To service

"Parkie" my friend taunts from Moab. "You're hooked, you're gonna be a parkie for life." My friend, who works trail crew and masonry for the National Park Service out of Moab Utah, we've known each other through many life seasons.
Meeting in the early days of college working at a small summer camp, we got it. Something about the outdoors that feels like home, that our heart connects to... a feeling large enough to overpower all our young adult decisions.
To leave home, friends and family to pursue more untamed wildernesses. We fell in love with the Rockies individually, both in our young twenties. His stint in Utah has been more consistent than my attempts to work and stay in western Montana... but he's a great coach and confidant.
After a wintry, week-long drive, Montana ushered me home with driving winds and sideways sleeting snow. Followed by a few days of orientation, temperature maxing out at a balmy 15 degrees? Maybe. But I call my friend after the first day at my placement site, and tell him about the hour long regional parks staff meeting. The charming personalities, the industry jargon, the projects I'll be working on alongside them... I feel so grateful and excited, all he can do is taunt me. He taunts me knowing I finally feel fulfilled in this new position.
"Do you know what AmeriCorps means?" My fellow Montana State Parks AmeriCorps Member always asks during a field trip introduction. Usually... they don't.
"AmeriCorps is about service, people who serve through AmeriCorps go into places that need help, and help them out," she says. To gaping mouths and sparkling eyes. They're listening. "Lone Pine State Park needed help with their education and school programs, so I'm here to help out, and Rebekah here, she can tell you how she helps out."
I tell them about my research, graphic design, publications, about my projects. They're listening, but starting to get bored.
So I tell them how excited I am to hang out with them for the morning. To explore the water cycle or the forest with them. We spend hours together. Sometimes they're just excited to not be in school... but usually... they return to school with new ideas. New words. New skills. New confidence. And I return to my research, publications, volunteer recruitment, community outreach. I keep chipping away at lofty goals and time-consuming partnerships. I juggle building capacity at my park while helping with daily tasks of interpretation, connecting with visitors, and maintaining park land.
"Did you bring cookies?" the volunteers ask. "Uhhhh, no," I say thinking... I just really wish I had coffee. "Courtney, brought us cookies," they respond.
Hmmm. So it's 7am, we're about to drive an hour to ride a boat 15 minutes to celebrate National Trails Day by installing water bars in Wild Horse Island State Park. These five volunteers all worked with a Montana State Parks AmeriCorps Member last year improving park land... apparently with home-baked cookies. So I try to shake it off and enjoy the weather, scenery, and camaraderie.
After a morning of trail work, lunch under a ponderosa pine, and an interpretive hike peppered with blooming bitteroot, heralded by meadowlarks, they concede... "well, to tell you the truth the cookies were really just crumbs". Uh huh. "And we had such a great day with you!" Uh huh. But I know the cookies were fantastic. AND they had a great day with me. I know these volunteers are hooked in their own way.
Serving an AmeriCorps term with Montana State Parks is a surprising adventure. I push myself and continue to be stretched professionally and personally. It is a life and job that keeps me on my toes. I teach parkies how to edit, design, and use publication skills. They teach me about weird tools like the McLeod, Pulaksi, and Picmatic. We challenge each other. We support each other.
Nearly half-way through my term of service I pull away from my host site for 3 days training and team building with the rest of these service-minded, not-quite-parkies. Montana State Parks AmeriCorps. My winter start companions, we're tired and getting seasoned like a fine cast iron skillet. But there's new folks too... bright, shiny, excited.
I wonder what they tell their friends and family back home as they sort through their day. All our personalities, backgrounds, and projects vary so much... its hard to tell.
The daylight drains from an almost-summer day in Montana. Water turns pink, the landscape glows, the air cools, and I see it in each of us. That feeling large enough to connect our hearts to a service and landscape much bigger than we could imagine. We get it. This Montana, parkie, service thing... changes lives.

Woods Bay

cherry blossoms, wind in my mane, and it's like I'm riding a bike with no hands. weathered friendships, microbrews, as a warm spring evening thunders across the lake... this evening was a fairytale.

Under Cover

Most nights I sleep under a heavy patchwork, polyester quilt. I couple it with sheets and a down blanket, inside a duvet. I sleep in a camper - beside a window. My bed is a nest fit for a raptor - with breathtaking views of the city below, and serene trees and hillsides all around. Nellie Shoebe, Dolores McDonald's mother, made the quilt. I don't know when, or where these pieces used to be. All I know is her daughter, my grandmother, wanted me to have it. Dolores McDonald left two earthly treasures specifically for me - a November birthstone ring (OUR birthstone) and this quilt. I think about her every night as I tuck myself into a hope of warmth. I wonder and sometimes dream about what she was thinking when she scribbled down that I should have this family history. The day I went to her house -after her death, and my aunt handed the queen size quilt to me, I was baffled. And to be honest, still am. My grandmother was no perfect woman, and I think we loved each other amidst the imperfections in both of us. My grandfather (maternal) was no more perfect than my grandmother (paternal). Both stubborn, independent, opinionated, spiritual and outspoken... After moving to Montana he gave his fly rod and reel. They are the only gear I fish with. As I lay me down to sleep... I think about them. Their persevering life stories. Their generous love for me. Sleep hasn't come easy for awhile. Between dying domestic rabbits, after hour visitors, new classes, important meetings, saying goodbye to my Grandfather, losing access to my car, losing propane in my home... I just started to think... sheesh. I am ready for a change of season. Exhaustion, but little sleep. I crawl into my nest; finding some earthly comfort in two people who believed in my heart. And I tuck myself under the quilt. My mind swims with their gifts to me. The time spent together, the meals shared, the hugs, smiles, and laughter. And I miss them so much. But they're still here, wrapped in and around me.

18 miles. Lotta smiles

Faces red and tight. Ancient cedars, snow whirlwinds. Dreams of Glacier sun.

those and these

I had gotten into- Slide guitars and lip-made trumpet sounds. I had gotten into- Walking through fields and forests. With a micro brew flight... With a grey ghost hunting... I had gotten into- Sunday home-cooking with a stranger in a bow tie. I had gotten into- Road trips and foster homes. Old town, old scene. And now, It's all ripped open. Staring us in the face. Sooooooo. What to get into?

This is it.

I have been back in the Northern Rockies for nearly two weeks. For the first time in years I feel a purpose, a place, and I find myself exhaling in a deep sense of relief, joy, and contentment. Life is simple and connected to the brilliant landscape in which I reside. And at times, so many trials and restlessness of the past three years seems to have shed off like an old snake skin somewhere around Michigan. My new work has me developing, designing, and installing signage in Montana's State Parks to help visitors connect to this land. I feel nothing short of Thankful. Geronimo is chilly, but often double coats, and we run across frozen lakes, smiling. The community scene is slowly picking up steam, as I try to take hard lessons learned and make good choices for my heart and happiness. So far the images are just snapshots, but as home manifests itself, I hope to get back to intentional art and photography soon. Stay tuned for updates =) love, B&G

Words and Voice

As a recent college graduate, I stumbled across Proverbs 6 "Go to the ant, O sluggard; consider her ways and be wise. Without having any chief, officer, or ruler, she prepares her bread in summer and gathers her food in harvest. How long will you lie there, O sluggard? When will you arise from your sleep? A little sleep, a little slumber, a little folding of the hands to rest, and poverty will come upon you like a robber, and want like an armed man." Tinker creek gurgled, the mountains beckoned me, so I started saving pennies, acquiring gear, and laying the foundation of a 2175 mile traverse of the Appalachian Trail. Less than two years later Carrie and Al took me on a shake down trip to the Dolly Sods. Operation - explore wild and wonderful West Virginia, and tweak my pack before walking out of Daleville to Maine. Carrie and I lay in my tent, she asked me how I felt. I read her Joshua 1 "Be strong and very courageous, for you shall cause this people to inherit the land that I swore to their fathers to give them. Only be strong and courageous, being careful to do according to all the law that Moses my servant commanded you ... Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be frightened, and do not be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go." A couple weeks later, I was walking. I carried my Bible (the only book I deemed worth reading) and my journal. And I prayed, a lot. In the morning I would read Psalms - a thankful heart to arise and greet a new day of this beautiful, trying life. At lunch I would read the New Testament - hope and conviction as I trekked. And before bed I would read Old Testament - great stories of times long gone, and lessons to glean from these ancient ancestors. Usually - I would write my own stories at night... but any time of day was fair game for that. Structure within a very unstructured life. Generally, there were two songs in my head - "Be Thou My Vision" and "If You Could Read My Mind". Both a little sad and slow - but lovely. I dreamt of milkshakes, a beautiful frustrating boy I loved, Montana, and whatever those near and dear to me might be doing - in a world that felt very far away from mine. A few of the aforementioned - were available an unearthly amount to support more than they know. And one - Geronimo - was there for everything. Looking out for me, listening to me, eating with me, resting with me, singing with me. Until he couldn't hike beside me. So I carried on northward. Devastated and convicted. Somewhere in New England I forfeited myself to the hike. The rain, the bugs, the sweat, the tears, the laughter, and songs. I traded my structure for fluidity, a current to carry me through the boreal forests of the North Country, and spit me out in Georgia - sick, and alone. The only natural thing to do being - break down. It was there in the familiar, chilly, dark, solitary South that I found Jeremiah 31 "Thus says the Lord: The people who survived the sword found grace in the wilderness; for when Israel sought for rest, the Lord always appeared to him from far away. I have loved you with an everlasting love; therefore I have continued my faithfulness to you." So gracefully, I moved forward again, until snow sent me inside for the winter. What a dark churning winter. With some sporadic side work, free lodging, many Emails from India, and time with my sister in Esther, a still small light calmed my heart and whispered to my dreams. And I thought about redeemers, and friendship, and wilderness roads. Come April - thankful for the funds and at least half the heart to return to my walkabout, I set out. To find snow, and my one Christian fellow. To talk of easter and creation. To learn tree names. Before I knew it, the circle was complete, rubber met the road, and I was back in Montana after weeks of sparse journaling and even sparser reading. Once settled into the Glacier Institute I reflected - on the movement, the story, the Word which pulled me through. It is a hard thing - living by the Word. In a world of trials and distractions - all so often I fall short of understanding what it is God wants to speak to my heart. Lately, I return to a much loved Psalm - 139. http://www.esvbible.org/Psalm+139/ "I praise you for I am fearfully and wonderfully made." And with a nearly hushed prayer I long for a lamp unto my path, a way to move forward in this life honoring and glorifying this multifaceted creator. Often, I feel alone. Torn between the creation I love, and people I love who understand that. And a Creator I love, and those I love whom understand him. It is not an easy road we are called to walk. Yet no less full of blessing. John 5, "The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it." These days, rising and sleeping, I pray to see that light. A light, a path, whatever thing this heart has been fearfully and wonderfully made to pursue. Looking to my side while I cover up with a hymn book I glimpse Luke, and nervously turn to a different page. "Do not be anxious about your life, what you will eat, nor about your body, what you will put on... do not seek what you are to eat or drink, nor be worried. For all the nations of the world seek after these things, and your Father knows that you need them. Instead seek his kingdom, and these things will be added unto you." Allelu Allelu jah