Outdoors

Spooky Guy in the Utah Mountains

You never know what (or who) you’re going to find when exploring through the mountains. Take Utah for example.

We discovered the largest living organism in the world in Utah’s Fish Lake National Forest —it’s one hundred and six acres of aspen trees grown from a single seed. Trees in the “Pando Clone” are 80,000 years old and they’re connected to a root system weighing in at 13 million pounds. The U.S. Postal Service named it as one of “the Wonders of America.” It was a beautiful surprise.

Life is full of surprises! During a camping trip in the Utah back woods, we took the ATV (four wheel all terrain vehicle) through fields and forests. There were wildflowers, patches of snow and piney fresh air.

It was a fun and adventurous trip — the same trip where we met a big man with a miniature poodle strapped to his chest. He looked like a football defensive player, which made the poodle seem even more tiny. He was driving an ATV and the poodle was bumping up and down in the baby carrier as he drove through gullies, rutted roads and snow drifts. It was the funniest sight to see this big, friendly man and his wife way out in the back-country with poodles riding shotgun.

The Spooky Guy

Surprises never cease. Back at the campsite a bedraggled man appeared out of nowhere. He walked up to us way out there in the woods like he was our next door neighbor.

“Hey man, can I have a ride into town? I need to get a package from the Post Office.”

He rubbed his straggly beard, then looked over towards the truck.

“I can pay you.”

My friend was hesitant. “How did you find us?”

He pointed to the binoculars hanging around his neck. “I glassed the mountainside, and found you. It was a long hike to get over here.”

Looking the guy up and down, Dave said reluctantly, “Yeah, I can take you.” Then he headed for the camper to get his truck keys.

As soon as he was out of sight, the mountain man moved closer to me and pulled a stone from his pocket. He lifted the rock up towards my face and said, “See this? It’s so sharp I could cut your neck open.”

It didn’t take me long to make some excuse and hurry for the camper. “Hey he’s crazy. Don’t let him in the truck.”

“I’ll be alright. I’ll keep an eye on him.” Then he gestured to the handgun poking out from under his coat.

Thankfully they got back with no blood spilled, but the next morning he came ‘round again asking for another ride. He pressured us, so we had to get firm. “No pal, we’re here on vacation, please leave us alone.” Which he did. Finally.

Tastes Like Chicken

But the fun wasn’t over yet. Our last adventure happened as we drove the camper down the road and onto our next destination.

I asked, “Say, do you want me to make some lunch?”

“Sure. That sounds great.”

So we pulled the truck over at the next rest stop. As soon as I opened the door to the camper, I was hit in the face by the smell of roasting chicken.

“Hey Dave, there’s a fire in here!”

And smoke, lot’s of smoke. Good grief! We were hauling a Kentucky Fried Chicken around with us.

The source of the fumes? A pile of pillows near the wall — right up against an electrical outlet. Pillows chock full of fowlish feathers! Thankfully, there were no flames. Just a big hole burned into one of the pillows.

One adventure may lead to another. It keeps us on our toes. Keeps the spark in our lives, humor on the horizon and wonders in our world. Just like the Pando Aspen Clone, life offers a network of possibilities with roots that can lead us to unexpected characters in out-of-the-way places!

Quotes:

“Planting depth matters…well sown is half grown.” Caleb Traugh on Twitter @Traugh_Ag

“You cannot do a kindness too soon, for you never know how soon it will be too late.” —Ralph Waldo Emerson

“Resolutions: So many will fail; NOT because they didn’t set goals, but because they didn’t set behaviors.” -Steve Maraboli

“You are only young once. After that you have to think up some other excuse.” —Billy Arthur

Books I’m Reading:

Men to Match My Mountains, by Irving Stone, historical fiction on the opening of America’s Far West

The Confessions, by Saint Augustine, considered one of the greatest Christian classics

What’s Next:

Pikes Peak Writer’s Conference, April 28-30, Colorado Springs CO

Follow Laura on Twitter @Laura_Lollar

Like Laura’s Facebook page: https://facebook.com/LauraLollarColorado

How We Braved Hot Waters in Winter

We sure picked perfect days to stay at the Mount Princeton Hot Springs Resort located between Salida and Buena Vista, Colorado. Descriptions of the Resort and what fuels the Hot Springs can be found on their website. The resort was beautiful and the food was great. And thank goodness, swim suits were required attire.

I had an unexpected experience at a hot springs where we stumbled upon their clothing optional policy. What a surprise to discover that! (Maybe I’ll share that story in a future article.)

At the hot springs the highest temperature was only 10 degrees! (Outside temps, not the water!) And in order to make it into the deliciously hot springs pools, we had to take off our towels and make a mad dash for the water.

Holy goosebumps Batman! My body had never been exposed to anything so shocking. Unless we’re talkin’ childbirth. I could see my arms turning blue starting at my fingertips and moving up towards my shoulders. Kind of like commercials where characters gradually turned to salt.

The large pools were positioned close together close to the bath house. You could choose from two large pools the size of a normal swimming pool. After we crossed over a bridge above Chalk Creek’s rushing waters, it led us up to three secluded Japanese cascading pools. Temperatures ranged from 107 degrees to 101 degrees Fahrenheit.

The hot water felt marvelous! Compared to the cold air above our shoulders it felt like a heated blanket wrapped around us from neck to toes.

On the way up to the pools ahead was a Juice Bar where they offered smoothies, beer, wine and light lunch or snack options.

Inside was a gas fireplace. You’d better believe I huddled up close to that flickering conveyor of comfort. Doug had to pry me away.

Our discussion sounded like this…

“Do we really have to go back out there?” I had wrapped my arms around a log pillar inside the Juice Bar.

“Don’t you want to get into a nice warm pool?”

“Can’t we stay here longer?” My nails were now digging trenches into the wood pole.

“Honey, you know you’ll feel great once you get into the water.”

But I was overcome with the sensuous feel of warm toes and dry towels. It was getting dark (and colder). And the idea of walking out onto frigid concrete with a wet head and frosty legs was a show-stopper. Eventually though I let go of the log pole and we ventured outdoors. Doug said he was proud of me. I vowed to put my cold feet on his back later that night in bed. Yes, he’s the one who kicks the blankets off in the middle of the night. He’s been known to put his icicle feet on me before sleep disables his wicked ways.

After the first afternoon of dipping, we went to a local store and bought me a fuzzy bathrobe. (Something I highly recommend. The fuzzier the better.) Doug didn’t buy one for himself because, well, he’s a manly man and could brave the cold like a champ. So now my ensemble consisted of the polyester designer robe and towels wrapped around my wet waist to shelter my legs. I made quite a dishy picture.

Are you getting the impression that all I can do is complain about the cold? Was I oblivious to the beautiful mountains, the features of this luxurious resort, the delicious food and the decadent warm waters? Well, I’m not ignoring the benefits of having a get-away and time alone with my frigid footed husband. We treasure those adventures. Between work, writing and family commitments, time for fun away from home are infrequent.

I hope you make time to visit a Colorado hot springs. Just not in the winter!

Camping with Hubby at Flaming Gorge

We visited Flaming Gorge. There’s nothing like a camping trip to strengthen the bonds between husband and wife.

Thankfully Doug did all the preliminary research, made reservations, and got us safely to the campground after we visited Dinosaur National Monument. He’s great with logistics. All I had to do was sit in the truck and let him do all the driving. He also packed the truck, unloaded the truck, set up the tent and the canopy too. Then he carried both kayaks 98.367 yards down to the water’s edge. (I did carry my makeup bag to the tent.)

In case you think I must be a real prima donna, I did the shopping, meal planning, packed the coolers and did all the cooking. I’ll have you know that in 19th century Italy, a prima donna refers to the “first lady” in an opera who performs leading roles. Generally she sang more music than other women in the company. In other words, she did the most of the work.

So being a prima donna isn’t always a bad thing. I entertained my wonderful hubby by breaking into song the entire way there and back. Just sayin’, I do earn my keep!

Once we got to the campground, it was time to pick the best spot for the tent. You don’t want it too close to the fire and the opening should face the picnic table. There can’t be too many lumps on the ground and it’s got to be level. While our site was close to the potty, it couldn’t be downwind.

Every year we have to re-learn which tent poles go where and in what order. There’s nothing funnier than watching two fairly intelligent people trying to teach each other how to understand simple directions. And it’s amazing how instructions can be easily misunderstood:

Hubby: “Grab that pole and push it towards me.”

Me: “Which pole?”

Hubby: “The long one. Push it over this way.”

Me: “What way?”

Hubby: “Push it through the sleeve on the top.”

Me: “It’s stuck.”

Hubby: “Here let me come over and do it. You hold the corner down.”

Me: “Which corner?”

After the tent was finally set up, we took a quick drive over to the Visitor’s Center. We camped within a few miles of the Flaming Gorge Reservoir, a beautiful mini-Grand Canyon that borders Utah and northwest Colorado. When we got there, we approached a sign that said, “Danger Cliffs. Guard your children.” Nobody has to tell me twice. I’ve been afraid of heights my entire life. Just thinking of it as I write this article twists my stomach in knots.

We could have gone horseback riding while we there there, but the trail meandered along the rim. That was a deal breaker. Why would I want to climb up on something five feet higher to look down into the abyss? Even at the Visitor’s Center I wouldn’t go near the corner window, which was suspended over the gorge. I let Doug take the pictures.

The next day we took the kayaks out. Now, I’m fine with water. I grew up with lakes and pools and even competed in synchronized swimming events. I have no problem getting into the kayak; it’s the getting out that gives me the trouble. Thank goodness Doug was a submariner in the Navy. He knows all about how to lift heavy, awkward, talkative objects out of the water.

We had a great time once we got settled at camp. The weather was perfect and the bugs were few. Once it got dark, we started a campfire and sat with our heads tilted way back looking at the stars. There was no light pollution and we could even see the Milky Way and tons of shooting stars. It was a wonderful experience.

Doug leaned over to me and said, “Isn’t it great we get to sit here in the woods, smell the pines and look at the stars?” I replied, “You mean like we do when we’re home?” Ha! Somehow it’s different when you drive six hours, get woodsmoke in your clothes, sleep on the ground and put up with noisy neighbors!

But after two days of tenting, I was ready for a shower. So, we packed everything up (again) and moved over to the cabin he’d reserved. T’was a welcome change. If you ever decide to go, we stayed at the Red Canyon Lodge near Flaming Gorge. There is a small lake there in case you want to take your kayaks or canoe.

We had planned to move from the cabin back to the tent on our last day, but I hated the thought of setting everything back up again. Instead, we left a day early and stopped along the way for a visit at my brother’s house. He has a shower.

Now, just so you know, I don’t mind tenting. We’re fairly mobile and have a better selection of camping spots. I like it better than trying to navigate one of those huge campers. But after you get home and think of all the work you put into the trip, you might question whether it was worth it.

Yes, yes it was. The stars, campfire, kayaking, snuggling together in the tent and seeing Flaming Gorge definitely was worth it. And now that we’re home, we really appreciate our comfy bed and a full sized shower!

We still have noisy neighbors, however. There’s nothing like a few screech owls to remind you of the great outdoors!

Dealing with Debris from the Black Forest Wildfire

Wow! It’s hard to believe so much time has passed. So let me catch you up on the wildfire story. Now we were dealing with debris from the Black Forest Wildfire.

After we viewed what was left of the cabin and my brother’s house, we stopped at the town center where Red Cross folks were handing out shovels, ash sifting screens, tarps and other supplies. What a great group of people. I wish I could have been more sociable, but I felt like I was in a dream — basically pretty numb.

The next few weeks was a blur. I had to meet with the insurance company before any of the debris could be collected or removed. Our adjuster was very thorough and empathetic. He took a ton of pictures and measurements. I had been cautioned not to consider him a friend and keep things professional. Overall, they were fair with us — certainly not Santa Claus — but fair. I had a notebook where I wrote down everything he told me, so I wouldn’t forget. My mind was like a big black hole.

I took advantage of the offer for volunteers from Samaritan’s Purse to sift through the debris for us. The day in July they showed up, it was in the high 90’s and everyone had to wear a hazmat bunny suit for fear of asbestos. Those people were saints! They encouraged Mom and I to sit back under the shade and let them do the work. Every once in a while a volunteer would bring over a “treasure” they’d found to show me. They asked where any important items might have been located in the house and stacked everything they found in piles. They raked the mounds of ash into piles was well.

They were dripping wet under those hazmat suits. And at the end of the day we formed a circle in prayer. They gave me a Bible, which each one of them had signed. They stressed they weren’t doing this work so I would donate, but it was something they each felt called to do. Teams of volunteers do this kind of work throughout the nation when there are disasters. I’ll say it again — they are saints!

There was very little left intact after the fire. Many of my depression glass dishes melted together. Our cast iron skillet that had been on the stove was warped. Imagine how hot the fire had to be to do that! My son’s military dog tags survived, as did some teacups and coffee cups, ceramic Christmas angels and ornaments. (Perhaps a spiritual message?) What we saved from the fire fit into three, five-gallon buckets and some of that was broken glassware and oriental blue dishes I thought I might create something with in the future.

One of the most surprising discoveries were the three ceramic decorative houses my Mom and Dad had given me. They were sitting on top of the stone fireplace mantel, totally intact with only the paint bleached from the fire. Just think of all the burning logs and roofing that fell from above when that fire swept through. And these three little houses survived without a scratch on them. I use one of these houses to close my keynote speech entitled the “Wildfires of Change.” Audience members are pretty amazed at how something so fragile could be so resilient. It makes a great analogy for how we humans survive troubling times.

So, you see, going through the fire itself was one hurdle. Then you had the cleanup and all the decisions about what to do with the debris. There was a lot of metal; the wood stove, twisted water pipes, garage equipment, refrigerator, hot water heater, furnace, washer and dryer, stove and the innards from my Mom’s piano (THAT was a big loss). Thankfully a friend volunteered to collect the metal and after his hard work, we took it down to the salvage center where we were astounded by the amount of metal from the fire. The number of burned out cars and trucks alone was amazing.

After that, I could interview and contract with the debris removal guy to haul everything else away. I wanted the place cleaned up as quickly as possible. I wanted the mess gone. The insurance company required me to get bids from three contractors. It was hard to figure out who to go with; I’d never done this before. Once everything was hauled away. I went out there and noticed the stepping stones that formed a path in front of the cabin now led off into an empty space. Perhaps it represented our future — yet to be determined from the absence of our past.

The last step was tree removal. Fortunately, trees out front on the majority of our property were spared. The fire had only singed them and the Forest Service guy said they’d bounce back. But the trees along the side of the cabin and in the back were “toast.” We had to remove about 45-50 trees, big ones and little ones, haul away the slash, cut up and stack the trunks. My “woodsman” was kind enough to carve a cross with his chainsaw out of one of the bigger trees. These crosses cropped up all over the forest as people cleared their property. It was a sign of hope.

The Black Forest Wildfire Made Us Homeless

So we were homeless, thanks to the Black Forest Wildfire.

And now, all of a sudden, the wait was over and there was so much to do. I had to call my other children and let them know the house was gone. I called the insurance company and filed a claim. I had to get organized. I had to find housing. We needed clothes. I had to contact the phone and cable companies. Where would our mail end up? Would my clients be okay if I postponed their work? Did I have to cancel garbage pickup or would that be obvious? So many decisions. So many pieces of one’s life tied up in your home.

The following Monday we went to the Disaster Assistance Center. I resisted at first, not wanting to feel like a Black Forest Wildfire refugee. But my mom went with me and we moved from one station to another, tying up loose ends, talking to people who’d learned from the fire the year before. I collected paperwork, a stuffed animal, a blanket and lots of data dumped into the big black hole my mind had become. I asked the same questions over again, unaware they’d already been answered.

By Wednesday, we’d found a place to live, thanks to my daughter and a friend whose dad had a rental available. There were 500 families looking for places to live, so we were so lucky to find something just miles from my folks and the property. The insurance company sent us an advance to get clothes, beds and kitchen basics. I’ve never hated shopping to much. I purchased a plastic filing tub to store all the papers. I started a journal and created a “Breadcrumbs” book where I wrote down events as they happened.

The day we went back to the site was surreal. I braced myself for an emotional onslaught and family members insisted we drive out together so I wouldn’t have to face it alone. I remember looking at the debris, the burned out rubble and upright chimney as if it were someone else’s place. We took pictures and poked through the ashes to find a few remains. And I kept waiting to feel something. I didn’t know why I wasn’t having a reaction.

But when we drove to my brother’s house, it hit me. The scene was so ugly. There was a rabbit caught in the fire and “frozen” in place standing up. Imagining that moment for the rabbit did me in. I wanted to get out of there. I felt sick. So I crawled back into the van and waited for the others, tears burning. My son was struggling too. I felt a strange bit of comfort knowing it wasn’t just me, over-reacting. We were in this together he and I. When we finally left and drove through the neighborhood, almost every house was burned to the ground. Taking pictures felt like such a desecration.

“Put one foot in front of the other,” my Mom and Dad kept saying. The steps to come would prove to be the hardest.

How I Got My Horse Fix on Poncha Pass

I’ve been horse crazy since I was a kid. With long blonde hair, I pretended to be a Palomino. And my bedroom was full of plastic horse figurines. They were collectables, ya know.

When we went to our Camp as kids, my sisters and I would gallop stick horses through the pines, whinnying and tossing our manes. We’d even snort, paw the ground and rear up on our hind legs. I found my horse fix any way I could get it!

That’s why it was such a treat when my sister, during a recent family reunion, asked me to go horseback riding. We drove up to Poncha Pass near Salida, Colorado and pulled in at Granite Mountain Outfitters. A nice lady named Sue is the owner.

It’s been years since I’ve ridden. In fact, the last time it was mosquito season and we herded cows through the sage and all over the ranch. I couldn’t sit down for days.

Anyway, we told them about our riding experience and my sister was paired with a quarter horse named LeRoy. I ended up with Houdini…

…a mule.

Now, before you go and get all judgmental on me, you should know that Houdini was one talented critter, fully capable of opening any gate. In fact, we were told that Houdini recently opened seven gates and let out so many cattle it took hours to round them all up.

So I swung into the saddle and sat proudly upon my mule.

And off we went with our personable guide, Andrew.

Just us and the great outdoors! We rode through meadows with wildflowers, tall stands of aspen and an old logging camp. No stress and no noise.

Except for my mule. He liked to groan. He did it trudging up the hills and he did it when “nature called.” No braying. No snorting. Just groaning.

But he was sure-footed as a goat.

When we got to the mountain top, our guide took pictures of us from every angle.

Then my sister’s horse took a selfie.

On our way down, there was more groaning. This time it was from me.

“Um, Andrew? How much longer till we’re back at the ranch?”

Bones in my bottom were competing for attention with the spectacular scenery. The late afternoon sun lit up a few deer butts on a distant hill, like spotlights in the sage.

Everything glowed. I wanted to bottle it.

Then all at once, our two and a half hours were over. I dismounted my mighty steed and dropped to the ground with legs quivering like jello.

It was one of the most memorable rides of my life. The good folks at Granite Mountain Outfitters gave is a little piece of heaven that day.

I got my horse fix — on a mule.

And I tossed my mane a little as we drove away.

Horse Crazy Gal Finally Gets a Pony

How many of us will admit to being a little horse crazy as a kid? When I was a young ‘un, I lined the shelves in my bedroom with lots of little plastic horse statues, hoping one day I’d get to own a real one.

When my parents took us six kids to a winter festival, we sat on a sled with hay bales pulled by a team of huge draft horses. I remember telling my mom, “I love the smell of horses!”

(I’m the one in red)

My sisters and I would pretend to be Palominos, Appaloosas, Arabians and Mustangs. We’d run through the woods, whinnying and pawing the air with our “hooves” to prove just how wild and untamed we really were.

I dreamed of having an office one day like Wilbur on TV. His horse, Mr. Ed, would hang his head over the stall door that separated the barn from the architect’s place of business. Ah, the best of both worlds!

Then I grew up. I rode whenever a chance occurred, took a few riding lessons and vowed one day I’d have my own horse. But the time never came. I got married and the kids came along, which took most of our resources to keep up with. And later on when I bought the cabin, there wasn’t enough room to board a horse on that little spot in the woods.

But my new boyfriend had owned a horse. And he had built himself a small barn to keep “Sonny” in.

So early on in our dating adventures, he invited me over for dinner and gave me a tour of the place. He had a saddle in the basement, horse blankets on a stand and ropes on the wall, just like a real cowboy!

He even called me “Darlin’” with that country kind of drawl. (Every time he calls me “Darlin” it gives me goosebumps!)

But there was more! “C’mon out to the barn,” he said. “I’ve got something to show you.”

He slid open the door and sunshine streamed across the dirt floor to the hay bales stacked against the rough wooden panels.

“I know you’ve been hankerin’ for a horse, so I got you one.”

And there it was, with sunlight bathing its long brown mane and a white blaze across its forehead. It stood there placid, silent and serene and stared deep into my eyes.

My very own stick pony!

He urged me to take it for a ride, but I knew I was too much of a novice to do it justice. So I just took it home and it shares my office. Just like Wilbur and Mr. Ed!