Musing on the 4th of July, from Montana

After nearly a year of no posts, I’ve been inspired to open up the laptop once again. There are many things that have come up in our lives since last August, but what is top of mind for me is the adventure we just had on the Upper Missouri River here in Montana.

Following up on our relentless pursuit these past couple of years of all things Lewis and Clark, we decided to take a guided canoe trip to see the wild and scenic White Cliffs which so inspired our guys, L&C. Peter and I had driven over three thousand miles on highways that followed their route, but we knew that this stretch of the Upper Missouri, which is a couple of hundred miles, was not accessible by roads. It can only be experienced from the Missouri River and it is one of the very few places the Corps traveled that probably looks a lot like what they saw on the westward trip in late May, 1805 and the return trip in July, 1806.

We signed up for our first-ever guided canoe trip of four days and three nights with the Upper Missouri River Guides, out of Fort Benton, Montana. We were impressed with the reviews and descriptions of their trip options. Two of the highlights that pushed us in their direction were the equipment they use: high quality Wenonah fiberglass and Kevlar canoes and 12 oz. carbon fiber bent shaft paddles; and the ThermaRest inflatable mattresses (because sleeping on the ground has NEVER been a favorite option for us). One of the other bonuses was we would get to camp in two of the places where the Corps itself had camped. On May 31,1805, Lewis had written, “the hills and the river Cliffs which we passed today exhibit a most romantic appearance. The water in the course of time…has trickled down the soft sand Clift and woarn (sp) it into a thousand …figures. As we passed it seems as if those seens (sp) of visionary inchantment (sp) would never have an end”. His prescient words, written at Eagle Creek where we would later camp, barely touched the surfaced of what we would soon see for ourselves.

On June 27, the night before we took off, we drove to Fort Benton, Montana, founded in 1846, and the inner most navigable port on the extensive Mississippi River transportation system. First a busy fur trading post, then later an Army base, it became a busy port during the riverboat prosperity of the 1860s. That all ended in the late 1890s with the arrival of railroads that bypassed the town on their way to Helena and Great Falls. We booked a room at the historic Grand Union Hotel, which had been built in 1882 but closed two years later. It has fortunately been brought back to life and we had a lovely dinner and a solid night’s sleep before heading into our adventure.

June 28 was a sunny and cool morning and we arrived at the river guide headquarters about 8:00AM, carrying our newly re-packed bags. The night before we had an orientation at the hotel and one of our guides, Orion, brought us the essential “dry bags” for our things. These were large, rubberized bags seemingly impervious to weather and all neatly labeled and color-coded with our names. The larger of the two, the “checked bag”, would carry our sleeping bag, pillow, clothing, hiking shoes, and other personal care items. The smaller of the two, the “carry on bag”, would stay at our feet in the canoe for immediate access to rain gear, water, sunscreen, camera, sunglasses and similar urgent items. We were ready to get going.

As the crew packed up all our gear and the trailer with the canoes, we met our fellow travelers. There was a total of eight of us, plus two guides. We were traveling with our friend Marcia, and so the three of us met the others – one other couple about our age, and a young family of three, including their young son. We spanned the age spectrum from late 70s to one 5 year old with a wide range of experience and talent in between. One of our guides was a local guy named Colter who was 21 and had been working at the company since he was 13. The other, Orion, was roughly my son’s age (mid-40s) and had been with the company for three years following time as a member of the U.S. ski team (as a free-style skier), a kayaker, a fisherman, a ski coach and a native of Telluride, CO. It was this awareness of the range of life experiences and physical capabilities of others in my group, and what I learned about myself in the process, that proved to be most life-changing on the entire trip, but more on that below.

After packing up, it took us about 45 minutes to drive to the launch site at Coal Banks (see the map at the end of this post). We got into our 2-person canoe around 10:00AM and after a short lesson in steering (Peter’s job) and paddling (my job) it was show time. We pushed off and I felt a mix of joy and trepidation at the prospect of the wide open river (thankfully relatively calm) and how we would navigate. The first hour of paddling was awkward as I tried to work out a rhythm and a technique. Peter was learning how to steer the canoe since his job was to be the rudder. We lurched occasionally toward the shoreline, unable to keep in line or up with the four other canoes. Colter was solo in the one with the most gear, then the young family had their own canoe, and our friend Marcia got to ride with Orion in the other gear-loaded canoe. I think we must have stopped for lunch after a second hour but I don’t recall because by now, I knew I was struggling to keep it together in knowing what to do. I do recall that we saw 2 bald eagles soaring over head and I took that as an affirmation to keep on keeping on.

We had to make it to Eagle Creek for camp and that was 13 miles down the river. After about 4 hours paddling, we neared the shoreline. Dark clouds began to build and the wind picked up, all of which served as an analogy to the darkening and increasingly intense pain I was feeling with my back and torso muscles, now screaming at me. Years ago, on our first horse-packing trip in Wyoming, there was a similar protest staged by every muscle in my body after 6 hours on horseback. This served as a repeat of the unpleasant experience. We managed to unload our canoes and made a mad scramble to a place to pitch our tents. I thought, “Oh no, tents!” We had no experience putting up a tent so we had to wait patiently in our rain gear for one of the guides to get us going. The wind was building, rain began to fall, the skies darkened further and a few miles away, lighting began to strike the low green hills. It was about 4:30PM by now and I asked myself what made me think this was a good idea.

Somehow, with the guides’ help, we got the tent up, I found the Tylenol and I think I took 2, or was it 3? Anyway, then we went about organizing the inside of our little tent: tossed the bags into one corner, dug out flashlights and Luci solar lanterns, inflated the mattress, unrolled sleeping bags and took out pillows, trying not to engage in the dialog running in our heads over the wisdom of doing this trip. But then, the rain stopped, the clouds broke, the delicious golden light of the late-day sun functioned like a balm and our hosts called us to dinner. The food was delicious, hot, and plentiful and they did all the work. As much as I wanted to do the after-dinner hike back up the hill, I joined Peter in deciding not to attempt it. It was one of a couple of decisions over the next few days where I had to weigh what was actually feasible for me given how I had just pushed myself, weighing the risk of potential injury, and the unknowing of how much lay still ahead. So instead, for about half an hour Peter and I walked around the wide open field, up one easy dirt road and marveled at the fact that we were actually here watching the day shut down over the Upper Missouri.

On day two, we broke camp and paddled down the river through astonishing rock formations. Dark igneous rock, interjected next to the white cliffs, once served at sign posts for the river captains working their way up to Fort Benton. They, like us, passed The Citadel, and La Barge Rock. More bald eagles appeared along the way and it was easy to see why Lewis would write, “the bluffs …rise to the hight (sp) to 300’…formed of white sandstone. The earth on the top of these clifts (sp) is a dark rich loam which … extends back from the river…Nature presents…vast ranges of walls…so perfect…that I should have thought that nature had attempted…masonry”. We had just a few hours and a total of 8 miles of paddling on day 2 and stopped for the night at Hole-in-the-wall, a huge meadow on the south side shoreline along a curve in the river which faced glorious sandstone walls on north side. The warmth of the sunshine, a gentle breeze at our back, the lighter paddling time, along with Tylenol throughout the day, and some adjustments to my paddling technique, yielded improved results in my sore muscles. This time setting up our tent was easier since the campsite had some clearly delineated tent circles in the tall grass. Please note, we did still need assistance from the guides.

On day three I was awakened at 4:30AM by the most beautiful serenade of birds in the pre-dawn light. I got up and opened the tent to greet that new day with delight. We were fed another marvelous breakfast of pancakes with real maple syrup and a homemade venison sausage that was grilled to perfection. We broke camp and stopped less than a mile downriver at the base of the rock cliff, Hole-in-the-wall. We were offered a hike up the saddle and then a scramble up the rocks to the mesa top. Between the vertical climb, the “scramble over rocks” part and the realization that we had 13 miles of paddling ahead, beginning at noon time, Peter and I declined. It was a wise decision as we later learned.

Technically, there are no rapids on the Missouri but the stiffer winds and some natural eddies formed by side streams flowing into the river did make for some choppy paddling. The heat of the day was exhausting and when we took a break and climbed out of our canoes, we were slurped and sunk into about 3 inches of the infamous Missouri River mud. After a “bathroom” break, we all went in the river to cool off. I’ve never waded waist-deep into a river fully dressed, this time in my hiking pants, long sleeve shirt and Keen river shoes, dunking my head fully into the coolness of the water. It would later feel like a baptism in the river which had become so sacred to me by now.

We had planned to camp that night at Slaughter Creek which is the only site used by the Corps on the way west in 1805 and again heading back east in 1806. But as we approached the camp it was obviously very busy. About a dozen canoes, and one big blue pontoon boat, were already there. Orion and Colter scrambled up the muddy banks and back down and asked if we were willing to paddle another 4 miles to a primitive campsite called The Wall. We all immediately agreed and kept going. This yielded our most glorious campsite right on a bluff in a stand of huge cottonwoods. Even though we were all exhausted and Peter and I felt really stretched by the physicality of the day, it was the most wonderful evening. Dinner of roasted pork loin, green beans, roast potatoes, morels, and a dutch oven baked blueberry and pear cobbler was perfect. I crawled into my sleeping bag on what had now come to feel like a cushion of comfort after all that time paddling, and slept so soundly.

The last day’s paddle to Judith Landing was much shorter since we had gone so much farther the day before. It was a hard day even so because of the increased heat, the choppier waters and the cumulative effects of over 43 miles of paddling on our bodies. But we made it and I felt a huge accomplishment having navigated the multitude of challenges that made seeing this extraordinary place all the more precious. Along the way, in addition to the eagles, we were gifted by sitings of osprey, Canada geese, a hen turkey, deer, one rattlesnake, countless songbirds, the spectacular geology, the glorious night sky, the moon rises, and the sunsets. In addition, there was a witnessing of something authentic and new about myself that emerged in the solitary space and the challenges of that river. I intend to continue to navigate that inner journey even though the one on the river has ended.

Oh, and let the record show that we never did master the tent set-up thing.

Peter and Liz continue their pilgrimage to here in year nine, still living in their Airstream, and traveling now exclusively west of the Mississippi River.

Mid-Summer – Following Lewis and Clark – Part 1 to Great Falls, MT.

On a rainy afternoon around 4:00pm on May 14, 1804, Captains William Clark and Meriwether Lewis left Camp River Dubois on the east side of the Mississippi River. It was the start of their epic journey in search of an inland waterway to the Pacific. They recruited the last of the 48 men who would start the journey – men selected for their ability to do strenuous labor with skills in hunting, fishing, carpentry, blacksmithing, tailoring, or soldiering. In addition to the 48 and the two Captains, was Clark’s personal slave, York, and Lewis’ Newfoundland dog, Seaman.

We are following as much of the Corps trail as we can in preparation for our month of volunteering in Washington state’s Cape Disappointment State Park. I’m going to focus here on some of the highlights of what have learned. First, Camp Dubois is part of Lewis and Clark Historic Site in Hartford, IL. Here we saw a full-scale model of the keelboat that was the workhorse of the first part of the Corp’s expedition. It carried the bulk of the supplies that the Corps relied on at the start of the trip. The keelboat (measuring 55’ long and 8’4’ wide) carried 12 to 15 tons and was basically a barge-like structure with a mast, 22 oars, and a sail. The keelboat could be powered in 4 ways which was necessary since the Missouri had strong currents, unpredictable depths, eddies, unstable river banks and hidden snags. Whether under sail, or by rowing the 22 oars, or poling it up the river, or towing it with ropes, the work was painfully slow and on a good day, the Corps made 14 miles.

Peter imagines what it was like to push the keelboat upriver.

We learned that the Captains had planned to take the keelboat as far as the Mandan Villages in North Dakota and then send it back downriver to St. Louis in the spring of 1805 with a small crew and an abundance of plant, mineral samples, and animal specimens (including a live prairie dog) for President Thomas Jefferson. This was what actually happened. In addition to the keelboat, the Corp traveled with two pirogues, or flat-bottom boats, which measured 41 feet, had a single mast and a square sail and 7 oars. Each carried a crew of 8 and 9 tons of supplies. All three were part of the original fleet that left St. Charles on the Missouri on May 24, 1804.

Our second stop was the Boathouse in St. Charles, Missouri. There, I became interested in the medicine chest that Lewis carried with him as the guardian of the Corps’ health. In preparation for the journey, President Jefferson had sent Lewis to study with the leading physician of the day, Dr. Benjamin Rush. Lewis went to Philadelphia for several months and then stocked his medicine chest with the remedies of the day, augmented with treatments he had learned from his mother, who was an herbalist. The resulting display (at the boathouse and again in other places) confirmed treatments that would today be seen as progressive (herbal treatments using creme of tartar, calamine ointment, Peruvian bark), barbaric (bleeding) and completely dangerous (mercury). Along the way west, Lewis amended his medical protocols with treatments from the indigenous people he met. For example, rattlesnake rattle was used to speed up a slow labor, a treatment he employed with his only known obstetric patient, Sakakawea. While Lewis was notoriously self-critical, his skill as the medical officer was pretty evident since in the entire 2 + years of the expedition, Lewis lost only one member, Charles Floyd, from illness that Lewis could not cure. Floyd died from what experts today surmise was an infection caused by a ruptured appendix.

Lewis carried a box of medical treatments and surgical tools with him and this shows some of the items.

From St. Charles, we journeyed up the Missouri and camped in Lewis and Clark State Park in Buchanan County, Missouri on July 1. This was interesting because it was near here that the Corps celebrated the first July 4th by shooting off their cannon. It was the first recorded celebration of Independence Day west of the Mississippi. Each man was rationed a shot of whiskey and the Captains named a nearby creek Independence Creek in honor of the occasion. Just before leaving the next morning, Peter and I walked to an outdoor exhibit area and down to the lake that lies where an oxbow of the Missouri once flowed. We looked out on the open prairies, imagining what the explorers must have been feeling.

On one July morning, 1804, Clark wrote (spelling as he wrote the entry), “Capt. Lewis and my Self walked in the Prarie on the top of the Bluff and observed the most butifull prospects imaginable, this Prarie is Covered with grass about 10 or 12 Inch high… under those high Lands…the river is butifull Bottom interspersed with Groves of timber, the River may be Seen for a great Distance”.

As we journeyed further up the Missouri, I wanted to make a stop at the grave of Charles Floyd, the man who Lewis could not save. Floyd died on August 20, 1804 and was buried with military honors in a grave which has since been moved a few times up and off the ever-changing Missouri in present-day Sioux City, Iowa. When Floyd died, just months into the start of their journey, the Corps must have wondered how many more of them would succumb to illness or injury and never make it back. We learned that on their return trip two years later, the Corp made a solemn stop to pay homage to Floyd at his gravesite. They discovered that Floyd’s gravesite had been disturbed and Clark ordered it properly filled in with soil before they returned down river, now with the realization, remarkably, that Floyd had been the only casualty of the expedition. Later, this National Park Service monument was erected on the site.

We experienced the lush green hills and open prairies changing into the open sky and vast expanses of the Dakotas. Near present-day Pierre, South Dakota we spent three days exploring the site of the first open confrontation between the Corps and the Brule band of the Teton Sioux. The Corps met with three chiefs over a series of days holding council, feasting and celebrating. They offered them the usual trinkets and gifts that they had planned to exchange. What they failed to fully comprehend was that the Brule had established themselves as successful traders along this section of the Missouri. Defending their established routes was an economic imperative and the Corps was not prepared for the rigor of their negotiations. The chiefs demanded more that the medals and gifts the Captains offered. One chief seized the mast of the pirogue in which he had been riding and a skirmish nearly turned violent as warriors on the shore drew their bows. Clark drew his sword. The Corps loaded their weapons. One of the other chiefs, Black Buffalo, managed to restore order and avoid serious violence in one of the most tense meetings of the entire expedition.

This encounter is a detail from history that we didn’t learn in school. In fact, the Corps was stumbling into an economic system that had been well-established between and among the indigenous tribes and later with the Europeans who, for about 100 years, ventured up and down the major rivers. The British and French had set up some trading posts along the Mississippi, Ohio and Missouri in the mid-1700s but the Americans, after the Louisiana Purchase, traveled with the intent on exploring the rivers, looking for the passage to the Pacific, and establishing their superior position over previous European traders. In addition, the Corps announced that all the land which the tribes lived on now belonged to the “Great Father” in Washington, DC and that he would tend to “his children”, a detail that was often misunderstood in translation. Certainly, the challenge of the different languages these 50 tribes spoke contributed to the problem. However, of even greater significance was the concept of the ownership of the land. For example, the land and all creation, for the Oglala Sioux, “are the works of the Great Spirit.” All creation enjoyed a relationship that was intimate and interchangeable and required constant attention and reverence. For the Chinook along the Columbia River, occupancy and use of land was managed by key leaders who regulated access, prohibiting trespassing and charging a “tribute” for others to use prized Chinook fishing grounds. Both the fluidity and the variability of the tribal beliefs were incompatible with what President Jefferson believed. For him, the economic future of the now-expanded country lay in the civic virtues of the yeoman farmer who owned his own land and therefore, had a stake in the nation. This significant ideological conflict, along with many others, would prove disastrous for the indigenous people as the settling of the West unfolded, a realization too profound for this blog.

Next, we journeyed into North Dakota and the Knife River Villages. These five villages included two Mandan and three Hidatsa settlements who lived in earth lodges (see below). We learned that the Corps arrived there in December 1804 after following maps that had been developed by French trappers and traders. The most reliable one had been created between 1795-1797 by John Evans and James Mackay. Mackay had actually met with Clark in January 1804 to discuss his findings and the map. Clark relied on its accuracy and landed in the Knife River Villages, spending 156 days there. Clark created his own map of the villages which appears below.

Upon arriving at Knife River, the Corps was told that they would need to build a fort for themselves quickly in preparation for the imminent winter. This information made it very clear that the survival of the Corps was deeply tied to the guidance and instructions from the tribes they met. We discovered that the journals of Clark and Lewis are full of dozens of names of chiefs from the tribes they met who helped and instructed them along the way. Here in Mandan Village the chief, Sheheke, promised the captains that through the winter, “if we eat, you eat; if we starve, you starve”. It was as good as it was going to get as the men built Fort Mandan a couple of miles from Villages. That winter saw temperatures the men had never before experienced. On December 17, 1804, Clark wrote, “about 8:00, pm, the thermometer fell to 74 below the freezing point.” The snow and bitter cold led them to hunker down some days with temperatures too cold to even hunt. They relied on trading for squash, corn, sunflower cakes, and dried squash, shown above. This was the winter they hired Toussaint Charbonneau, a French-Canadian trader who lived among the Hidatsa and could speak both Hidatsa and French. His second wife, Sakakewa, was delivered of a son, Jean-Baptiste in February (Lewis acted as the midwife in the difficult delivery) and their presence on the journey the spring of 1806 had remarkable effects on the success and the survival of the expedition. We learned that when tribes realized that a woman and a baby were traveling with the Corps, it signified the strangers came in peace since war parties never traveled with women and children.

By April 1805, the Corps was ready to head west once again. They were now entering interior territory virtually unexplored by any white people and this time, there were no reliable maps to follow. They relied on the information from the indigenous people whose trade routes were long-standing. From them, they were told of some great falls further up the Missouri which they would have to portage. This portage is a stunning example of the complexity of the journey. The Lewis and Clark Interpretive Center in Great Falls, Montana is one of the best we have encountered. Here we learned that Lewis had set out in advance to scope out what the falls were all about. He was completely in awe of the majesty of the sight of the five waterfalls that he encountered, each more stunning and majestic than the next. Upon returning to camp, he told Clark that this was not going to be one half-day portage. Instead it would require a grueling 18-mile trek around the falls lasting nearly one month.

Life-size diorama shows how the Corps struggled to move equipment in the portage at Great Falls.

Clark wrote on June 20, 1805, “we all believe we are about to enter on the most perilous and difficult part of our voyage”. It was an understatement. From June 22 to July 2, the Corps was stretched to the limits pushing and dragging the heavy loads uphill from the river over gullies and up steep hills to the prairies. The life-size diorama in the Center is fabulous. Their moccasins were punctured by cactus, the blazing heat and then downpours of rain were intermingled with a sudden hailstorm with hail the size of golf balls which pelted the men as they labored. The schedule for their progress was seriously impacted by the challenges of the geography for which they were ill-prepared. The test of their endurance led Clark to write, “all appear perfectly to have made up they minds, to Succeed in the expedition or perish in the attempt”. When the once again reached the Missouri, the Captains realized the delay meant they would not reach the Pacific in 1805. There was not enough time and the other challenge the Knife River people mentioned still lay ahead.

They had been told of a range of “shining mountains” and crossing them would be only possible with horses which the Shoshone had and they would have to trade with them. Plans were made to hire guides and translators to facilitate this. Here’s a surprising detail we learned about the complexities of the communications issues the Corps faced. Here is the way it worked in one simple example of Clark asking the Shoshone to trade for some horses. First, Clark would make a statement in English. One of the interpreters who spoke English would then translate it to French. A French-speaker would then translate it into Hidatsa so a fourth translation could go from Hidatsa to Shoshone, the language that the horse-owners spoke. Then, the entire process reversed when the Shoshone made their response: Shoshone-Hidatsa-French-English. Not an easy task and no wonder the nuances of language and customs got sticky in the process.

The divergence in the cultures of the indigenous people is evident in these historic photos taken a century after the Corps visited. They were not a monolithic people who could be generalized. Lewis and Clark were ill-prepared for the complexity of this reality since their military timeline allowed them a pre-eminent focus – attempt to find the inland waterway to the Pacific and map it. One historian wrote that because Lewis and Clark had to keep moving, they were more like tourists than diplomats. And the repercussions of that is evident to this day.

The Corps still had about 800 miles to journey before arriving at the Pacific Ocean, a trip that Clark estimated at 4,100 miles. We are ending this narrative here after sharing some of the most significant of the insights from this initial experience with a more behind-the-scenes look at the Corps.

Liz and Peter continue their pilgrimage to here in year eight, traveling the country in their Airstream and keeping the notebooks close by for all that interesting detail.

Legendary North Dakota.

North Dakota’s welcome mat, miles of sunflowers.

When we last wrote, we were on our way to North Dakota. We spent one night each in the first two campgrounds, hopping across the state to get to Lewis & Clark country in the western half of the state. North Dakota is our first big, wild, western state. It is almost big enough to incorporate the landmass of all of New England, including Maine. And it is certainly wild, but I will get to many understandings of that later.

Under Montana’s Big Sky

The Missouri River at Fort Peck under smoky skies.

One week ago, we entered Montana from its eastern boundary, following the path blazed by Lewis and Clark in 1804 – up the Missouri River, leaving North Dakota in our rear-view mirror.  In the high eastern plains, the pilgrimage to here included camping along the largest earthen works dam in the country (Fort Peck) on the Missouri River. We went to re-stock in the nearby town of Glasgow with a thriving downtown that the woman at the Ace Hardware store believes is directly related to the town’s ability to shut out Walmart – twice.

Adding the Missouri River to our bike rides across the US in Great Falls.

We experienced eery yellow sunsets and burning eyes that came with the waves of grey smoke from the forest fires that are continuing to rage across the tinder-dry land surrounding Glacier National Park and over the border in Saskatchewan, Canada.

We have travelled over 900 miles and have seen not more than a fraction of the variety of Montana that is here. It’s huge country – the 4^th largest state in the US – and it’s not hard to see why Lewis and Clark spent more time in Montana than any other state during their explorations.

Always time for the summer’s closing crop of butter and sugar corn at the farmer’s market.

In Great Falls, we found a farmer’s market (new tie-dye t-shirt for Peter) and spent hours at the Lewis and Clark Interpretive Center (yes, thanks to the reminders of friends, we are now both re-reading Stephen Ambrose’s Undaunted Courage), and watched a new Ken Burns movie (script by Dayton Duncan) and felt connected again to our roots back in New Hampshire.

The hot springs at Sleeping Buffalo.

Montana is rich in many things and among them are hot springs. Years ago we found Chico Hot Springs, south of Livingston, located along a country road that doubled as a runaway for landing private planes. This time around, we discovered Sleeping Buffalo Hot Springs about 50 miles from the Canadian border and in the midst of vast plains. The story is that in the early 1900s, someone was drilling for oil and found hot water – too bad for them, lucky for us. We were the only guests in a newly renovated bathhouse tiled and sunlit and complete with sauna that pleased Peter immensely.

The hot springs in Norris, south of Three Forks, was a completely different experience. For $5, you get to soak in a funky rectangular pool made of wide plank Ponderosa pine. The outdoor setting was spectacular, with the pool sitting at the base of gently rolling hills covered in grass the color of unbleached muslin. The towels cost $1 and the easy conversations with folks equally soothed by the nearly 100-degree baths, was free.

The greatest gift that Montana offered us was time with friends who live near Bozeman. We pulled up in their driveway and camped there for three days, enjoying a spectacular and unencumbered view of the Bridger Mountains. But it was the laughter over an evening glass of wine, the quiet moments of conversation in the morning, the lively conversations over dinner at a local restaurant, that nourished the heart.

The Bridger Mountains from our breakfast table in T2.

Did we really live all those years taking these moments for granted, not realizing that, as Thomas Merton so eloquently stated, “this moment will never come again?” There will never be the same light on the quaking aspen in their backyard, the same cool evening breeze, the way we each sat around the table, the way the light was bent across the sky, the peace that we experienced – it will never come again in this same way. Life will continue to unfold and to change – that is inevitable. And this moment will never come again.

We cherished the time together, and then let it go. I know a man who is doing a blog as he is hiking the Pacific Coast Trail and the other day he wrote this brilliant piece. “If you are still reading my … blog I have some advice for you. Go outside. Go. Explore. More. Often. As soon as possible. As long as possible.” And I would add to that, “Laugh with friends. Again. Repeat. Take yourself far less seriously. Tell someone you love them. Today. Again.”

Peace and all good things.