A Sunday Spent

This isn’t where I meant to be today.  I meant to be on the mountain in the background of this photograph, Scout Mountain, but the lower snow gates on the forest service roads were already shut and I remember that I felt annoyed by that.  I turned the truck around, muttered something impatient to Tater Tot who was leaning his head over the back seat and yipping excitedly in my ear.  I drove up a different road, parked at a snow gate, leapt from the truck while swinging my backpack on, released my wolves and set out walking.  I naturally shortened my stride, just slightly, to make up for the work of walking in snow.  My legs turned hot as I made my way upward, unused to the resistance of white.  I was all alone.  For a while, I followed what looked like a lady wearing size nine Sorel boots.  I veered off that trail when I opted to follow a set of deer prints instead.  Later I left the deer prints for rabbit tracks.  Later still, I strode out into unblemished snow, heavy with the warmth of the day, clumping and clinging to the tops of my boots and jean cuffs.  Above me a raven was swirling, singing out a throaty song, leading me on deeper into dreams and beyond.

The sky was heavy, the high places open and ripped by a sharp wind, there were coves of untouched douglas fir, still dressed in delicate blankets of snow.  The lichens on exposed rock blazed orange, crimson, chartreuse and mint.  I saw mule deer sailing through sagebrush like kites.  I crossed a spring, two, four, eight springs — feeling my heart lighten with the easy sound of mountain water flowing towards an important destiny.  I talked to myself.  I talked to the dogs.  I talked to the wind.  I fell into silence and simply walked and looked and breathed.  When I reached the highest place on my jaunt, I stood and looked out, turned myself in a tight circle and absorbed the full, panoramic scope of Idaho laid out beneath my feet, a wild blanket for walking on, a map of natural history, a skin scoured by sun and storm.  My Idaho.  The wind beat itself against the smallness of my body.  My hair flew out behind me like a yellow cape.  I thought I would be lifted up and carried off on the strength of the gusts.  I felt my feet turning cold, my hands numbing, my face stained pink in the royal shout of breezy decree.  Once I could stand it no longer, I left the peak, settled just below it, with my back to an ancient and twisted juniper, poured a little cup of peppermint tea and warmed myself.  The dogs ran loops through the timber, checking in with me, from time to time.  Tater barked at blue grouse, high and safe in the fir trees.  I sat deeper on my perch and savored the warm herbs of my tea.  I noticed the sky sailing past, littered with merry postage stamp patches of blue.  I noticed the distance growing between mountain tops and sky roots.  I wondered if I’d receive a sunset while walking back to the truck.

I began to make my way down, step by step, slipping and tripping on hidden stones and brush.  I walked side slope until I thought my ankles might break.  Tater busted a covey of partridge and chased them as they flew, like he had a heart full of Christmas.  Suddenly, the sky broke and the land was lit with glorious light and warmth.  Around me, the sage was glowing, the aspen like a thousand shy, slim brides.  It was heaven.  The light was heaven.  I made my way slowly through the glory of it all, reveling in the sudden warmth of unobstructed light and the details of the world around me.

I crossed a creek.  Then one more.  I pretended to be water and felt myself adore the glorious, magical pull of gravity.  I met a road, snowy and tracked with skis.  I rambled down it until I reached “nest alley”, a place I visit often, where every step along the creek reveals a new bird nest to be reveled in.  I found one I liked, pushed past thorny brambles, suffered a scratch on my cheek, and collected it for myself — delicate and neat.  I walked on, and on.  I passed two small butterflies cruising low in the cold of a steeply walled canyon.  I thought to myself, “I’m a different person now then when I first arrived here.  Something in me, something that anchored itself meanly in the corner of my heart, has been released.  The chains have been dissolved into mist with every step I’ve taken.  I can’t remember who I was a few hours ago.  I only know who I am now, now that I’ve been in the high places, smoothed by wind, purified by snow and cloud drift, cradled by the hand of God.

On days like this, the entire world seems underwing.  I suppose it is.  As if I needed to be blessed again by creation, by the healing of it and the beauty of it, already brimming, as I was, with joy and peace and fullness of spirit, the sunset and alpenglow on the drive home was wonderful and rosy and lovely as ever and as pretty as anywhere.

Comments

  1. Elizabeth Waggoner says

    yes

  2. i felt that shift coming, that softening. your words keenly replayed the emotional process of being cleansed to the core by the workings of the natural world. how lucky we are to have wildness around us, luckier still to be wise enough to seek it.

  3. Funny. You and I prefer to hike and wander alone. Ramble to the dogs, the earth, and ourselves. And yet, I would love to hike with you.
    xx

  4. So beautious and transformative. I love that with your words, in a sense, you give us the gift of taking us along with you. Those wide open spaces! Winter has always been tough on me, though over the years I am learning how to embrace the cold and take in its cleansing, breath-catching air. I am actually finding a much deeper beauty in its patience than I ever had before. **That very last photo with its ethereal sky, is my favorite of the bunch!

  5. Beautiful prose, as always. Amazing how nature cleanses us, frees us, and gives us new meaning.
    I find myself back in Albuquerque, longing for the open spaces and a little snow. Your timely words have me plotting yet another trip up to Colorado, seeking solitude and snow.

  6. beautiful. you make me yearn for the wide open spaces of the western mountains too.

  7. Delightful & inspirational in so many ways…thank you kindly for this post.

  8. Thank you for sharing your Idaho! I’m going to make a point of getting us all to one of my favorite state parks this week or next. It has been far too long since I’ve spent time in the woods. I miss it so much, and need it badly.
    Life is hard right now. Within one week I found out I was pregnant (and didn’t want to be) and then found out I was losing it (and didn’t want to). It was ectopic, and we’ve been going through emotional whiplash. Once my body is healed, I’ll head out there to start healing the rest of me.
    xxE

  9. And then she received her sunset, that was as pretty as she is, as pretty as this prose, like a poem. I was THERE. Thank you. xx

  10. oh.
    i love this so much.
    so very much.

    this post, these photos, the words, the feelings evoked: all, divinely inspired.
    and that’s what makes it special.
    that’s what makes it *you*….

    xx

  11. Ahhhhhh … quelle beauté, in every single way. Thank you, Jillian.

  12. I agree with the comments above.
    Stunning photos and your writing is truly captivating. It’s so rare to be able to read someone writing so honestly and openly about their thoughts & feelings ( on their blog/ internet). Thanks again Jillian for sharing.
    I would love to leave and wander out to the wild myself. I can’t tho and it’s ok too. All things have their time I think, I’ll have mine sometime to come. Right now this is good for me, but I’m so happy for you.
    It’s so good to see you out there, it always makes me feel/ think: she belongs there! ( her natural habitat)

  13. So beautiful, it was wonderful to share your journey

  14. Breathtaking!! Such an escape….to watch from the other side of the world (Sydney)! Idaho is an eye opener…thank you for being so generous with photos and your feelings evoked 🙂

  15. So enchanting. Thanks for letting us sweep along behind you, to follow you up that rabbit’s path.

  16. I know that light, that heaven light. It’s when I stop in the woods and say aloud, “This is THE Cathedral, man!”, because surely it must be!!

  17. My gosh, this is transformative. Your words, your pictures always awaken in me a powerful urge to wander. We can see the mountains on both sides of us, and they just call to you on clear days. Damn, girl.

  18. my favorite image is the nest in the tree…..ahhhhh winter
    there is something so special about you

    love and light my friend

  19. Que belleza los paisajes de Idaho!!!, acabo de enviarte un mail con algunos consejos para montañistas y algunas reflexiones de principiantes ;).
    Espero disfrutes leerlo, como yo al escribirte ♥
    Buena semana !!

  20. Jillian! I must know what magical thermos you carry for tea. Mine is worthless, it barely stays hot at all. What do you recommend? I know you take your hiking and your tea both very seriously, and I believe you must be the most sage person alive in these thermos matters…

    • The only thermos ever made that is worth carrying is crafted by STANLEY!!! We have small and large thermoses by Stanley as well as a flask and a travel cup. They also make a really wonderful FOOD thermos…they are on sale at Fred Meyer right now — 30% off. I am thinking I might get one. Then I can carry soup and the such when I go hiking! Yum.

      May your thermos purchasing be blessed!

  21. hey sweet jillian sue; just wanted to let you know i’m here. lovely words and images as usual – hoping you’re doing well this evening. we’re hunkered down and almost ready for bed. i just enjoyed a cup of sleigh ride tea (oh man) and a PB cookie. it’s -24 outside.
    love you!

  22. Your words are so powerful, your images so beautiful … thank you for sharing your heart and your world.

  23. THank you all SO much for these beautiful comments. Appreciate your presence more than I could ever say. X

  24. JEEZ. I’m just speechless. And grateful — I’ll never, ever get to go where you go — that you went, and shared. xo