Mandolin

Gets me every time.

King's Quest : Romancing the Throne

Town Day

Bluegrass.
Approaching hour 3 at the laundromat... I bit the bullet and turn on my bluegrass. All this for a clean fluffy warm sleeping bag?! I wanted to be on the river right now.
Luckily, my river buddy is flexible... and I'm alllllllmost out of here.
Preparing for long backpacking trips creates a myriad of life or death world changing problems to discover : Where can I get a million tennis balls to fluff up my bag? How likely is it someone will try to snatch my precious stinky expensive hiker clothes if I leave them unattended in the washer? dryer? Will using an alcohol stove really pose a serious fire hazard in Glacier National Park? Will I be screwed in a snow traverse.
I text my long distance hiking guru. When MOTH meets self propelled travel... things may be sticky, but I'm not too feminine, hurt, or prideful to reach out to that sexy ex that advised and consoled me through thousands of miles. He's full of it. But he's full of good stuff too.
And Outdoor Trails. I call them too. They know me, and they know what's up, and I know the gear they stock. I live in Montana and I call Troutville, Virginia for last minute gear shopping. Typical. Now, if the guru could drive that to Montana.... oh wait... that's so 2008.
It's amusing me the growth and constant speed bumps I continue to have in becoming the backpacker I dream of being. It helps to get a little help from the friends.
Glacier. The northern 100 miles of the Continental Divide Trail. With a girl friend. There are so many firsts and monumental details to this trip, I can't even begin to process. But that part processes itself, so long as I know how to go about our backcountry permitting process, line our transportation out right,  drink enough water, eat enough calories, ensure Geronimo's happy while I'm gone and show back up to work 10 ish days after leaving.
The anxiety I've been feeling for all my life changes in August is turning into excitement as God shows me once again, he won't put anything in my life I can't deal with.
Three weeks : Vacation to walk across Glacier. Move out of the camper into a HOUSE. Finish some interpretive panels? Marry off Michelle and Nico. Hopefully dance - a lot.
I think my sleeping bag is ready!
Check ya later.

Ready for August, and everything after.

My guidebook on "A Spiritual Path to Higher Creativity" tells me to take artist dates. Just myself and the childlike artist ego that dwells somewhere inside me. Last night - a twilight swim and a movie. Tonight - Home Depot and a long drive.
The date was a chaser for bridesmaid research... what exactly separates the colors teal, sea foam, and mint? I think we decided the answer is merely the depth of the water in Lake McDonald, so that issue is resolved, for the evening.
Anyhow... Home Depot. Officially I was looking for potting soil. Errin and Nicole gifted me an Easter Lily when my grandfather passed away on Good Friday. Normally I'm not too swift with botany... but this one has stayed alive enough to sprout at least four new bulbs from the parent plant! Nope I have no idea what that means. Nope I have no idea if I can actually re pot and grow all these new individual plants... but I'm hopeful and excited to try!
Scoping out potting soil had me wandering around the plant section. So I deviated to decorative pots, plants, etc. Daydreaming about succulents, and Dacia's bout sophomore year with the treasures we found in the Bitterroot Flower Shop. Daydreaming about hydrangeas, and the plant my parents gifted from Virginia after being accepted to the photojournalism professional program. The mums I end up killing every fall. The lily I once had but disintegrated.
I hug my chosen potting soil. The store pulls my heartstrings.
I peer into a warehouse of "home". Do I even want to look more? I'm thinking I probably shouldn't, and I remember my date. Okay, sure, inner artist... we'll look at home stuff.
Cautiously, I magnetize to the paint section. sea glass... which swatch has sea glass? The DIY inspiration guides are no use in bridesmaid questions... so I leave that query, and let my eyes wander. Color. Tones. Muted. Saturated. Pure. Neutrals. Yellows. Greens. Blues. Purples. Whoa boy. I love that paint section.
Now, if IIIIIII had walls to paint, which color would I want where?
I stop. No, can't. Shouldn't. I take one last look-over... marinating in color, and walk away.
To get to my next favorite department... I have to walk through a few others. Carpeting. Flooring. Rugs. Tile. Ouuuu. I like tile.
My fingers brush over texture. Glass. Ceramic. Plastic. Stone. This one is lovely... where would this one fit...
Tile?! C'mon now, let's don't be silly.
Ah. Here we are. Lighting.
I look up, around. Down the aisle. Close to me. Into the next aisle. I walk slowly. The strange, beautiful, and holy moley I'd like to meet the person who'd like to put that in their home. Why is that collection called "The River Collection"? What would a ceiling or a room look like having illumination bounced from that fixture.
I think of houses I've known. Houses I have yet to meet. Houses I dream of. Different rooms. Different light. Different times of day. I imagine dinners around a table. Children with bed time stories. Sorting through the paperwork of bills. A porch.
The cashiers begin to watch me. I'm not talking... out loud anyway. They probably see something processing in me. And it doesn't bother me too much... because they don't know.
They can't know that I won't actually purchase any of these things. That to ask them about price, installment, warranty, sample swatches is a reality so far from my day-to-day life it's almost laughable. They don't need to know that.
I'm ushered to the check out, and trade $3.97 for what I feel, is a whole lot of soil. "Sure hope this works" I think.
The sky is turning grey, blue, green like a stormy sea. I feel our summer days shortening. Already. Knowing I have been making the most of these northern late-night dusks I take the long way home.
Rain.
Lured and ready. This coarse thirsty land salivates at stormy clouds. I can taste it processing through the water cycle. I pray it comes soon.
Colors of this place. Colors and ever shifting light. Coarse, crisp. My wings that strengthen in Montana do so under a harsher premise than the saturated softness of my roots. But tonight the two come closer together. "Please rain" something whispers. My heart? That inner artist? A Montanan nervous for fire season? A homesick Appalachian?
Nearly dark, I dodge a toad in the road. Love those amphibians.
Just about the time I return to my camper home, and spoon into the hand picked raspberries from this weekend, Geronimo returns to the door.
Tip tap. Slowly. Tip tip tap.
Wind picks up and slams our door shut. I close the roof vent. Tip. tip. It wants to... but it won't... quite... yet.
C'mon. Please rain.
Something in me peacefully calms. I believe. Believe it will rain.
Sleepy, the lilies will find a new pot tomorrow. I push my dreams of creation and home back to a quiet place.
It does rain. And I pray my artist has a palette, someday.

43-93

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.