pocatello — Page 2

Lions and Lambs

March 30, 2011 by The Noisy Plume

It’s windy as bee knees here today,

glorious springtime weather with the fleecy white bleat of lambs and fierce tawny roars of lions blended together into a hair raising melody.

Plum and I are just down from the mountain and besides being thoroughly buffeted by wind, we were misted on, swooped on and nearly mud bathed (I managed to keep my feet though).

What a beautiful day.

RW has been away steelhead fishing in the central part of Idaho.

Last night, I stayed up far too late whilst watching this from the quilt nest of my bed.

Have you seen it?

I know it might seem perplexing to you to know that I am an avid sci-fi fan as well as a feverishly devoted supporter of period drama, but it’s the truth.

North and South is one of those classic BBC period dramas wherein the romance is so drawn out, so practically painful in every way, so annoying and relieving simultaneously — she thinks she knows everything about him and he thinks he knows everything about her and so they deeply loathe each other and then find each other to be rather pleasant and then there’s FINALLY that kiss in the last five minutes of the film……exhale…...

I love that kind of love.

If you adored Pride and Prejudice (either BBC version or the Keira version),

you’ll love North and South…if not for the story, than for that gorgeous Richard Armitage and his hawkish glare.

The cuckoo clock chimed twelve some time ago and I’m headed out to the studio to finish this bizarrely beautiful cocoon necklace I started two days ago. It’s one of those pieces that I’m just not entirely sure about whilst I’m building it — as in, I’m not sure how it will turn out. I have the image of the finished piece on the tip of my mind but I don’t yet believe, wholly, that it will exactly match the image in my mind when it’s finished…I suppose we’ll just have to see how it turns out!

Good Wednesday to you all!

Smooch.

The Plume

Filed Under: idaho, lions and lambs, mountains, New Jewelry, pocatello, spring, west bench

March 14, 2011 by The Noisy Plume

I go walking.

Plumbelina chases a low flying, red tailed hawk, it’s like watching merry shadow play; shrewd and hooded hunter eyes meet clumsy puppy body and zealous bounding. It’s just a pair of small animals dancing on a mountainside, but the clash of their fascinating contact makes the hills ring.

The woods seem filled with macro detail. The earth here is wet with snow melt and spring rains. There is the scent of mold, rejuvenation, the old death of autumn and the new breath of spring and all these scents are stewing together into a careful blend of nature swirl. I catch a glimpse of my own short life cycle, the broadness of my fleet existence here on earth. This temporary body. This eternal soul. I feel reckless, I hear the clattering of my hooves on the stone of old creek bed, I feel the stretch in my spine like the water seeking cottonwood. My senses drift in and out of the thick fog of spring, like ships in the night. Do you ever have that numbing feeling that comes with walking through steeped sensory richness in the forests, in the world, so thick you could cut it in two and then divide it once more?

[I can experience the same sensory overload when in urban settings but I usually wind up feeling stress and tension from all the sound and movement in a city. My urbanite friends seem to be able to connect with the energy of a cityscape and thrive on it like I do in the stillness and quiet of my world here…it’s fascinating that I can react so differently than them in such settings.]

In my forests, up the mountain, I feel a natural high saturating my spirit,

like Annie Dillard’s tree full of lights.

I feel my rough edges smoothed over.

There’s music in the push of the wind, the bowing grass, the drift of song birds on the wing.

I feel a part of it all. I feel it all. I feel it all.

The juniper trees are dressed in tidy lavender cosmic spice!

Pillows and billows of small berries beg to be gin.

I breathe deep as I walk.

The junipers are brooms, I’m swept clean

until my hollow ribs sing echoes into the quiet of the creek bed.

There’s a pale feathering of green growing up the mountainsides.

A sneaky creep of season change.

Impressions in the mud.

Herds on the move. The reclaiming of the high country.

I make my way, like we all do.

Slow and shambling, quick and rambling.

Breathing deep, pink in cheek.

I go for the sage.

I go to become sage.

I go for the windshine and the sunchime.

I go for nightfall and breezedrawl.

I go to muddy my feet, I go for the soulsweep.

I go for the heartsigh, for the spiritfly.

https://www.thenoisyplume.com/blog/2011/03/14/937/

Filed Under: idaho, mountains, pocatello, rocky mountains, walking

Heading up the mountain:

February 9, 2011 by The Noisy Plume

And we did not return

until we felt ready,

not until the tips of our noses were cold

and our ears ached with wind.

Filed Under: idaho, pocatello, rocky mountains, winter

February 8, 2011 by The Noisy Plume

I’m not yet ready for spring.

https://www.thenoisyplume.com/blog/2011/02/08/901/

Filed Under: idaho, pocatello, snow, weather, winter

Inconsolable

January 19, 2011 by The Noisy Plume

Plumbelina woke up, as usual, just before 6AM this morning. I let her outside to do her business, washed my face, shoveled the fresh snow off the walks and then took she and Penelope on a walk between the footbridges on the Portneuf River; the streets were quiet, the sky was still dark and the dogs ran wild through the snow on the foot path.

The City of Pocatello has been cleaning the Portneuf River banks which is a euphemism for murdering hundreds of beautiful cottonwood and elm trees. I’ve been in a wretched fit of depression this week any time I’ve caught a glimpse of the banks, bald and scarred in the winter light. I support manicuring and tending forests and city greenbelts in my fair Idahoan town but this, this clear cutting of the river banks really has my gitch in a knot.

What has made me truly inconsolable is the removal of an ancient, huge and beautiful cottonwood on the corner of the footbridge behind our home. The tree was easily one hundred and fifty years old (which is very old for these parts, and quite old for a cottonwood) and had a massive and lush crown to it, a crown that tangled itself in the stars. The limbs of this tree reached out over the river waters and it had a wonderful and wise countenance to it. When they felled it this week, all of our dishes rattled in the cupboards and I think this 103 year old farm house let out a sad groan.

This cottonwood tree, bless its dryad soul, was certainly here before Pocatello was settled as an actual township in 1889. This valley was formerly the wintering grounds for the Northern Shoshone tribe. I like to imagine the people of the horse burned small fires beneath the branches of this tree in the cold months and shaded their ponies beneath its leafy cool in the summer months, when they found themselves passing though. I’m sure two generations of Palmer children who grew up in this very house climbed this tree trunk and looked out over the mountains laughing at the top of their lungs in the dog days of summer.

I’m beyond sad over the removal of this tree. I’m inconsolable. I feel like a portion of Pocatello history and beauty has been uprooted and cast down without dignity or respect paid. The more I think of the empty space over on the riverbank, the bluer I feel.

I’m not a knee jerk tree hugger. I’m a thoughtful environmentalist. The state of clear cutting affairs along the Portneuf River has warranted the submission of a letter to my city council about the approach to the deforestation of our riverbanks in town and the importance of tending to the story of this valley, brick by brick and trunk by trunk. I believe in keeping history alive in this city, and that includes the presence of our most ancient and beautiful trees.

City of Pocatello, you’ll be hearing from me soon.

Inconsolably and sincerely yours,

Jillian S. Lukiwski

Filed Under: damn it, pocatello, trees