Day 1

Watched an incredible sunset this evening. The kind that burns itself into your soul.  Deep apricot and hues of red. Slowing sinking in the West, it seemed to be a harbinger of a good year.
The last year was tough on a lot of people. It was just a transitional year for me, not bad or good.
Typically, we host a small but fun New Year's Eve party. This year, after hosting four or five shindigs in the last month on top of dealing with the business of Christmas and all that entails, I didn't have it in me to host anything else.

 I have also opted not to make any resolutions. Well, maybe a few.  I don't want to set myself up for failure, but I do need to continue to make taking care of me more of a priority. I've been working on that steadily for the last few years and each year I get a little better.
I was going to write "now is the time" to get it down, to do it this year.  Every year, I set these grand goals and each year, by February I'm disappointed in myself. I'm always looking for this grand explosion when suddenly, "I get it".  I've said this before, and I'll say it again. It's easy to look for the bright shinning light, but in reality it little victories every day. Each day making a little progress toward that goal.
This year, instead of making broad and generalized resolutions -- I'm just going to focus on setting boundaries and taking care of me. Without me on solid ground, nothing else in my life works.

Falling into Autumn

I'm embarrassed to see it's been a month since I last posted. I do seem to go in grand spurts of energy.
I've been spending a lot of time chasing kids and, it seems, not much else.
Today, I took some time out to visit the local monastery. A new friend is visiting from the coast and had never been there. The monastery is east of Jerome, Idaho and one of the most peaceful places in this area. My dear friend LuAnn is the chef there. The monks operate a few businesses, including a farm and a retreat center.
Lunch was, of course, delightful and filling with the added spice of a lovely conversation with LuAnn and my new friend, Kate.
Kate and I walked around the grounds a bit. It was a crisp, fall day -- my favorite. One of my favorite parts of this season is walking through fallen leaves. The sound of leaves crunching beneath my feet is noisy, yet peaceful. I love the feel of kicking my toes through piles and watching my boots come forward free of the leaves. It's an odd sense of, oh, I don't know -- control maybe.... freedom.
The long and rather mild autumn we've had here has been a blessing to the farm. The crops are in without the added complication of snow. The cows like the mild temperatures and it give the crews time to winterize -- something they rush to do between harvest and snow. Around here, that means manure is hauled out of corrals, generators and equipment are readied for winter.
This time of years makes me want to hibernate -- I used to fight it, but now I embrace it. I've been working so hard on listening to body cues, I figure it's important to listen to that one too. I have to make sure I get as much time outside as possible -- and fresh and sunshine -- if there is any -- is imperative for my mental health. If the sun isn't out, I use a "happy light".
I sew more this time of year. I clean and organize. (Yikes) I find I'm less inclined to be online or even to be social. I think we humans have done a horrid job of remembering that like most mammals, we need to take time to recharge our batteries this time of year. We keep up such a busy pace, we never take time to just be still.
I know that when I do take time to embrace the season and the slowness, I feel immensely energized.
It's in those moments I have the energy to remember that everything I need is always within me -- and taking an extra minute to walk through the leaves is good for the soul.

A crooked road

It is a beautiful morning here on the farm. The sun is shining in the crisp fall air. Harvest is humming and today – for the first time in about a week – I am starting to feel normal.

Bronchitis and I are old foes. He comes to visit once or twice a year and I spend the rest of the year trying to figure out how to kill off the little bugger for good. I got sick while I was on vacation in New Hampshire last week and have been home trying to recuperate. I’m not very good at sitting idle. I’ve gone out a few times this week just to get some fresh air in my hurting lungs. This morning was the first time I took a good walk, which I would guess was just under a mile in length.

Typically when I go out for a walk I head up through the dairy and head west on the canal bank that splits the north from the south on this property. It’s fairly level with few obstacles. The canal makes it feel like I’m walking along a stream and occasionally, I’ll catch a glimpse of a deer or two. I headed that way this morning, but made an abrupt change before I hit the end of my driveway. I headed west down a lane and through a freshly planted field. I felt like taking a walk off the beaten path today.

Fall always feels like a “New Year” to me – far more than January 1. There’s the start of the new school year for starters but I truly appreciate the transition from the passion and energy of summer to the slower reflection of autumn. Walking through this field, I thought back to this time last year, when corn was being harvested. This summer it held two different barley crops. Now a winter crop is planted and a few little green sprouts have made their way to the sun. Soon it will snow and the plants will sleep and store energy to be harvested next spring and fed to the cows.

Walking the perimeter of the field I can see the various footprints of my neighbors. Plenty of deer. A raccoon. An odd-shaped print that I have to guess is a piece of equipment, though I’m at a loss to explain what the hell it is.

This picture really doesn’t do it justice. At first glance it looked like a print from a draft horse, but it’s too deep and the wrong shape. It’s way too large to be a boot print. I’ll have to investigate further.

Once on the edge of the field, I cross to the lane that runs toward the river and a gravel bed. I can run a little bit there. My slow shuffle won’t win any races, but the breeze feels good on my neck. Then up the tree-lined path toward my house. 

It’s a short walk, but my body loves the air and the energy it provides. I feel ready to face my long list of to-dos. The fall always makes me feel ready to start new projects – but it’s different than the rush I feel in spring. This time of year, I want to nest. To settle. To create. Like a bear hibernates and stores energy, I seek out activities that fill my soul and challenge my mind – perhaps so that when spring comes, I can emerge fresh and full of ideas.

Sometimes, I think we forget we’re part of the animal kingdom. We have instinctive rituals that get buried in our busyness. This is a perfect time of year to listen to our bodies again. Hear the inner calling to restore our souls. For me that means I’ll spend as much time outside as I can – filling my lungs with good air and filling my heart with the richness of the harvest.

The soundtrack to this morning’s walk.

Tomatoes of green and red

I'm finally starting to feel partially human again. I think I'm about 75%-80%..
It's a beautiful day here in Southern Idaho. Perfect crisp fall air, breeze and golden sunshine. Harvest is in full swing on the farm and here at the house as I attempt to salvage what's left of the garden.
This has been the most productive garden I've ever had and I'm rather said to let it go. When I see the lovely weather forecast I hesitate to start plowing it under, but I know Idaho weather and just when I think it's safe, we'll have a freeze and all that work will go to waste.
So I'll be seeing tomatoes in my sleep for a few days.
I took a few minutes out this morning to organize the rather large and ever-growing stack of recipes on my microwave. This is where I stack the recipes I cut off of boxes, out of magazines and off the internet. I came across one my sister had emailed me months and months ago and never tried.
I didn't manage to take any pictures -- I just wasn't thinking about it. However, I can't tell you how wonderful it was! Plus, it was a perfect way use a few of those tomatoes I have coming out of my ears. Give it a try and let me know what you think!

MEDITERRANEAN PASTA with FIRE ROASTED TOMATOES
(makes 6 servings)
2 lbs. medium plum tomatoes (10 - 12) halved lengthwise
1/2 cup olive oil, divided
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 TBSP Italian Seasoning
1/2 tsp Crushed Red Pepper
1/2 tsp Sicilian Sea Salt
1/4 Coarse Grind Black Pepper
8 oz pasta, such as fettuccine

Place tomato halves, cut-sides up, in a foil-lined 15x10x1 pan sprayed with no stick cooking spray. Mix 1/4 cup oil, garlic and seasonings in a small bowl. Spoon over tomatoes. Drizzle with 2 TBSP  of the remaining oil. Roast in a preheated 400 F over 45 - 60 minutes until tomatoes are soft and browned n top.
Prepare pasta as directed. Drain well. Place 1/2 of the roasted tomatoes and remaining 2 tablespoons oil in large bowl. Coarsely mash tomatoes. Add pasta and remaining tomatoes; toss to mix well. Sprinkle with shredded Parmesan cheese and additional crushed red pepper is desired.

I didn't use crushed red pepper because I didn't have any. Fresh herbs add some extra flavor, I think. You can roast in the BBQ, but it can get awfully messy. I used a manchega instead of parmesan -- but it was wonderful -- so wonderful, in fact, I was disappointed when I was full and couldn't eat anymore!
I served it with broiled salmon. I was going to have roasted veggies too -- but it was just too much food!

I did provide some garlic bread to help with the bones in the salmon.

I'll be canning some green tomatoes over the weekend and will post those recipes then.

I haven't fallen off the planet. I've been on vacation and came home sick. I'll post more ASAP. So sorry!

Telling stories.

Wonderful day in the Queendom of Karmalot.
My spectacular friend Shelley and her darling daughter Emma joined me on a simple and sweet adventure north and west of the castle to the tiny (and I do mean tiny) burg of Hill City.
Another friend of mine, Ione, is in the process of renovating an old store and bar there. Ione wasn’t there, but she told me where to find the key and turn on the power. I guess it was last open consistently in the 70s although it looks like it was used at least partially in 1990 – as there are signatures on the wall of the bar with that date.
Ione had said that walking into the building was a bit like stepping back in time. They had just shut everything down and locked it up 30 some years ago. The tiny post office in the corner of the store is a testament to that. Truly,it looks like the post master went home from work one day and never came back. Postage meters sit on the counter.  Mail remains in a sorting station. The boxes, complete with combination locks still in tact, still have the assigned names taped to the back.
I’m still doing some research on Hill City and will post more, along with the pictures I took, at a later date. It sits along a highway that serves and as the main passage way between Boise and the resort community of Sun Valley.Thirteen miles east of here is a small town called Fairfield. There’s a ski hill here too, along with several businesses that support the community along with agriculture.
It appears there were a couple of stores here at one time. None exist now – all boarded up. Ione plans on opening this place up as a convenience stop and bar to serve recreational travelers who are commuting between the resorts and snowmobiling sites during the winter, and bird watching, fishing and explorers of the summer.

She’s looking for area artisans to put some art in for sale, so Shelley and I figured it would be a good opportunity to see if we’d like to hang some of our photography or art here. I’m hoping to sell a few eggs. Maybe I’ll come up with some baked goods or something. We’ll see.
Shelley and I took bunches of pictures of the building and its contents. I shot on film, so it will be a few days before I post, but I’ll share Shelley’s when she sends them to me.
We then made our way down to the Centennial Marsh. It’s a great place to watch birds and in the spring, the camas lilies are in bloom in an incredible shade of purple. More about Centennial Marsh. 
Shelley and I covered all sorts of areas of conversation. I love spending time with her as we have a kindred spirit, I believe. We spread out a picnic near the marsh and while Emma made friends with a caterpillar and looked at the crystal blue sky, Shelley and I talked about  truth.
It’s no secret “the truth will set you free”  -- we’ve all heard it before. In the last few years, both Shelley and I have come to appreciate the truth in who we are and in those with whom we choose to spend time. For me, I have finally realized that I’m not interested in being anything but what I am. I’ve spent far too many years trying to live up to other people’s idea of who I supposed to be. I should be more accurate – I spent a lot of time trying to live up to the expectations I thought other people had for me.

The truth is that many times what is said and what we hear are two different things. We “hear” what we “think” we hear and then choose to not only believe, but to make those things our personal story.
Here’s an example. Growing up, what I “heard” my family telling me was that I fat and un-athletic. Now if you were to ask members of my family, they would tell you they didn’t say that. What I know is that is what I heard – not just from my family, but from television and other forms of media.
My sophomore year of high school we were required to take P.E. and within that class we had to run.  One morning we had to run along the canal bank near the school. I remember loving how I felt while running. The wind in my hair. The strength in my body. The feel of my feet hitting the ground and then lifting up again to take another step. It felt amazing. Then I found myself passing another girl in my class. A thin girl. She was really struggling. In my head, in some distorted voice, I heard myself say, “This can’t be right. She’s thin and I’m fat. I can’t be doing better than her.”
I stopped and walked with her a while, but my body was screaming to run. So I ran and then later signed up for the cross country team. I was intimidated by the cross country team. They were champions and a close knit bunch. Besides, I still had it in my head that I was not an athlete. But I loved to run so much and I wanted to be part of this team.  Within a week or two, I mentioned to my dad that I had practice and he said, “You’re not built like a runner.” Took the wind right out of my sails.
For some reason, I internalized that and quit the team. From then on I told myself, and anyone else, that I wasn’t a runner, much less and athlete. When we played soccer in P.E., I loved it, but did not pursue it. I’m not an athlete. Right?
Fast forward another 29ish years. After telling myself that for so long, I have become the story. While I’ve entered 5Ks and walked them with pride, I have realized that I entered those to prove something to everyone else, more than myself. It was a form of rebellion. “You keep telling me I can’t do this, so watch me.“
The problem is, it’s temporary. Once the races were over, I’d be in search of something else and when I couldn’t find anything I liked, I stopped doing anything physical at all.
Finally, I’ve realized that what I love is running. I have dreams about running – running along trails. Running along the roads. These dreams are reoccurring and for I while I thought it was my subconscious telling me I was running from something. I think now, I was just running in those dreams.
So you know what I’ve been doing? Running. Now, I can’t run much. Really I just shuffle, but I run. And it feels great. Amazing.

I often write about finding silence. Stillness allows you to hear your own voice instead of all those others, well intentioned or not, rattling around in your head.

Today was that kind of day. Silence in the tall grass of the marshland. Silence in the history of an old building and comfort in the company of a good friend.Within the quiet I hear my truth and that’s the only truth I really need to hear. And the truth is, I want to run.

Trail Ride Day 3–Finally!

It’s a week late, but at long last here are my thoughts on the last day of the trail ride.
It’s not like my dad hasn’t been trying to tell me this my entire life! In the summer sun of southern Idaho, you’ll stay cooler if you were light colored clothing and big hat rather than as little clothing as possible and sunscreen.

CJ listening to Richard on the wagon.

Here’s the thing. I’m watching all these cowboys and cowgirls and they, for the most part, have long sleeves on  -- often with a neckerchief – and the requisite cowboy hat. Oh, and long pants.
When I’d show up to hoe beans or paint bee houses or help around the farm, my dad would get after me for wearing cut offs and a tank top with no hat. (This, by the way, is still my preferred apparel until I am forced to switch into a sweatshirt and jeans) I was convinced I would stay cooler and have an awesome tan.
So day three, I figured I give this whole long sleeved thing a try. I’ll be damned. Now, it didn’t get that hot on Day 3 so I wasn’t able to try this experiment in the heat of the day. However, I had a long sleeved shirt on and a big, quite ugly, floppy hat that had been stuffed in my suitcase for several days. By golly, I didn’t feel overheated. Who would’ve thunk it?

Poet Jessica Hedges, dressed like the cowgirl she truly is!

I learned quite a bit by watching the cowboys. Real cowboys take care of their horses first. They might grab a smoke and a cup of coffee, but they feed and water their horses before they do anything else in the morning. Real cowboys make sure everyone in the party is together. They wait to make sure the stragglers are OK. Real cowboys might carry a gun on the ride, but they rarely carry them in public. They don’t pack heat just because they can. Real cowboys have manners, a sense of humor and a spiritual appreciation of the land they ride.
I also over came my gigantic fear of horses. Horses are, in fact, amazing creatures. I now understand why people are so obsessed by them. They have personalities and intellect. Something I’d heard about, but never witnessed the way I did this week.
In a new development, my brother found his copy of the transcripts of my great-grandfather’s wagon train diaries. I’ve only made it through the first few weeks of the journal, but already I’m seeing a few similarities.
First of all, on a good day they average 10 – 15 miles. On a really good day they might go 20. That’s about the extent of what we did. They are traveling between stops where they can rest and water the oxen and  horses. While we were close to home, Richard had to stop frequently to let his horses rest. The trail boss had planned the route so there would be frequent breaks. Getting over-tired doesn’t serve anyone, human or horse, well.

The thing that stands out the most so far is the friends my great-grandfather makes along the way. Sometimes, they’ll work to pass other groups making the trip. Others they avoid. But, more often than not, they make friends and join forces with other travelers. I know I’ve made some wonderful friends along my short trip. As we went into the three – day Lost – n- Lava Cowboy Poetry and Music Gathering, we shared a special bond. The performers on the trip mentioned us as they introduced songs. We shared private jokes with the poets. When we got home the Facebook “friend requests” flew. Pictures were posted and our new friends “tagged”.  In three days, we created a bond – one I don’t think will be easily broken.

My new friend Silky

Will I go on another trail ride? Absolutely. Next time I might even try to ride a horse!