Minding the Lakes

In May of 2025, Tyler and I visited Lake Pillsbury, a reservoir in the Mendocino National Forest. When I arrived home, I wrote about meeting a man at the shore of the lake. He was unloading his canoe, but paused to talk to us. He said that he and his wife had been coming to the lake for many years. In the telling he became quiet for a moment and then added that she could no longer join him, but he kept visiting the lake. He suggested that we go see the elk that lived across the lake, and that we did.

In September of this year, we were surprised to discover the beautiful Lake Ewauna in Klamath Falls, OR as we passed through. On our return trip, we stopped at a campsite at Lake Orr. There I talked to a man who said that he had been camping at the lake many times. He assured me that the sites were first come, first served, and that there were no fees because the sites had no water. That is usually not an issue for us because we carry our own. We found our spot and settled in.

That evening Tyler played his Native American flute by the lake. The man, whose name is Jerry, came over to listen. He smiled and said that at first he thought perhaps someone was playing to the lake to call the catfish. He remembered the time when one could fish on the lake, but it is now covered with lilies and other plants. As I mentioned in a previous post, the ducks seemed quite happy with the lake as it is now.

We decided to stay an extra day at the lake.The view of Mt. Shasta was beautiful, and our campsite was very peaceful. Jerry, his wife, and their dog were the only ones in this small campground that was well tended to by the forest service. Even the pit toilets were so clean they seemed luxurious (Camping does alter one's thinking about such things.)

I think of those who come to know the lakes through the years and in various seasons. Their presence gives me hope that the rhythm of the seasons of going and returning can become our own once more, rather than viewing every bit of land as a potential spot for real estate development. In her book, The Serviceberry, Abundance and Reciprocity in the Natural World, Robin Wall Kimmerer writes:

"Many Indigenous Peoples including my Anishinabe relatives and my Haudenosaunee neighbors inherit what is known as 'a culture of gratitude,' where lifeways are organized around recognition and responsibility for earthly gifts, both ceremonial and pragmatic. Our oldest teaching stories remind us that failure to show gratitude dishonors the gift and brings serious consequences. If you dishonor the Beavers by taking too many of them they will leave. If you waste the Corn, you'll go hungry...Recognizing 'enoughness' is a radical act in an economy that is always urging us to consume more."

May we be able to pause and simply gaze upon a mountain, a river, a lake, a tree or whatever bit of nature might be in our view. In that pause, let us give thanks, and include a prayer for those who are tending to, and trying to be mindful of such places. Let us take part in the radical act of unlearning greed and becoming vessels of gratitude. There we will find peace. A peace not just for ourselves, but for all of life.

    

image: "Gathering Around Mt. Shasta", September 2026

Looking and Laughing Beyond

Today I spent about half an hour or so visiting a beloved elder. She is over 100 years old. Every time I see her, she asks the question in one way or another, "Why am I still here?" She and I really can not come up with any solid idea other than she is loved, and she loves, and that love has taught her resilience. She has been practicing resilience her whole long life.

Her stories are often repeated. Her hearing is not great. But today, we just laughed. When she told one of her stories that I have many times, she smiled and then laughed. And I laughed.

This afternoon as I reflect on our time together, I wonder if perhaps her soul is here to teach us all to laugh at old age. Not to mock the elders, but to laugh with them as we turn together and learn to face eternity laughing.     

      

image: Lake Orr, September 2026

Hope

 I woke yesterday morning with this photograph on my mind. It was taken on the shore of Lake Orr in September of this year. I titled it  "Hope" because as soon as I saw the scene from the back of our camper that morning, the word came to mind. I felt then, as I do now, that the gold color just beyond the dark trees beckons us with a promise of warmth and light as the day began. Here, I feel that same beckoning many mornings as I watch the sun rise among pink and salmon colored clouds that move across the eastern sky. The changing light reminds me that the earth is still rotating on its axis. While gravity and I are periodically at odds, it feels good to simply stand in awe at the window. 

I cherish such times of awe. Without those moments of silence and wonder, it is difficult to experience both hope and gratitude. While the following quote is about simplicity, I believe it shows us a path to hope. It is from a book of daily devotions written by Brother Victor-Antoine d'Avila-Latourrette. I have turned to this book many times during the past two decades. He tended to his monastery's kitchen, gardens, and the sheep. He also wrote several books, including cookbooks. He loved to cook soup and to bake bread. He probably did much more while he lived in the monastery. I just read that he passed in in February 2023. He was a monk who paid close attention to each season. It makes sense that he would pass in winter. I am certain he passed in peace.

This book is entitled Blessings of the Daily, a Monastic Book of Days and was published in 2002.  His entry for October 20, "Simplicity Finds a Home in the Daily"  begins with this quote attributed to Jack Kornfield and Christina Feldman: "Simplicity, letting go of opinions and cravings is an act of compassion for ourselves. When we let go of yearnings for the future, preoccupations with the past, and strategies to protect the present,  there is nowhere left to go but where we are. To connect with the present moment is to begin to appreciate the beauty of simplicity."  In other words, when the mind becomes quiet.

I do have to smile now. While in the middle of writing this, I received a text from one of my credit card companies asking if I had made a certain charge. I had not. Yes, that flustered me. I think all is in good order now, but, fraud and theft are frustrating, disappointing, and worrisome. Yet, the warmth of hope still beckons. The present moment offers us much, if we can pause long enough to live into it. Sometimes that takes courage. 

Blessings on your daily comings and goings. Let us continue moving towards hope, watching for the signposts of awe along the way.

A gentle rain is falling this morning. The land has been thirsty, so I am grateful. May all drink deeply and thrive.