To the Library and Beyond

 Yesterday on my way to the dentist, I stopped by the library to donate a bag of books to The Friends of the Library. I was still a little early for my dental appointment, so I decided to peruse the library stacks. The main library is quite close to where we live, but I have managed to completely underuse it all these years. 

As I wandered among the shelves, I felt gratitude for libraries that offer people a safe place to meander, rest, and yes, even read if they want. In my wanderings I was excited to  come across Belden C. Lane's book: Backpacking with the Saints, Wilderness Hiking as Spiritual Practice. It looks to be as good a read as his The Solace of Fierce Landscapes: Exploring Desert and Mountain Spirituality which I read last year and loved.  

The following passage Lane attributes to Chellis Glendinning, "a twentieth-century ecopsychologist living in the high desert of New Mexico":

 

"I had been eating a simple dinner of brown rice and greens on the roof when I felt something occur in my body, something like a door swinging open. Wide open. A golden sun was just setting behind the Jemez Mountains: bursts of orange and pink were shooting like streamers through the fading sky. To my surprise, I was sensing the full-bodied aliveness of every juniper and rock and hawk on the Earth. By the front door to my house I saw, really saw, the tall pinon that I ordinarily brushed by; its needles and cones were bursting with presence, its branches and trunk with consciousness. I had never before communicated directly with it, nor with any other wild being. I saw how foolish I had been. My recovery from western civilization was underway." 

 While I am not familiar with her work and this is my first introduction to the term ecopsychologist, I can certainly imagine this vivid scene. 

Lane considers his solo backpacking trips to be a spiritual practice. While I doubt I would ever go on a solo wilderness trip, and I have no intention of going on our roof to dine, I think I understand something of the healing that our outdoors can give us. Our wild areas, and even our gardens have much to reveal. As do our libraries. Let us re-discover them all.  

    

Image is not of pinon trees, which are native to the Southwest, but rather Central Oregon ponderosas.

A Late Fall Walk

Yesterday, Tyler and I went for a walk at Coyote Point Regional Park in Fremont.  A friend of mine once mentioned to me that the park looks different in every season. I agree. Yesterday, the marsh was almost completely dry, but there were still wet places where birds could gather. Tyler posted that we saw "a bald Eagle, a few thousand ducks and coots, egrets, bushtits, yellow rumped warblers, sparrows, marsh wrens.... so many birds!"  A pretty festive place, but we have yet to see a coyote. Turkeys hang out at the nature center, where people picnic. Their size and shiny plumage leads me to believe they are skilled foragers and engaging guests at a picnic. 

 

As beautiful as the land appeared, and watching the birds go about simply being birds was fascinating, my eyes kept being drawn to the sky by the light and beautiful clouds. I was reminded of the need to keep looking up and beyond. And I need to do that often. I seem to need a sense of horizon. There I find hope.  

   

"The Presence protects us.  

I was brought low, 

and the Presence was there.  

 

Return my soul; 

rest in the embrace of Infinite care.

 

You have delivered my soul from numbing despair, 

my eyes from  weeping, 

my feet from stumbling.   

   

I  will walk in the presence of the One in the lands of life.

I will be faithful." 

    

from Psalm 116

Psalms Ancient Songs for These Times

Rabbi Yael Levy      

  

In her beautiful book of translations and interpretations of the Psalms, Rabbi  Levy writes that her book was arranged as a collage. I find that to be a thoughtful image. She reminds me that God's sacred Presence and Mystery continue to unfold. So, I walk, in faith, in the lands of life, moving to the horizon, looking at the sky, the clouds, the stars, the moon. Do I stumble? Alas, yes. But so far, I have never once fallen out of this beautiful collage. 

      

    

      

       

    

  

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. 

 

     

Keepers of the Lakes, Part 1

 I am a little late in writing a couple of reflections about our camping trip in late September, but there are several images and thoughts that are staying with me. I do want to get them recorded before the memories fade completely. The destination of this trip was Central Oregon, an area I was completely unfamiliar with. Tyler is part of an online group of fellow campers who travel in rigs much like ours. They do two or three gatherings a year, but all in Oregon. On this trip we decided that is probably further than we can commit to driving to on a regular basis. Nonetheless, it was an enjoyable trip, albeit a bit chilly at times. 

The first day of our journey we drove as far as Klamath Falls, Oregon. I was surprised to discover how beautiful the area around Klamath Falls is. We arrived in town quite hungry, and enjoyed a nice restaurant dinner. By then looking for a campsite in the dark seemed daunting. We asked the server if she could recommend a hotel and she directed us to one down the street. She asked where we were headed and when we answered, she added "This is God's country." I was tempted to add, "All country is God's country", but I refrained and simply responded, "Yes, it is very beautiful here."  And it truly is, at least before, as Tyler tells me, the heat of summer or the cold of winter set in. 

We arrived at the hotel and again I was surprised. The hotel sits on a body of water which we learned was Lake Ewauna, the headwaters of the Klamath River. After breakfast the next morning I was keen to walk along the lake before we got back into the truck to head to Central Oregon, which I had just learned is also known as the Oregon Outback. While  so-called complimentary breakfasts can lack interest, at least for the tastebuds, there are usually informative pamphlets to peruse. Nonetheless, as long as the coffee is hot and half and half is provided, I am usually content with tough scrambled eggs with a side of something that includes a bit of something to read. 

The morning was quite cool, but the air and water both seemed to glisten, and many birds were on and around the lake. As we continued to walk, we passed by a man who was tucked into a sleeping bag underneath a ledge probably leftover from an old bridge. At his feet sat a dog who looked to me to be at least part Malinois. The dog was quiet, but very alert; it never took its eyes off of us. We, of course, did not try to engage the dog, choosing instead to respectfully walk by. On our return, we saw the two of them pretty much in their same positions as they had before. Again, the dog carefully watched us, but did not move or bark. I mentioned to Tyler that the dog impressed me with its focus and discipline. He agreed.  

I was delighted to see plovers on the shore. They are quick moving, chatty birds who seem to keep one another continually advised of their movements. I tried to photograph them, but the quality of my one photograph proved to be quite poor. The birds were just too far away and were pretty much the same color as the ground. Plus, they seemed to be much more interested in running around in tandem rather than sitting still. I have always thought of plovers as land birds, but I have learned that they do fly and actually migrate. No wonder they chat and move together in unison. There soon will be many miles to cover.      

Alas, there are other creatures that live close to Lake Ewauna: midges, which are tiny winged insects that also travel enmasse. Fortunately, these were the non-biting variety, but they were everywhere. For the fish and the birds that inhabit the lake and the surrounding area, their presence is probably most welcome, and certainly contribute to the lake's well being, even if we humans flail our arms and complain, which can happen a lot in a hotel parking lot during check out time. Nonetheless, I was once again reminded that this is God's country. There is a balance to be found if we can let it be.

On to the Outback. More to come.

   

Lake Ewauna, Klamath Falls, Oregon

Listening To a Very Large Snake

 I woke this morning from a dream of a snake. A very large snake.  

In the dream, I am with several people. We are by a body of water. I am not sure if it was a lake or an ocean because in the dream we spent most of our time in a building next to the water. We are indeed discussing snakes. Unfortunately, I do not remember much of those conversations. What I do remember is a very large snake kept appearing and would follow me around. Not in a menacing way, but it worried me mainly because I knew nothing about it. 

A woman who was also part of the group walked in holding a white egg. I do know this woman in my waking life, but our paths have not crossed in years. As I pondered the egg, I wondered if the snake might be hungry. I then had a revelation about the snake: it was following us because it simply liked the companionship of humans. It also seemed to be changing color. At first it looked to be a dullish brown, but as the dream progressed, it took on a beautiful green patina.  

A man then walked into the room. He had a clipboard, and he was assigning people in groups to study various things, including some smaller snakes. He looked at me and said that he would like me to work with another man who was standing slightly apart from the others. We were to study the large snake, and I was happy about that. He looked at me and simply said, "I like the work you have done so far." 

I recently read online that snakes grow their entire lives. This continual growth means that they periodically outgrow their skin, so they shed it and leave it behind. I think this dream speaks of transformation and transition. Perhaps the egg symbolizes that there is food for this part of the journey. 

Yesterday was my 74th birthday. I am definitely in the third stage of my life, and I want to stay aware of that. My work with SpiritCare taught me that we should not underestimate the importance of this stage of our lives. This is a time of growth as we assimilate what we have learned over the years. It is also a time of learning to let go of what no longer has meaning for us, and learning to let go even when letting go is incredibly painful.  

Today is the first day of autumn, and yes, the leaves are starting to turn. Last night's sky filled with clouds that gave the Waxing Gibbous moon a beautiful halo. The view out our small window at the top of the stairs revealed a view of the mystery that autumn always seems to usher in. 

Blessings to you all, whatever season you may be finding yourself. Do take care and listen to your beautiful souls. 

       

image: February 2026 I have no photographs of snakes. I simply like this photograph.