts appear to the West of the route, but we pass through with only a few drops on the windshield.

We enter an increasingly desolate area of haunting beauty and quiet, mile after mile of no sign of community, the occasional hawk or common crow flying overhead, oil rigs dotting the landscape

As a little girl, I remember driving through the desolation of the southern portion of the state of Wyoming with my father and thinking how ugly and awful it was; I remember feeling almost a sense of shame of this being the state that I loved so much.  I was always so anxious to just get through it and head North to the beauty of the mountains...

But this trip, I had new eyes and new appreciation for the hauntingly beautiful quiet and openness of this wide open place that almost no one calls home

I felt a new sense of appreciation and love for this landscape.  Shortly we began to notice herds of antelope, small herds of cattle, and solitary antelope off to the side of the highway

 their white markings caught our attention as we drove and we began to see more and more of them, lying down in the deep grasses and  sagebrush prairies

And we came out onto I 80 at an exit that had nothing but a fireworks stand, and headed West.  We Stopped for lunch at a Subway in a truck stop in the middle of nowhere, and then got back on the road

 we had skirted storms all the way up from Denver, but now more thunderheads and swirling clouds were laid out in front of us as we neared our exit at Rock Springs Wyoming. As a young girl, I always measured my distance and my time... and the build up of my excitement for reaching Jackson came, when I exited  Interstate 80 at Rock Springs. I could settle back into my driver's seat after passing Rock Springs and anticipate the beauty and the peace of Jackson Hole....
Out ahead of us was what looked like a tremendous and dangerous storm.  But once again, we steered around it, God moved this storm just to the North of the Interstate and we exited in sunshine at Rock Springs and began our northern route. We drove through the little towns of Eden, Farson, and Boulder ... arriving in Pinedale and then finally passing into the increasing beauty of the drive into Hoback Junction just South of Jackson, where my heart resides. The river ran beside the road for miles; rushing water, and calm stretches.

The sun was setting quickly, the sky turning an intense golden over the southern portion of the mountain range.  We drove past our church, The Chapel at River Crossing, and then entered town.  Jim decided that I needed to go immediately to the valley.  The sun was setting quickly, but we drove through town and began our ascent into the valley, past the elk refuge.  Here the road ascends gradually at the base of the butte on the left side of the road.....  Past the refuge and the ponds of the trumpeter swan haven in winter.  Slowly slowly... and suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, rises the Teton mountain range;  from the valley floor the mountains rise into view.  But today, above 8000 feet, the mountains were obscured by clouds this night.  Still, they were in front of us and I was there in the valley  I love so much once again.

As dusk began to increase we drove into the little town of Moose WY, populated only by the Ranger headquarters, Ranger living area, the tiny Chapel of the Transfiguration from my childhood days here. We turned left onto the Moose-Wilson Road to head to the cabin.  The road rises again suddenly from the valley floor to the next level high into the mountains.

Almost immediately we came into what is affectionately referred to here as an "ani-jam"  An ani-jam refers to any congregation of vehicles and their people which are stopped to view wild animals along any road in the area.  Vehicles were stopped...one with it's Cadillac back-end jutting into the roadway, forcing all others to veer onto the sagebrush to get around.  Folks with huge cameras on tripods lined the roadway, and I scanned the hillside to see what...in this area usually moose or bear...was attracting all this attention.  Morning hours and dusk are the most active times for wild animals.  Bear are in  hyperphagia to prepare for hibernation.....

Soon, as we traveled high along the narrow mountain road to the cabin, we learned what all the excitement was about....

We came upon another group of 30 or more people along the left side of the road at the location of the Beaver ponds.  Across the narrow road are stands of tall Aspen trees at the base of a high sagebrush-covered hill. The Aspens are just beginning to turn gold with the coming of fall.

In front of the people stood a young, tall, blond, pony-tailed female ranger, arms outstretched; standing tall and silently in a protective stance of these people and their cameras. Across the narrow road and in the aspens, no more than five feet from the car....I could have reached out and touched...a beautiful, amazingly large Bear.  He was agitated by all of these people out of their cars with their cameras, no more than 30 feet away from him.  The rule here is 100 yards from bears and moose, and here these people were...out of their vehicles and standing protected only by this poor ranger who, as Jim said, was doing the best job she could do until help could arrive in the form of more rangers and equipment to deal with this increasingly dangerous situation.

As I said, the bear was clearly upset with his predicament.  The beaver ponds contain berries and nourishment for the bears who consume more than 20,000 calories per day to prepare for winter.  This was the bear's suppertime, dusk in the mountains at the beaver pond.  His upset was being demonstrated by his circling in place, around and around and around where he stood.... Classic frustation stance for a bear.  Ranger vehicles were in sight, descending from the Wilson station, and ascending from the Moose station to give aid to the ranger who was risking her life for the STUPID people who were out of their cars, 30 feet across the road from this huge bear, at the height of hyperphagia!  We placed our Tahoe vehicle between the crowd, the ranger and the bear as the other rangers began to pull up.  If I had put my window down, I could have patted the bear on the head, ALMOST. ... Not quite.  He was absolutely the most beautiful bear...in his own habitat, facing stupid humans who just want a pic of the bear! .... At the risk of their lives, especially in this situation.

We drove on, finally, and left the rangers to deal with the danger and frustration.  We unloaded at the cabin and headed into town for supper and groceries.  Darkness was complete....no lights except headlights make it very dark.  Lightning flashed over the mountains.  A steady stream of headlights was coming up the road from what was the ani-jam.  The rangers had succeeded in convincing the people of what was the right-minded thing to do.  And darkness took away the opportunity for pictures!  Amen!  Thank you, Lord.  "Home" at last.

Meditation~ The Measure to Measure With

When your enemy falls into your hands, do not consider how you can pay him back and let him feel the sharp edge of your tongue before sending him packing; consider rather how you can heal him and restore him to a better frame of mind.  Continue to make every effort both by word and deed until your gentleness has overcome his aggressiveness. 

Nothing has more power than gentleness.  As someone has said:  
A soft word will break bones. 
And what is harder than bone?

Well then, even if someone is as hard and inflexible as that, he will be conquered if you treat him gently.

There is another saying:  A soft answer turns away wrath.

It is obvious, therefore, that whether your enemy continues to rage or whether he is reconciled depends much more on you than on him.  For it rests with us, not with those who are angry, either to destroy their anger or enflame it.

--Saint John Chrysostom

Meditation: Carrying our Cross

The purpose of suffering is to teach us that, in the last resort, we have nothing to hope for apart from God, to force us to place all our desires in him.  When pain is prolonged beyond the point at which nothing can distract us from it, becomes so intense that our whole attention is absorbed; then we must lose consciousness or go temporarily mad or master it by charity.  Our Lord's method was the last. His whole sensibility outraged, deserted by his friends and deprived of all earthly consolation, he sent forth his spirit in longing towards the Father in the supreme act of love whereby we are redeemed.
 
    "Father, into thy hands I commend my spirit".

This was the heart of redemption, of the sacrifice of the cross.  Not pain, not individual suffering offered up to God as a sort of gift--as if we could give anything to God which is not already his, or as if (which is equally unthinkable) he could take pleasure in human anguish.  The blood and wounds of Calvary are tokens of an immortal love.  Through them Christ demonstrated to the world how close was his union with the Father.  In this way, he proposed himself as the model, and gave countenance to the universal and only significant meaning of sacrifice to God:  inner dedication of spirit.  Whatever is offered to God in order to raise man's spirit to him may be called a sacrifice. 
Dom Alfred Graham-