Pumpkins

When I was little, I remember waking up early and going to a place that had pumpkins. It was cold outside and the dew was heavy. There was a big selection of pumpkins and eventually, my brother and sisters joined me in picking out their perfect pumpkin. We took them home and carved them and put candles in them. Halloween would come and go and so would the pumpkins.

We woke up to the sight of our pumpkins smashed in the road. Oh the humanity! Some of our pumpkins were too heavy to pick up so they apparently were rolled and kicked into oblivion. What a strange thing to do, smash pumpkins...

Like a ritual handed down from generation to generation, kids all over America sneak around and smash childhood masterpieces. The streets are filled with pumpkin seeds...

I too am guilty. One impressionable year, I took out an entire family's pumpkins all in a row, one at a time. The thing was the people actually were staring at me through the screen door as I hoisted up the last victim. What was I thinking?

It was stupid. There was no reason to do it. If my parents had been aware and more involved in my life, hopefully they would have made me go back to that house and apologize. Then, they would have made me clean up the mess. Finally, I would have had to pay for the smashed pumpkins. Wow, do I sound like an adult now or what?

One year, we were responsible enough to make sure the candle in someones pumpkin didn't catch the victim's bushes on fire. Senseless violence... We also thought shaving cream, eggs, and toilet paper were "fun" things to do.

Another Halloween, my brother actually told a lawyer friend of his that we were going to egg his house. We did. The lawyer friend came over to our house the next day and made us clean it up. Good for him. What in the heck was my brother thinking? He was older and suppose to set an example.

I remember the year that my older brother and older friend decided that Halloween no longer consisted of these activities. I was dumbfounded. Isn't that what you did on Halloween?

As I grew older and became an adult, some kids actually came into our house in Texas to help themselves to the candy we were handing out. I chased them, but they got away. They came back though and egged our house. I chased them again, barefoot on the asphalt street, and this time I caught one of them. The kid that I caught denied doing anything even though he still had the carton of eggs on him! It was then that I "got it". This kid was me, smashing the pumpkins on those people's porch...

When you get what you deserve, that's justice. When don't get all that you deserve, that's mercy. And when you don't get what you deserve, that's grace.

So, today when we go out to the farm to pick our pumpkins, I will reflect on the privileges and mistakes of my youth. I will remember the excitement of finding the perfect pumpkin, carving it, and watching it glow in the autumn night. And I will remember that the mischief of Halloween and my youth can be forgiven and maybe even learned from.

Alert the Media

A song from my youth goes "Up, up and away...my beautiful, my beautiful...balloon..."

Today in Fort Collins, Colorado, a home made weather balloon got loose and took off from a homeowners backyard. It soared to heights of nearly 8,000 feet and sailed along unencumbered for more than 2 hours before finally coming down in a farmers field some 50 miles away. So?

Well, the story is this weather balloon was supposedly being piloted by a 6 year-old boy, who was unfortunately on board when it broke loose and took off into the wild blue yonder.

Alert the National Guard, they did. Reroute flights out of Denver International Airport, they did. Call every search and rescue volunteer in the state, they did. Alert all the hospitals and medical staff, boys, we got ourselves a broken arrow!

A 10 year-old boy told us so. He saw his brother on board when it broke loose and well, he's gone. Gasp! 4 hours of non-stop media coverage. Military helicopters with infrared scanners. Heck, I even went out back to check the greenbelt to see if it had a 6 year-old kid in it.

But wait, newsflash, the boy has been found. He is safe. He was hiding in his own home? A home that had been checked twice by authorities? The clever little guy had been hiding in a box up in the rafters of his attic. Seriously?

The media had gone into a feeding frenzy just hours before. Genuinely concerned citizens spent the afternoon searching for the poor little 6 year-old who was cast away on his dad's weather balloon. Will he be found, alive?

Let's get this straight. The only witness that "saw" the 6 year-old get kidnapped into the sky was his 10 year-old brother?

My wife said the kid is probably hiding. He was. In the post game news conference, the parents looked like they were holding a press conference discussing Al Gore's global warming. It was surreal. It looked like those stories we see of the press interviewing witnesses to the crime that in the end were the criminals themselves.

What was lost in all of this was the path that the weather balloon took today was the Windsor tornado of 2008 in reverse. The resemblance is uncanny. The damage almost as great. That tornado started approximately 50 miles to the southeast of Fort Collins and tracked in a northwesterly direction. This balloon took off in Fort Collins and traveled approximately 50 miles in a southeasterly direction before being harpooned by authorities in a farmers field.

In the end, the flying silver mushroom had been brought down by a guy with a shovel. We should have used that shovel to dig out from all the manure that was being spewed from the media. Eyewitnesses said they saw a dark spot on the bottom of the airborne balloon, presumably the small boy's body inside. Others saw something fall from the balloon into a field. And psychics were weighing in from all over the country on the boys exact gps coordinates.

Letting your imagination carry you away to create news and widespread panic is as responsible and reckless as a 6 year-old boy being swept up into the sky and ultimately found clinging to the rafters of his own attic.

I say give a Nobel Peace Prize to the 6 year-old boy for not being in that balloon. After all, the story was unfounded and the kid didn't really do anything. The media thought he did and folks that's what's real.

Chasing Rainbows

Last week when President Obama won the Nobel Peace Prize, the overwhelming response was “For what?” Last night, when the Rockies lost, the response was “What happened?” Where did the magic of Rocktober go?

In sports, win or lose, life goes on. Strange isn’t it that fans get so attached to something they cannot control? In the end, a team won or lost, not you. Maybe we feel like our life will be different if the team wins. We might have a party to celebrate or have a party to enjoy the game, but are we really enjoying it?

My wife has asked me many times why I even watch sports. She says I do not enjoy them. She says I agonize over them. I hold players and teams to impossible standards that can’t possibly be met. After all, these are games played by imperfect human beings. A name on a jersey is not going to change that. It is a game, a competition, not life or death.

It does make you feel good when your team wins. But what makes sports fun? Why do we continue to play them and/or watch them? Is it all about winning? Are we wired to compete? And if so, are we really trying to recreate a feeling that cannot be recreated? When you look at a river, you see water flowing. While it looks the same, the water is different all the time. Sports are like that with each season flowing by.

In sports, maybe we are trying to recreate the moment? Imagine trying to recreate the 1980 Olympic men’s hockey team moment –“Do you believe in miracles? YES!!!” Hollywood did a pretty good job in the movie Miracle, but in the end they had to go back to the original call to give you the chills all over again.

Sports fans are always searching for that high, that adrenalin rush that is very rare. Your team wins the Super Bowl, The World Series, or the National Championship. In the end, it is like chasing rainbows that fade away with the setting sun. Maybe it just gives us hope of what is possible. Maybe sports remind us of our ability to capture time for a brief moment and remember when we won.

The Rivalry

While I was attending Eastern Illinois University in Charleston, Illinois back in October of 1981, a friend and I took a little road trip. We drove to St. Louis in a car that was leaking oil so badly that we had to stop every so often and pour in a can of oil just to keep it running. We made it to St. Louis, but that was not our destination. This road trip included a flight to Dallas where we were going to spend the weekend with another friend of mine at Southern Methodist University. The things college kids do...

My friend in Dallas was attending SMU and was in a fraternity. I remember hanging out at the frat house on Saturday morning wondering what the big deal was about the game everybody was watching, Texas vs. Oklahoma. Apparently this game was not just another game. I picked up on the fact that you were either a Longhorn or a Sooner and that this rivalry was passed on from generation to generation. Families had been split on this border war similar to those in the civil war, which by the way is still going on in the minds of the confederates down south. Hello, a Yankee is now a baseball player, get over it.

The game that day was not going well if you were a Texas fan. Oklahoma was leading at halftime 14-3. I remember that there were all of these fumbles in the 2nd half that turned the game around for Texas who eventually won going away 34-14. Little did I know at the time that not only would I be back in Dallas the following year, but I would be a student at The University of Texas and I would be attending the game as well.

My new roommates and I sat in the upper deck in the Cotton Bowl that next October and watched the Longhorns lose to the Sooners 28-22. I was devastated. As I walked out of the stadium, a rather large Sooner fan walked up to me and said he'd give me nickle for my Texas t-shirt. I was not a happy camper.

We stayed with my friend at SMU again that year. We all slept on the floor in his room. SMU was pretty good that year, so we were given a hard time about losing to OU and that SMU was going to beat UT as well. We left town humbled, but not before we pasted our "Beat the Hell outta OU" sticker on one of the frat boys cars as we sheepishly headed back to Austin.

SMU with Craig James and hall of famer Eric Dickerson did beat Texas that year. Another humbling loss. Texas was in position to make a big comeback in that game when a pass deflected out of Jitter Fields' hands into an SMU player's arms and he ran untouched for a touchdown. ESPN analyst Craig James would later seal the deal with an easy touchdown catch off a fake run in the end zone where I was sitting.

Losing to an opponent creates a rivalry. An Indian judges his greatness on how mighty his enemies may be. Those losses are remembered far more than the wins. The next season, I got great seats on the 45 yard line for the OU game and Texas won 28-16. I got the VHS tape of the game for Christmas that year. It was and is that important.

Texas and Oklahoma have played 104 times with Texas holding a 58-40 advantage in the win column. But as much as that matters overall, it means nothing when the two teams get together one Saturday a year at the State Fair of Texas in the Cotton Bowl to renew the Red River Shootout. Records and ranking mean nothing. So, this coming Saturday, as they say, get ready to rumble. Sayings like: "Better Dead than Sooner Red" and "OU SUCKS" will ring out in Dallas. I am nervous...once again.

The Deer Slayer

My hometown is Northbrook, Illinois. Northbrook is located about 20 miles north of Chicago and about 4 miles to the west of Lake Michigan. I grew up with 80 acres of woods across the street. It is officially a county forest preserve, but to us it was just "the woods".

The woods were ours. Oh sure there were big wooden signs proclaiming that they belonged to the citizens of Cook County, but in reality we owned them. My childhood friends and I oversaw this wild place. We knew every square inch and spent a great deal of our time as kids playing there.

These woods were my introduction to nature. They were a place of big oak trees, ponds, marshes, and open prairies. The wildlife living there included deer, raccoons, and frogs. Some of the large oak trees had been there for hundreds of years. The rest of our wilderness apparently was farm land just 40 years or so before my friends and I arrived on the scene.

The place now is called Somme Prairie Grove. It is an intensely managed conservation area. Brush cutting parties, weeding, seeding, and controlled burns are the activities of the day. There are now maps of the area with history attached to them. One of the history tales is of an infamous deer slayer who hid in a perch in an old oak tree waiting to bag his trophy buck. They discovered the remnants of his tree stand when their mission of conservation began back in the 1990's. It is a fascinating myth. How do I know?

My friend and I carried the 2x4's out there to those two oaks and built a triangle viewing perch in adjacent trees high above the woods floor. There we surveyed our kingdom until we grew tired of our woods and moved on to other things that teenagers like to do. I went back and took down my perch, but my friend, the deer slayer, left his up for the historians to find, years later... and wonder.

Our National Parks

I have been watching public television lately. A series on National Parks by Ken Burns has been on. It is fascinating. The idea that these National Parks belong to all Americans is remarkable. It has got me thinking and when I do that I usually want to record my thoughts in some sort of order to help me understand how they came to be in the first place, my thoughts that is.

The first National Park I ever went to was Great Smoky Mountain National Park in Tennessee. The Smokies were the first mountains I ever saw. I was 17 years old. The Smokies were aptly named. They were forested with a blueish haze on them and adventure awaited as an end of high school backpack trip beckoned. That trip didn't go so well.

The next time I saw a National Park was from above as I flew into Jackson Hole just after my 30th birthday. As I strained to see the Teton Mountains out the plane window, suddenly the white clouds opened as we were circling to land and I saw these mountains for the first time. They were green and brown with splashes of white. They looked like an emerald city bunt cake. I was in awe. This visit to Grand Teton National Park was to be a celebration of my 30th year on earth. Ironically, it was to be another backpack trip, as I saw it, to mark time.

The next year, I visited Mount Rainier National Park and saw Tahoma, the mountain that walks, first hand. A few years later, I went hiking in Rocky Mountain National Park, the park that I have spent the most time in by far since moving out west in 1999. Mountains seem to be the central theme here. A kid from Illinois either likes the flat or craves to go places with a little topography. I guess I am the latter.

Our National Parks have drawn me like a moth to a flame. I have seen Yellowstone National Park as a passenger on a motorcycle and I have looked down into the abyss that is Black Canyon of the Gunnison National Park. I am indebted to the visionaries responsible for preserving these natural areas. They have provided me the opportunity to experience these natural wonders in this country we call home.

Rocktober

Rocktober? What is that?

Let's see, in college there was an Octokerfest...no that's not it.
Octoberfest? Let's see, beer drinking German style in September and October? No, not quite.

Rocktober is a term coined 2 years ago when the Colorado Rockies stormed into the playoffs and made it all the way to the World Series. What? The Rockies made it to the World Series?

I grew up in Chicago. I am a Cubs fan. You know what it is to suffer as a sports fan if you are a Cubs fan. You believe in hexes. You dream of the day the Cubs play in and win the World Series. The year that happens will be the biggest day in sports history for the city of Chicago bar none, Olympics included.

Here in Colorado, we have been close. The miracle season of 2007 is just 2 years old. The Rockies won 21 of their last 22 games that year. I'll restate that, the Rockies went 21-1 in their last 22 games. They won 14 in a row, lost a game, and then went on to win their next 7 to end the season. Still, they needed the San Diego Padres to lose their last game to force a 1 game playoff.

I remember it didn't look good. The Padres were winning. One of the games best closers, Trevor Hoffman, was in their game to finish off the Milwaukee Brewers. They were 1 strike away from winning and ending the Rockies season. Then it happened. Tony Gwinn Jr. of the Brewers hit the ball. He stroked a game tieing triple and the Brewers went on to win the game.

I was driving home from the mountains at the time and was listening to the Rockies game on the radio. There was a huge roar from the crowd in Coors Field in Colorado as the score was posted. The Rockies had life and they capitalized on it. They won and kept on winning.

They won the play-in game against the hard luck Padres with a trilling, come from behind, extra inning, head first slide into home plate. They swept the next 3 games from the Philadelphia Phillies. They swept the next 4 games from the Arizona Diamond Backs. They made it to the World Series.

Unfortunately, the Rockies run was so fast that they had to wait for the American League representative like the rabbit waiting at the finish line for the turtle. 9 days off was just too much to overcome for the Rockies and the Boston Red Sox swept the magic away, until this season...

The Rockies can clinch a playoff spot today...the Rockies. Rocktober is here!

Windsor Water Mystery

Where is this water coming from? My thoughts were racing at the time as my basement was filling with water. In March of 2007, my family and I moved to 8079 Lighthouse Lane in Windsor from Fort Collins. One of the drawing points to the property was that it was adjacent to a large retention area/green belt area behind the ice rink just off Hwy 392 and County Road 5.

Life was good at our new home until one day in July of 2007 we discovered water in our basement. The basement was filled with boxes that soaked up the water and crumbled like rotten pumpkins. My wife and I were horrified to discover many keepsake photographs etc. had been ruined. We soon discovered that a sump pump in the basement had burned out. After replacing the pump, within six weeks, the new pump also burned out. Again, there was water in the basement. Not good.

Being in the construction field, I researched the history of the property and found no underground wells on old farmland, etc. What was causing this water to well up into our basement? After talking to many engineers and the city, it was concluded that the water was just ground water that had risen during the summer due to local farming.

Our sump pump continued to expel water every 5 minutes or so and still does to this day. What is the deal? Besides our troubles, our neighbors began to have similar problems. Across the street and down the street, scenes of water hoses draining basements could be seen. I had contacted the city inquiring if it could be the watering of the drainage area adjacent to our property. They assured me no. My water bills were not going up, so it was not a leak under our house from us. When the water was tested, it was clear as a bell, so not sewage water.

In my research, I found that the homes in the area were built in 2001, when the area was in the middle of a severe drought. Could ground water really be this prevalent? How prevalent you might ask; well we have created a swamp like ecosystem in the green belt where our water is discharged to. This has got to be bad during mosquito season; ever heard of the West Nile virus?

Today, as I was getting my mail, I observed a metal water pipe cap in the middle of Lighthouse Lane. It was approximately in the middle of all the homes that have been affected. Could there be a leak in a water pipe that has gone undetected?

When I was a child back in Illinois, our crawl space filled up with 3 feet of water. After draining it with a fire hose and installing a permanent sump pump, the problem never reared its ugly head again. Years later, they discovered a water main break in the middle of the major highway we lived on that had gone undetected for years. Coincidence?

8 Years

8 years. Had it been that long? As I was hiking today it occurred to me that I hadn't made a conscious effort to take this path in 8 years.

8 years ago, a childhood friend of my wife's came out to Colorado from Michigan to recreate a memory with her husband. They had hiked up to Dream Lake in Rocky Mountain National Park and had taken a photo in a tree beside the lake. When they came out to visit, we had shown a park ranger the picture and he accurately placed the shot at Dream Lake.

That day back in September of 2001, we had hiked up through fresh snow. Today, the weather was warm and clear with yellow aspen leaves flickering in the breeze. I remember the year back then because my wife's friends left on a plane back to Michigan just one day before September 11th, the day all air traffic stopped and we all had to deal with the horrific events of the day.

Today, as I made my way up the trail from the Bear Lake Trail head, past the lily pads of Nymph Lake, up to Dream Lake, I saw the place where they recreated their moment and I remembered.

I did not stop though. I continued onward to the last lake, Emerald Lake, a place I had never seen. I made my way around the lake through a maze of boulders and eventually set up the tripod for some shots. I had my peanut butter and honey sandwich lunch on a big rock by the lake and soaked up the warm afternoon sun and then it was time to head back down.

8 years I thought again as I descended. Where had the time gone? I remembered that a few years back we had made our way on snow shoes to Dream Lake where we found a frozen slab of ice. This was odd indeed. Why hadn't I ventured this way?

Bear Lake is probably the most popular destination in all of Rocky Mountain National Park. It is the trail head area that leads to Nymph, Dream, and Emerald Lakes as well. I had just avoided the crowds. Until today.

Focus on Fall

This morning we awoke to the sound of rain tapping on the windows. The color of the day is grey. The temperature outside is 43 degrees. Fall has pulled into the station right on schedule.

Yesterday, I took a day trip to Rocky Mountain National Park in search of aspen gold. The weather when I got into the park was cloudy with a brisk wind. As I rounded a bend on the park road, I saw the hillsides ablaze with golden leaves in the Hidden Valley. I was excited.

I was prepared for the weather. I had on layers of outerwear and expected to get wet. I hoisted my day pack loaded with a tripod and headed off into the hills. I made my way across a log bridge over a small stream and wandered around looking at the gold leaves whipping in the wind. The weather was changing. To my surprise, it was clearing. The sun was lighting up the hillside. It was getting warmer.

I continued up the hillside and set up my tripod and took some pictures of aspens. I had peeled off layers of clothes and was down to a t-shirt. It seemed that summer had reappeared. I made my way around the hillside and continued to capture scenes of autumn.

The weather began to change again. I put on a layer and made my way back to my jeep. Just when I was changing my shoes at the jeep, a strong gust of wind greeted me and filled my senses with the feel of winter. Suddenly, summer was gone.

Today is the autumnal equinox, the beginning of what I call the season of darkness. For the next 6 months, the light will fade for 3 months and then begin to brighten for 3 months. It is a time of college football, fall colors, Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years, Valentine's Day, and finally, Spring.

We must embrace this season of darkness. Here in Colorado, we are lucky. We have skiing to get us through the winter. We look forward to the first mountain snows with the hope of powder days with bluebird skies. I feel for the folks back east who must endure the grey. Oh well, they have shopping malls.

Off the Beaton Path

The Endo Valley in Rocky Mountain National Park in Estes Park, Colorado is currently a work in progress. Tall fences have been put up across the valley to protect underbrush and willows from overgrazing by elk. A previous flood had eroded a large portion of the valley floor and it has been struggling to re-establish itself. It now serves another purpose, it keeps most humans out as well. This is a key fact in a park that draws nearly 3 million visitors each year.

There used to be trails across the Endo Valley where most anyone could follow. Now, intiminating fences and "Restoration Area" signs greet the average park visitor. Maybe this isn't so bad.

Today, I opened the gate of the tall fence and made my way across the valley floor. I first had to cross a small stream by way of soggy logs. Then, as I carefully avoided the new plant growth, I came upon a larger stream that required rock to rock navigation to forge the stream. Once on the other side, I came upon another fence that had no gate. I decided to crawl under the fence and I was finally across the valley floor and onward toward my goal of the aspens and fir trees at the forested fringe.

I was immediately rewarded with a big bull elk sighting some 20 yards or so in the forest. I was surprised and unable to get the camera out quickly enough to get a picture. After this excitement, I began to notice how the landscape looked, like not many people had come this way. Neat.

Since I discovered this area of the park, I had thought of it as one of my special places. Now more than ever, it is an oasis in a busy park where I can seek out the beauty of nature without having to compete with 50 other people. Shh...don't tell anyone else. It will be our little secret.

The Seasons of Light

Have you ever felt like the light of the day seemed out of season? Or that somehow the day's light reminded you of another day that year? If so, you are not crazy and it is not deja vu. There is a perfectly good explanation for this phenomenon.

We live on a planet that rotates on a mythical axis which in turn orbits around the sun. It takes 24 hours to rotate on its axis and 365 days to orbit the sun. This makes our measure of a day and a year.

There is a mythical line that splits the earth in two called the equator. This line represents the place where there is exactly 12 hours of daylight and 12 hours of darkness on the planet at certain times of the year, September 21st and March 21st. They are called the autumnal equinox and vernal equinox respectively. These are the start of the fall and spring seasons in the northern hemisphere.

The angle of the sun moves to the south from June 21st till December 21st and to the north from December 21st to June 21st. These dates represent the first days of summer and winter. As the angle of the sun makes it journey through the days of the year, there is a sort of coming and going effect that matches up days of the year with other days of the year.

A Theory

After attending a certain college football game in Laramie, Wyoming this past weekend, I have come up with a theory. My theory has to do with money, ie. revenue that the game generated. Now, this may all be paranoid fantasy, but what if...

What if the network carrying the game this past weekend needed a hook to draw attention to their game. Sure Texas and Wyoming fans were probrably going to watch, but what about the rest of america? What would make them tune into this game?

Of course this is all purely speculation, but I wonder what the rating was in the 2nd half of the game compared to the 1st half? Let's review the facts...

Texas was ranked #2 in the nation. Texas was 32.5 point favorites according to the boys in Las Vegas. Wyoming was not a ranked team. Should be a blowout, why watch?

How about #2 Texas is losing to Wyoming with 38 seconds left in the 1st half? Really? What is going on up there in Laramie? Maybe we ought to tune in and find out.

What if Texas intentionally kept the game close? What if Colt McCoy just happened to have his worst half in a long time, maybe ever? What if Texas tries a fake punt from their own goal line and just happens to come up short? What if a player from Wyoming comes in untouched to block a punt and they recover for a touchdown? Seem crazy?

Try 35 unanswered points from Texas from that point forward in the game. Try Colt McCoy ending up 30-47 for 337 yards with 3 touchdowns through the air and one on the ground. Wow, really?

Heck, they had me going. Besides the fact that we were surrounded by Wyoming fans, my wife had never seen me so quiet. Texas was losing 10-6 and the entire stadium was going nuts. We all bought into it, both sides. A fan in front of me was slobbering with glee as he screamed to take those 32.5 points and shove them where the sun don't shine. Wyoming was here to win. Really...

I turned to my wife calmly and proceeded to explain to her that I had seen many games where the score was backwards early and then, before you knew it, the team would in the words of Barry Switzer, "hang half a hundred on 'em".

Final score from Laramie: Texas 41 Wyoming 10.

Colt is still in the Heisman race. Texas is still #2. The network is probably tickled pink at the ratings. I wonder if Texas gets a percentage of the take from TV? How else can we explain why they left the band home for the 1st time in 25 years? Could it have to do with money?

River

I was wandering around the Estes Park fairgrounds back in September of 1999, when I literally stumbled into a tent filled with people. I tripped on a guide line holding the tent up and then casually tried to make it look like it was there, that I had intended to go all along. Through a haze of Harp beers, it appeared that Sean Connery was singing Scottish folksongs. "I remember it well."

That day I had decided to attend the Longs Peak Scottish Irish Highland Festival in Estes Park, Colorado. I liked the sounds of bag pipes and had always enjoyed St. Patrick's Day. That day I discovered a performer named Alex Beaton who wove tails of Scottish history into wonderful ballads and songs. I have been back every year since to rendezvous with Alex in Estes.

Through the years I have purchased many of Alex's CDs and enjoy listening to them, but his live performances are what make the experience so memorable. From the first time I saw him in that tent, I was drawn to the way the audience related to and laughed along with Alex as he spun his tales of Scotland's past. He would regularly speak of events that had taken place in say the year 1602 and follow up with his trademark saying, "I remember it well."

I remember one of the first songs that he sang that stuck with me was called "These are my mountains". At the time, I was in my first year in Colorado and I related to it. Now, it is a tradition of mine to attend the Highland Festival every year the weekend after Labor Day. I look forward to his songs like: "Northwest Passage, White Squall, Flower of Scotland, and Caledonia"

One song in particular has stuck with me over the years. It is called "River" and here are the liracs:

"I was born in the path of the winter wind
Raised where the mountains are old
Their springtime waters came dancing down
I remember the tales they told

The whistling ways of my younger days
Too quickly have faded on by
But all of their memories linger on
Like the light in a fading sky

Chorus
River, take we along
In your sunshine
Sing me a song
Ever moving and winding and free
You rolling old river
You changing old river
Let's you and me river
Run down to the sea

Well I've been to the city
And I've been back again
And I've been moved by
Some things that I've learned
I've met a lot of good people
And I call them friends
Felt the change
When the seasons turn

I heard all the songs
That the children sing
And I've listened to love's melodies
I felt my own music within me rise
Like the wind in the autumn trees

Someday when the flowers are blooming still
Someday when the grass is still green
My rollin' water will round the bend
And flow into the open sea

So here's to the rainbow that's followed me here
And here's to friends that I know
And here's to the song that's within me now
I will sing it where've I go

Chorus
River..."

The Moment

We were easing our way into the harbor in St. Thomas back in March of 2005. Our giant cruise ship was in the process of parallel parking into a space as we docked. We were at the front of the ship on the helipad and the above scene presented itself.

The sun had just come up over the hills on the island. It was quiet except for the sound of water lapping at boat hulls. The light reflected off the boats softly. The anchored boats were lined up just right as we manuvered to dock. Click.

At the time, I knew this picture could be special. It wasn't everyday that you were on a cruise ship, at that time of day, at that particular angle, with that particular light.

So, when we returned to St. Thomas this year on another cruise, I was excited at the prospect of getting more cool shots from the ship as we pulled into the harbor. I awoke before dawn and took my place at the front of the ship. Bathed in a strong offshore sea breeze, I spent about an hour waiting on the helipad.

The sun finally broke through the clouds above the island and our ship made a left turn into the harbor. It seemed everything was in place. The harbor was there, the boats were there, the sun was up, and all I had to do now was take the picture.

I ended up taking a lot of pictures. I couldn't wait to show everybody. Then, well, life happened. While trying to download them, they somehow just disappeared into cyperspace. They were gone.

It was a pretty sick feeling. All that effort lost. But then I remembered that sometimes the journey is part of the destination and that I already had a great shot like the ones I was trying to re-create. Like I said before, I knew when I took the picture the first time that it was special.

Dad Gum It

The freshman Florida State kicker was wearing gold shoes. Drawing attention to oneself at Florida State is nothing new. Ever heard of a guy named Deon Sanders? But this may have taunted the fates worse than a Boise State lineman after a win against Oregon. Surely he has heard “Wide Right” and “Wide Left” more times than the infamous tomahawk chop chant. But, there he was on the field in gold shoes.

He seemed to be winning the game against the ghosts of the past early as he made a 52 yard field goal. Then, a seemingly uneventful extra point was missed, wide left. As it turns out, it was huge. Florida State had to go for a touchdown instead of a field goal at the end of the game and well, the ball ended up neither wide right nor wide left but simply, dropped. Game over. Miami beats Florida State.

College football is exciting for its unpredictability as well as its irony. “4th and 5 for the National Championship” was Keith Jackson’s call back in 2005 when Texas played USC. I was terrified of seeing an incomplete pass at that moment. As we all know now, Vince Young ran it in and Texas won.

Last night, the pass into the end zone at the end of the game by Florida State reminded me of that famous saying Daryl Royal had, “three things can happen when you pass and two of them are bad”. The entire stadium thought the guy was going to catch the ball. The announcer even yelled touchdown. But no, once again for Florida State it was “dad gum it”.

The Game

Today, my wife got us tickets to a college football game. We are going to drive up to Laramie, Wyoming next Saturday to watch Texas play Wyoming. This is a big deal to me.

Major college football has been a part of my life since 1982, but it is a relatively new thing for my wife. She has observed me acting irrational for the last 9 years as I lived and breathed Texas football. So, what is it, what is it that makes me bleed burnt orange?

My obsession was born out of my admiration for their desire to be the best. It appealed to me. But it has been the journey along the way that is imprinted in my brain like rings in a tree as each season passes. As the tree records the years, my mind records the experience that is Texas football.

So, to try and explain that to my wife is well, kind of impossible. She can’t crawl inside my brain and see what I’ve seen. What she can do is begin to have experiences of her own, starting next Saturday.

I can’t wait.

The View

Bierstadt Lake sits at 9,416 feet in elevation and is located in Rocky Mountain National Park just outside Estes Park, Colorado. It is a lake we have hiked to before. In fact, the hike is a classic destination hike, a hike where you are rewarded with a beautiful view, lake, or activity at the end of your journey. As we get older, the journey becomes the destination if we are wise enough to see it.

It was hot. 91 degrees at the park entrance station when we drove through. The trailhead started at 8,850 feet, probably cooling the temperature down a few degrees, but with a southern open exposure for most of the hike up, it was still hot. We made our way up the 566 feet in elevation gain. A little perspective on 566 feet is that it is the equivalent to a 56 story building. Not such a big deal, unless it is hot and then the grasshoppers taunt you as you make your way up the bone dry and dusty trail.

The lake is an oval shape oriented from west to east. When we arrived at the southwest portion of the lake, we were a little taken back. Some loud talking hikers from back east were audible behind us and they were really put out. Apparently, the lake view hadn’t measured up to their expectations. After all that heat and effort to get up to the lake, to them it was a big disappointment. A gentleman even commented to not take a picture because he didn’t want to waste the film.

Knowledge is power and empowering. My wife and I knew this was not the view. The real view was at the far eastern shore of the lake and that we had not gotten there yet. So, quietly and calmly we moved on down the trail around the lake to our view.
We knew there was a sand beach at this end of the lake. My wife had even packed a beach towel to use during our stay. An elderly couple that wandered by commented that they had never seen anyone at this lake with a beach towel and they had been coming to it for 40 years. I guess you only see what you want to see or what you are looking for.

So, as my wife relaxed on this beach, I tried to relax as well. This was easier said than done. I had had coffee in the morning followed by a coke at lunch. Caffeine makes me anxious and heightens my senses. As I sat on the beach, it was hot, knew that already. Other park visitors arrived at the lake, a bunch of them. They were loud. Three young men waded into the lake and proceeded to throw weeds from the bottom of the lake at each other. They threw rocks, tossed logs, and laughed the entire time seemingly egged on by their parents. Hello, there are other people at the lake that would like to enjoy the peace and quiet. No such luck. These people sent the ducks scrambling for cover.

I wanted to say something, bad, but my wife thought it would be best for me to bite my tongue, which was nearly bleeding at this point. Anyway, it was up to us how we responded to this. So, I chose not to respond, minor miracle for me. Eventually, they left and went back to wherever it is they call home, hopefully far, far away. The ducks returned. The lake rippled with the wind. And it was time for us to head back as well.

Some clouds rolled in like giant window shades and helped cool down the hike as we descended toward our car parked at the trailhead. It had been a day of varied perspectives. Some missed the view, some obstructed the view, and some just plain missed the point. So I take with me the memory of a beautiful view that for a brief moment or two was how I think it ought to have been.

Path in Paradise

The view from the park road had always been awe inspiring. You could barely keep your eyes on the road when driving through Grand Teton National Park in Wyoming. The magnificent Teton Mountains rise up from the valley floor and simply overwhelm the landscape with their towering beauty. So when I heard that the park service had built a bike path in the park from Moose to Jenny Lake, I knew it would be something special.

Our guides for this day’s trip were Denny and Sally Becker, local owners of A Teton Treehouse, an eclectic bed & breakfast nestled in the forest in Wilson, Wyoming located at the base of Teton Pass. We began our journey at the Taggert Lake Trailhead and proceeded north toward Jenny Lake. The scenery was unbelievable. In a car, you travel 40-45 miles an hour and have to pull off the road to really take in the scenery. By bicycle, it is simply all right there next to you as you leisurely pedal your way on the smooth asphalt surface.

I had brought my rather large Nikon camera with me on the trip and it was tucked safely away in my backpack. I could not resist trying to capture the view. I literally had the couple of thousand dollars worth of camera in one hand trying to take a few pictures, looking back on it, not the wisest thing to do. Stopping was a much better option.

So we rode northward, soaking in the beauty, bathed by sunshine and a refreshing breeze. We passed horses on ranches grazing beneath the giant mountains. We smelled the sage as we eased our way down the path. When we arrived at Jenny Lake, there was a flurry of end of the path activity. There were signs and facilities and a lot of RVs parked for the day.

My wife and I decided to continue on northward on the park road toward String Lake. From there, we took a nice one way road back to Jenny Lake that was all downhill. We made our way back on the bike path to the Taggert Lake Trailhead parking area and then proceeded on the rest of the way down to Dornan’s Restaurant in Moose. There were some nice downhill hairpin curves on our descent.

Our friends had arranged to meet us at Dornan’s for a great event called “The Hoot”. For the past 50 years, “the Hoot” has been a venue for local musicians to practice their craft to the delight of the Jackson Hole community. On this night, we were treated to a variety of music from the old timers to the younger generation. One gentleman named Bill had performed some 637 times at the Hoot. It was quite a scene and like the bike path in the park, one we would not soon forget.

Time in a Tree Trunk

The tree was dead. We later figured it had been standing for 133 years or so, the last 3 waiting to fall. A drought had killed this Sub Alpine Fir. We were taking it down before it fell on the wood shed or worse, the Teton Treehouse, a bed & breakfast located on a north facing slope of a hill just off Heck of a Hill Road in Wilson, Wyoming.

Time is a relative thing. On this particular visit to see Denny & Sally Becker, the owners and innkeepers of the Treehouse, my wife and I helped Denny move a 1941 Jeep that hadn’t moved in 29 years. It had sat just off the side of a service road on the property and we needed to move it before the great tree could fall. We ended up using a tow rope after Denny had reinflated the tires that had sat idle since 1980. As it turns out, the Jeep and Denny were created the same year, 1941.

I deliberately walked on ground that hadn’t been walked on in 29 years. There was now a vacant space where the jeep used to sit. The dead tree stood idly overhead. Soon, there would be a vacant space in the sky where the 75 foot tree had stood.

I started coming to the Teton Treehouse some 19 years ago, on a special backpacking trip commemorating my 30th year on the planet. The Jeep had always been there, though I hadn’t paid it much attention. Year after year, season after season, the old Jeep had lain dormant. The tree on the other hand had been alive. Born around 1876, this tree had seen 130 years of the best and worst nature could dish out. A severe drought had done her in. But on this trip, it was the great sub alpine fir that was scheduled to come down.

A few select guests witnessed the big event. The great tree swayed as the chain saw whirled. Then, as is the case with all things, time ceased to stand still any longer and the tree began its decent down toward the earth. With a robust “Timber” the forest seemed to part and the mass of branches began to crackle as the tree picked up speed in its fall. The sound of the tree hitting the forested floor was like a giant thud accompanied by a small dust cloud. And then, it was quiet.

Denny cut me a 3” slice from the trunk. We counted the rings and came up with 130. Time again was being collected and recorded. This example was a tree. This tree had bottled time inside of her and we saw the proof of the seasons with each ring.

Denny & Sally keep a guest book of people who have stayed with them. Over the past 25 years or so, they have quite a collection of books that include a photo of each guest that has passed through their doors. Like rings in a tree, these photos capture the moment in time when a vacation, anniversary, or a special trip was taken. I myself have quite a history going and it is always fun to look back and see just how much or how little my appearance has changed.

Time is relative, but memories of days past are imprinted in our minds forever. The skyline on that hill off Heck of a Hill Road has changed. We have our slice of tree to remember. Denny has his 1941 Jeep to remember. Someday, a new tree will grow on that hill. And another generation will remember…