Nearly a foot of snow fell last weekend, peaceful, gorgeous and silent. Pine trees bowed low with white caps resting on the ends of their lithe green arms, each branch swaying slightly in the breeze. We shoveled the church parking lot for a couple hours, we made a snowman (including an apron and arms, even a carrot for the nose) and Rhiannon and I enjoyed whispering Christmas Carols to one another (it still seems a little early for them to me...)
Then, yesterday, the temperature went up to nearly 65 degrees and most of the snow turned into mush. Our snowman is still braving the elements, although listing slightly to the side.
And now, it's snowing again. The beauty out here is breathtaking, and there are few words to describe it. I wish I could do it all justice. But all I can say is this feeble attempt: the beauty here is like joy and despair mingling in momentary peace.
A bear wandered past our house a few nights ago: the pawprints were HUGE. We took pictures---of the now. We'll see if the pictures of the footprints turned out.
Apologies for the delay in my postings. Life here has been challenging for this city girl, even as I now know that city life will take some getting used to. It's the silence which is most impressive...it's so silent, this silence.
More later....
Kate
celticwomancode
A bison jawbone just beneath the Soda Butte Creek in the Lamar Valley
Into the air I stretch my fingers...
...aching for a touch of you...
thank you, Shelly, David and Emese...
Tonight seth, Rhiannon and I were escorted into the Lamar Valley up to a small bluff which overlooked the ranging meadows of sage and plain grasses. Meandering across the expanse, bison roamed, alternating between plodding as they fed and charging 30 feet or so, leaving plumes of dust in their wake. We were not the only humans admiring the view, and our guide (a parishoner of great humor and kindness) had two binoculars aand a powerful scope, through which he encouraged us to look.
Rarely have I experienced such a remarkable sight: Somewhere amongst the crowd, a bison carcass lay nearly bare: remnants of a rutting encounter. Bears, coyotes, wolves and ravens had devoured as much as they could, now the bison had reclaimed their plain, loitering around the carcass in a pointedly laconic manner: "who, us, standing around a carcass? never noticed a thing...what's that doris? smell? I don't smell anything...."scattered among the bison roamed 15 or so wolves, prowling with all the elegance and power imaginable. And interspersed among the bison and wolves, five grizzly bears stalked: three adults and two young cubs (affectionately called: cubs of the year, meaning they had been born this spring.) At first, the bears, wolves and bison seemed to politely ignore one another: the wolves romped together in playful attacks; the bears roamed up and down the meadow, galloping, then plodding. And all the while, the bison ate, chewed cud, charged, rolled, nuzzled, walked and snorted. Incidentally, the snort of a bison carries far: the low rolling rumble of the sounds within the bisons massive chest carried nearly a quarter mile across the Lamar Valley, shuddering the ground beneath my feet and echoing in my ears.
But something shifted among the animals: all pretense of disinterest vanished. The wolves turned on the small bear cubs and forced them away from the crowds of bison and the other bears, circling and snapping at them: 12-16 wolves fierce and graceful, taunting and tearing at the cubs, who, in their clumsy youth, could only thrash their paws at the wolves. The wolves drove the cubs toward the treeline, cornering them against a small grove, which provided them with some protection. Eventually the adult grizzly appeared and drove the wolves, skulking, back to the carcass, which I'm sure had been their goal all along: distract the bears from the carcass by threatening their young, then the wolves can grab a few fresh bones for some marrow gnawing.
The reactions among the humans on the hill proved to be most interesting: many of the onlookers rooted for the wolves, urging them on toward the demise of the bears. Only a few expressed concern for the bear cubs. Perhaps some people forgot the prey of the moment happened to be a bear cub, not even 6 months old. It could be they understood it to be the essence of life: death is the nearly constant companion, and we remain closer friends with death than we think. perhaps people were only wishing for something dramatic to happen.
I don't know. Yet the bear cubs were saved, the wolves got their meat and the bears even snatched a little more food for the road. The sun had fallen behind the hills and a lavender hue fell on the Lamar Valley. As we made our way back to the car, each of the Jones noticing how much steeper it seemed going downhill. But, we made it safely down the hill and, crawled back into the car and returned home to the parsonage long after dark had fallen. On our drive home, we passed a black bear who charged across the road in front of our car (which made all of us shiver in awe and fear- either of for for the bear). Once we pulled into the parsonage parking lot and got out of the truck, we all looked up into the night sky.
Rhiannon, who had never seen the stars to brilliantly, spluttered and gasped, ending in a choked "It's so intimidating!" then proceeded to excitedly point out the constellations. The milky way slashed across the night sky like a brush stroke, and the sky filled all three of us with awe.
so there it is, the big night for us all. I've nothing too deep or thought provoking to say: it's just Kate thinking this whole life thing is cool and frightening all at the same time with some remarkable views, some kind people and some moments of peace.
Yet those bison, man. Nothing distressed them. they are the ultimate "unflappable". I wonder if i could have a conversation with a bison. maybe I could learn something.
With love and hopes for God's shalom among us all...
Kate
...aching for a touch of you...
thank you, Shelly, David and Emese...
Tonight seth, Rhiannon and I were escorted into the Lamar Valley up to a small bluff which overlooked the ranging meadows of sage and plain grasses. Meandering across the expanse, bison roamed, alternating between plodding as they fed and charging 30 feet or so, leaving plumes of dust in their wake. We were not the only humans admiring the view, and our guide (a parishoner of great humor and kindness) had two binoculars aand a powerful scope, through which he encouraged us to look.
Rarely have I experienced such a remarkable sight: Somewhere amongst the crowd, a bison carcass lay nearly bare: remnants of a rutting encounter. Bears, coyotes, wolves and ravens had devoured as much as they could, now the bison had reclaimed their plain, loitering around the carcass in a pointedly laconic manner: "who, us, standing around a carcass? never noticed a thing...what's that doris? smell? I don't smell anything...."scattered among the bison roamed 15 or so wolves, prowling with all the elegance and power imaginable. And interspersed among the bison and wolves, five grizzly bears stalked: three adults and two young cubs (affectionately called: cubs of the year, meaning they had been born this spring.) At first, the bears, wolves and bison seemed to politely ignore one another: the wolves romped together in playful attacks; the bears roamed up and down the meadow, galloping, then plodding. And all the while, the bison ate, chewed cud, charged, rolled, nuzzled, walked and snorted. Incidentally, the snort of a bison carries far: the low rolling rumble of the sounds within the bisons massive chest carried nearly a quarter mile across the Lamar Valley, shuddering the ground beneath my feet and echoing in my ears.
But something shifted among the animals: all pretense of disinterest vanished. The wolves turned on the small bear cubs and forced them away from the crowds of bison and the other bears, circling and snapping at them: 12-16 wolves fierce and graceful, taunting and tearing at the cubs, who, in their clumsy youth, could only thrash their paws at the wolves. The wolves drove the cubs toward the treeline, cornering them against a small grove, which provided them with some protection. Eventually the adult grizzly appeared and drove the wolves, skulking, back to the carcass, which I'm sure had been their goal all along: distract the bears from the carcass by threatening their young, then the wolves can grab a few fresh bones for some marrow gnawing.
The reactions among the humans on the hill proved to be most interesting: many of the onlookers rooted for the wolves, urging them on toward the demise of the bears. Only a few expressed concern for the bear cubs. Perhaps some people forgot the prey of the moment happened to be a bear cub, not even 6 months old. It could be they understood it to be the essence of life: death is the nearly constant companion, and we remain closer friends with death than we think. perhaps people were only wishing for something dramatic to happen.
I don't know. Yet the bear cubs were saved, the wolves got their meat and the bears even snatched a little more food for the road. The sun had fallen behind the hills and a lavender hue fell on the Lamar Valley. As we made our way back to the car, each of the Jones noticing how much steeper it seemed going downhill. But, we made it safely down the hill and, crawled back into the car and returned home to the parsonage long after dark had fallen. On our drive home, we passed a black bear who charged across the road in front of our car (which made all of us shiver in awe and fear- either of for for the bear). Once we pulled into the parsonage parking lot and got out of the truck, we all looked up into the night sky.
Rhiannon, who had never seen the stars to brilliantly, spluttered and gasped, ending in a choked "It's so intimidating!" then proceeded to excitedly point out the constellations. The milky way slashed across the night sky like a brush stroke, and the sky filled all three of us with awe.
so there it is, the big night for us all. I've nothing too deep or thought provoking to say: it's just Kate thinking this whole life thing is cool and frightening all at the same time with some remarkable views, some kind people and some moments of peace.
Yet those bison, man. Nothing distressed them. they are the ultimate "unflappable". I wonder if i could have a conversation with a bison. maybe I could learn something.
With love and hopes for God's shalom among us all...
Kate
The brisk wind of change...
The locals are saying winter is just around the corner. A woman said she can smell it in the air. It might be, I just don't know; to me, it feels like the perfect October weather: brisk mornings, clear skies, a cool breeze which taunts you with gusts of cold wind, all wrapped in hot, bright sunshine which warms your skin even as the wind chills you. This is the weather I loved in Minnesota and, while the weather brings back memories of falls gone by, the world around me belies my sense of comfort, for i don't see a single oak, maple or willow. Many pine stand watch over us, silently guarding the world in which we live.
For those of you who know me and still love me, this may not come as any sort of surprise: I interviewed for another job today. I interviewed with a remote coding company for 15 hours a week. It sounded like a good match and I am hopeful they will call me,even while I am nervous about the future. While the anxiety I feel has as much to do with the strange world in which I live as my affection for the solitude around me. Do not be deceived, just because I suffer woefully from my inability to sit still and listen to the wind around me does not mean I do not wish to do it. To sit on the deck in the early brisk morning air and watch the line of sunrise climb along the mountain, sip coffee (or tea) and listen to the sound of God's ruach, that gentle whisper...
But there are reasons I give for not doing so. I could, I imagine, motivate myself enough to get up at 5 rather than 6 in the morning, bundle myself up and sit in the silence, then do my little bit of stretching and exercise before I begin work at 7. But haven't I been saying this for years? I could, if I were motivated.....
Perhaps I am motivated enough. Perhaps I am doing things just right the way things are now. Perhaps there is nothing else I need to do other than to work when i need to work, to rest when I need to rest, to listen, live and love all I can.
Perhaps I should take a sip of the cool, clear water I've caught, then sit a moment or two. I can keep walking later on.
Shalom, all.
K
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A hot day
Usually, I don't get into the swing of summer until August is nearly over. (Wait, August IS nearly over.) What I mean is that certain things signify the actuality of summer: the humid, baking Minnesota heat, the Minnesota State Fair looming on the temporal horizon, the annual campout at the Minnesota Renaissance Festival with our friends followed by the day long hike through the Renaissance Festival, dressed in our various costumes. Granted, for me, my costume usually consisted of all of my scarves and bangles, while others among our troupe wore the full Renaissance regalia. Then, there's always the wide eyes of various other people in my life who don't entirely know what to say about me participating in the Renaissance Festival in the first place, much less camping out the night before.
But I miss it, and I miss all of you. It's the familiarity of my life in Minnesota I miss, the intimacy with which I moved through my life. While our lives together were always being reinvented, the world in which I lived remained the same. I understood the highways, the turns in the road and I had learned the horizons well after hours of study while I sat in traffic, staring out my window, wondering, worrying. I understood my life, and my place within it, even if, like a chesspiece, I felt myself moving restlessly around the board.
What I find particularly odd is that, since arriving in Cooke City, I have experienced less frenetic worry gnawing at my heart. This is not to say that I have not worried: health insurance, car trouble, Rhiannon's adjustment, family concerns, the mortgage we are still paying since our condo has not yet rented or sold, the fact I wasn't able to work for nearly five weeks thereby not getting a paycheck... There have been many things about which to worry. Yet I have not found myself in a car, at my desk, sitting in the kitchen, staring off into space, worrying.
maybe I should just give it time. My daughter says I am an Olympic worrier While that may be true, I am trying, with an Olympic effort, to attempt to recognize what I can affect and what is beyond my control. Much in life is truly outside my scope of practice, to speak in medical compliance terminology: I couldn't even try to effect the outcome. Like the time I blew a tire on highway 212 outside Joliet, MT. Now, I knew the area I was in was not nearly as isolated as it could be but when I got out of the car and saw only hot, tan fields all around me, I must admit that I grumbled. But, I dug around in my trunk for the jack and the donut (which really is about the size of a glazed donut). When a woman with two daughters offered a ride to the gas station a mile up the road, I took it without a second thought. When the tow-truck fellow arrived to change my tire, I gave him my new water bottle cuz he looked thirsty. And when the very polite young man in Laurel MT repaired my tire and I knew the repair wouldn't last more than a week, I didn't even worry if it would get me over the Beartooth Pass, because the young repair man said it would get me over the pass.
All of those things would have thrown me into wild frenzies of worry in the city. What about..... It could have been... I should have..... But what if......
But I just drove. 3,000 feet up the Bear Tooth Pass, through rain, going faster than I should have along Highway 212 because I knew I needed to beat the worst of the rain and the falling dusk. I knew my driving was the one thing I could have an effect over. so I drove as fast as I dared, catching only a glimpse of the scenery to remind myself of where I was, the fact that I was driving over the Pass by myself, to get home and keep that promise to my daughter: get home and give her a hug.
So, maybe there really is a chance I can mediate the intensity of my worry.
But, then again, when i began my new job of....waitressing, I couldn't stop apologizing for the smallest mistake I made. So, maybe this old dog can learn a few new tricks. Or maybe this old dog might just be trying really hard to keep her head above water and doesn't have the energy to worry right now. Whatever the reason, it was nice to realize that my worry had taken a break.
Shalom to all, in the loving acceptance of our groovy Savior Jesus--
kate
But I miss it, and I miss all of you. It's the familiarity of my life in Minnesota I miss, the intimacy with which I moved through my life. While our lives together were always being reinvented, the world in which I lived remained the same. I understood the highways, the turns in the road and I had learned the horizons well after hours of study while I sat in traffic, staring out my window, wondering, worrying. I understood my life, and my place within it, even if, like a chesspiece, I felt myself moving restlessly around the board.
What I find particularly odd is that, since arriving in Cooke City, I have experienced less frenetic worry gnawing at my heart. This is not to say that I have not worried: health insurance, car trouble, Rhiannon's adjustment, family concerns, the mortgage we are still paying since our condo has not yet rented or sold, the fact I wasn't able to work for nearly five weeks thereby not getting a paycheck... There have been many things about which to worry. Yet I have not found myself in a car, at my desk, sitting in the kitchen, staring off into space, worrying.
maybe I should just give it time. My daughter says I am an Olympic worrier While that may be true, I am trying, with an Olympic effort, to attempt to recognize what I can affect and what is beyond my control. Much in life is truly outside my scope of practice, to speak in medical compliance terminology: I couldn't even try to effect the outcome. Like the time I blew a tire on highway 212 outside Joliet, MT. Now, I knew the area I was in was not nearly as isolated as it could be but when I got out of the car and saw only hot, tan fields all around me, I must admit that I grumbled. But, I dug around in my trunk for the jack and the donut (which really is about the size of a glazed donut). When a woman with two daughters offered a ride to the gas station a mile up the road, I took it without a second thought. When the tow-truck fellow arrived to change my tire, I gave him my new water bottle cuz he looked thirsty. And when the very polite young man in Laurel MT repaired my tire and I knew the repair wouldn't last more than a week, I didn't even worry if it would get me over the Beartooth Pass, because the young repair man said it would get me over the pass.
All of those things would have thrown me into wild frenzies of worry in the city. What about..... It could have been... I should have..... But what if......
But I just drove. 3,000 feet up the Bear Tooth Pass, through rain, going faster than I should have along Highway 212 because I knew I needed to beat the worst of the rain and the falling dusk. I knew my driving was the one thing I could have an effect over. so I drove as fast as I dared, catching only a glimpse of the scenery to remind myself of where I was, the fact that I was driving over the Pass by myself, to get home and keep that promise to my daughter: get home and give her a hug.
So, maybe there really is a chance I can mediate the intensity of my worry.
But, then again, when i began my new job of....waitressing, I couldn't stop apologizing for the smallest mistake I made. So, maybe this old dog can learn a few new tricks. Or maybe this old dog might just be trying really hard to keep her head above water and doesn't have the energy to worry right now. Whatever the reason, it was nice to realize that my worry had taken a break.
Shalom to all, in the loving acceptance of our groovy Savior Jesus--
kate
Here I am on a mountain...wher... Julie Andrews?
culture shock Well, it's happened. Here we all are, all three of us, moved in and as settled as can be. In fact, we're settled enough for me to have three jobs right now. Typical.
But at least I still get to code. And my family is healthy. And we have a roof over our heads. And...you get the picture.
Seth and Rhiannon went into Yellowstone Park today and saw a large grizzly bear dining on a buffalo carcass. While I experienced a pang on envy regarding that sight, I remain "wow-ed" at their next sight: a raven, fully three feet tall if he was an inch. How I regret not having seen that. However, since yellowstone is, for lack of a better phrase, nearly in my back yard, I can't complain too much.
I must beg pardon, my workday begins very early, and I'm off to sleep. While this is remarkably easy to do, I must confess, it is the time factor which will remain an issue.
Shalom, all.
Kate Gabriel Jones CPC, CPC-GENSG
But at least I still get to code. And my family is healthy. And we have a roof over our heads. And...you get the picture.
Seth and Rhiannon went into Yellowstone Park today and saw a large grizzly bear dining on a buffalo carcass. While I experienced a pang on envy regarding that sight, I remain "wow-ed" at their next sight: a raven, fully three feet tall if he was an inch. How I regret not having seen that. However, since yellowstone is, for lack of a better phrase, nearly in my back yard, I can't complain too much.
I must beg pardon, my workday begins very early, and I'm off to sleep. While this is remarkably easy to do, I must confess, it is the time factor which will remain an issue.
Shalom, all.
Kate Gabriel Jones CPC, CPC-GENSG
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