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Desert dust and mud exfoliate some wounded part of me. And I traverse. A landscape I want to know me. Hearts. I think about hearts. The vastness of a desert, the expansiveness of Montana. It unfolds. Unfolds and winds me through, churns me in. Rolls me through high sandy sage brush hills. Slides me onto the divide. Pours me through rocky peaks. Rests me in that ancient glacial lake bed. And pulls, north, north, to the water. Saturating in a purple golden sunset. Clouds and light and water. A day. A journey. A feeling I cannot understand nor desire to run from.

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