Galloping Horse Blog

This morning—as often happens—I felt Spirit’s presence in the sun’s rise into a beautiful morning sky.

It reminded me that life is not about all the incredibly unbelievable events going on in the world today. It is about the simple beauty of a quiet morning sunrise

the birds I’m hearing and the music I’m listening to as I write this. I am so very grateful for God’s presence in my life—especially during these strange days now. To be reminded that life is not about all this drama. It is about the simple pleasures . . . the beauty of nature, the love and connection of wonderful people in my life, and the inspiration of folks doing simple, yet powerful feats on our planet. And . . . I am grateful to the incredible human being I live and share my life with.I am grateful  . . . for Spirit always reminding me of the simple pleasures—the beauty in my life  . . . every day.

Today I’m feeling grateful. Glad that I enjoy my own company and being with myself. My partner Steve has been spending a lot of his time helping at our local food bank. Not only do they have less volunteers, there is less food being donated from grocery stores—yet more people in need of help right now. As for me, I’m spending my mornings walking above a marsh area along the Salt River at Tempe Marketplace. (There’s rarely anyone else, aside from an occasional bike rider or someone walking their dog—all of us, of course, keeping our distance.)

 

I get my exercise but I mostly enjoy watching the birds.

 

They have no idea—and wouldn’t care anyway—what’s happening in the world. They just continue to go about their business—it’s the spring mating season and they’re quite busy.

 

 

 

After my walk I spend a couple of hours weeding our Escalante Community Garden (and, with the rains we’ve had, there’s plenty to keep me busy). There is rarely anyone there so I essentially have the place to myself.  Me . . . the birds, the veggies and the flowers. It’s exquisitely quiet, peaceful and very beautiful.

But there are many people right now having such a hard time and feeling very isolated. This time on the planet is very surreal. My prayer is that some good — some healing — for the planet will come of this. 

I’m doing my usual: walking, gardening, reading — just being grateful for my life. But so many others are having some very big challenges. Many places are closing. Many people and businesses are effected. No more volunteering at a the Desert Botanical Garden where we do tours. Sadly, it has closed its doors. Xanterra, the concessionaire in Yellowstone where we do tours every summer, has shut down all operations through May 21st. So no returning to Yellowstone to do tours this summer—for now.   

Our last Sunday at the Botanical Garden was very strange, tours and discovery stations had already been shut down. We had gone anyway because we wanted to be able to answer any visitor questions—keeping our distance, but still helping in whatever way we could. It was weird having to keep our distance. (I don’t know why this is called “social” distancing; I’m way too social to keep a distance.) We decided we enjoy interacting with folks too much for this “social” distancing. We weren’t surprised when the email arrived that they had made the difficult decision to close the Desert Botanical Garden—for the first time since World World II.

Hopefully all of this isolation from each other will keep the virus from spreading more. My prayer is that everyone realizes how important the people are in our lives. Yes, the things we’re ordinarily able to do, we can’t. More importantly—hopefully we’ll really grasp how precious everyone in our lives is to us. This is impacting so many people in so many ways we’ve never had to deal with before. 

My friend Tyrene posted the music video from 1985, “We Are the World” on Facebook. It really touched me. I was bawling. So many thoughts of how, not only had we lost some of the performers in that video, but also how very appropriate it is today. We ARE the world and we need to come together—not just to keep from getting sick ourselves, but possibly helping someone else from getting sick. 

The Corona Virus is having a major impact on many people. There are many that really need that paycheck they’re probably losing right now. They’ve got bills. They’ve got kids to feed. There are many very fearful people on the planet right now. 

For me, today, I’m grateful to enjoy the little things in life: going for a walk, siting in my yard watching the birds, weeding the garden, and reading. It’s forcing me to notice, and enjoy, what I have and who I have in my life right now. It makes me realize how very grateful I am. I keep reminding myself this isn’t forever. My prayer is that more good than anything will come of all of this. I’m just trying to pay attention to all the little things that bring me joy and be grateful. 

It’s some strange times we’re in right now that’s for sure. But if I can become a better, more peaceful, more grateful person out of all this weirdness, I’ll be glad for that. This too shall pass. I’m going to use this extra time I’ll have here at home this spring and look forward to returning to Yellowstone either later this spring—or next year. We’ll see how it goes. I just want to fully appreciate wherever I am. Thankful.

I’m in a “Botanical Collage” class at the Desert Botanical Garden. It’s a beautiful sunny day. I’m inspired. The room is full of other enthusiastic participants and, most especially, we’re having fun!

I decided to take this class—practically any art/writing-related class—hoping to spark confidence in my own creativity. I had been looking for inspiration to write more often . . . and, most especially, more nature journaling.

Similar to a personal journal, a nature journal is a place to record observations in nature. The nature journal will usually include a diagram or drawing of what you’re seeing.

And therein is my “dilemma.” I’m a good observer and inquisitive about so many things—which is why I’m drawn to nature journaling—but I’ve been letting my intimidation of my drawing ability inhibit me from doing more nature journaling.

I had earlier signed up to do a 10-week writing class. I was excited. It would be a way to make sure I set aside time each week specifically to write—with others. The day before the class was to start it was cancelled. Bummer!

That afternoon I realized something important: once I’d made the commitment to go to that class and put down my money, I had essentially “started” the class. Since that “Commitment Day,” I had already gotten back into my daily writing—my three “Morning Pages” (from Julia Cameron’s book, The Artist’s Way). I had also signed up for the “Botanical Collage” and “Nature Journaling with Watercolors” classes at the Desert Botanical Garden where I volunteer as a Docent. So . . . I was doing it anyway!

Most of the time I just start doing it—whatever it might be—until I take on something that’s a bit more intimating. My past M.O.—when faced with that something I’m feeling less-than-adequate to tackle: I’ll think endlessly about it; I’ll read about it; I’ll watch videos about it; I’ll talk about it. Certainly not the doing of it. Whether learning to rock climb or finishing my Master’s thesis. I’ll put it off. Procrastination by intimidation! But boy do I prepare. And prepare. God. The preparing. Until, finally, there’s something—or someone—that inspires me to push through the fear of “I can’t” . . . and I’ll just do it!

So, here I am, in the Botanical Collage class, and I am excited. I’m encouraged and enthusiastic . . . just being creative, and with others that want to learn and be encouraged as well. In an environment with others—and being inspired by that catalyst (teacher, another “student,” a friend, my partner)—I’ll jump in with all fours and enjoy myself. But if I’m intimidated, I’ll usually procrastinate—if I’m trying to do it alone. Yes, writing is an individual activity you do by yourself—but sometimes, to get going, and with more enthusiasm, it’s helpful to be with others doing that same thing. 

So today—in this class—I’m enjoying just creating my botanical collage. I like how it turned out.  I’ll keep doing whatever it takes to keep myself involved with art, with writing, with creativity. It all makes me feel alive, happy and enthusiastic. It’s fun too!

 

The Lady in the Leaf
She sees me.
She looks over and cares for my plant.
She brings wisdom. She sees all.
She’s green. She’s subdued but stands out.
She’s the watch keeper.

The pot is the sunlit sky of morning.
Perhaps the evening sky?
The blue of the sky.
The orange of the sunrise—or sunset?
Sunlight brings life to my plant. My aloe.

My plant rests on words of a page.
“Green Manure.” “Fungus.”
Most others “poo-pooed” (that’s a pun!)        these pages.
For me, soil–and how it’s made–
seems appropriate for my potted aloe plant.

One single yellow leaf with the words “Grow,” “Grow.”
Leaves made of sky, mountains, water.
Leaves made of saguaro and prickly pear pads.
It’s all perfect for my living plant to “Grow,” to “Grow.”

Its fellow saguaro and prickly pear encourages its growth
With protection? As examples?

And the Lady in the Leaf continues her watchful wise gaze on all.

 

A few more days and we head back to Yellowstone. With all that happens here in summer, leaving Arizona and our Sonoran Desert home is bittersweet.

I’ll miss my quiet early-morning walks at the Desert Botanical Garden. The silence before visitors arrive. There is a hush, except—if you listen for it—
the sound of a Verdin in the bush . . .

a lizard scurrying through the leaves . . . a Thrasher probing around the rocks for a morsel . . . or a little ground squirrel after seeds in the shrubs.

My greatest joy in doing our tours at the Botanical Garden is to watch as the “light” goes on when folks move from seeing this Desert as a barren, brown, hot environment to one of abundance and incredible array of different shades of greens, soft grays, yellows. I’ll miss that eye-opening moment when a visitor begins to glimpse just how special the Sonoran Desert really is. This Desert, with its unique plant and animal adaptations, has evolved over eons to deal with its low amounts of water, its aridity and those fluctuating temperatures. Such distinctive ways plants and critters have adapted to obtain and hold onto life-giving water.

I’ll miss the drama of our totally awe-inspiring sky as the monsoon storms begin arriving. What a joy to behold the monsoon season with its ferocious storms dumping so much water from the sky in such a short period. Those dramatic storms with their incredible winds of dust originating from eroded mountains of thousands of years ago. Yes, it gets hot, but that heat and dryness is what brings those revitalizing summer rains.

I’ll miss the burst of life that so quickly comes within such an amazingly short time after the rains arrive. How the Ocotillo will go from looking like a bunch of dead sticks to bursting out with the characteristic small leaves of desert plants. The ways plants and critters obtain and hold onto that water never ceases to amaze. Those small leaves hold onto the water and, in the creosote bush, a resinous coating around each leaf locks in moisture. The amazing tough outer cuticle of cactus reminds me of a cucumber. The expanding pleats of the saguaro keep it from bursting as it rapidly drinks up water—whenever it comes.

The fascinating desert creatures have their own adaptations to living in the Sonoran Desert. The little kangaroo rat and pocket mouse don’t need to drink water because they receive all the moisture they require from the seeds they eat.

I’m captivated by how the spadefoot toads dig down into the ground and sleep until awakened upon hearing the pounding of the desert monsoon storm as the rains of summer begin. They wake up, dig their way out, and begin to mate and make babies before the waters once again evaporate to nothing. As the temperatures sore, our desert birds have their own ways of keeping cool. They don’t sweat like we do but open their mouths and “flutter” their neck muscles.

 

This helps them lose heat, making them look like they’re panting.

 

 

 

Yes, I’ll miss my Sonoran Desert home. But I’ll be returning to my Yellowstone summer home and tribe. Those of us who keep coming back to the amazing and totally different environment of our country’s very first National Park, those craggy mountains of the Rockies, and the critters that have also adapted to another unique environment—the thermal areas of Yellowstone.

I live in another totally different kind of environment in the summer and return to yet another unique and different type of habitat for winter. I look forward to returning to both places. They are so totally different and unique in all the world. And I’m blessed to be able to turn folks onto the the wonders both offer.

I am mesmerized by Ospreys.  They are . . . well,  fascinating.

A fish-eating bird, sometimes called a fish hawk, Ospreys are large chocolate brown and white raptors with yellow eyes and distinct appearance.

 

 

 

Their wings form an M-shape as they glide or hover over water looking for fish.

 

Early one spring morning, I was wandering along a riparian marsh in the Phoenix area looking for birds—or whatever else might come along. I had been watching one particular Osprey.

With talons extended, it suddenly plunged into the water, rising up triumphantly grasping a fish and flying away! I was frozen in place, totally awe-struck. It is astounding that this bird can plunge, feet-first, down more than three feet into the water, catch a fish, then be able to get back up into the air and fly away with its meal.

These are Ospreys in the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone. Every year I enjoy watching them once again rebuild their massive nests, sit on eggs, bring food for chicks, and finally the fledged young (leave their nest).

 

This nest near Lamar Valley is also rebuilt every year by Ospreys. It is thrilling  to watch this particular nest as it is near the road and guests on my tours can easily observe them.

 

My first time visiting Yellowstone National Park, my partner Steve and I were at Grand Geyser with hundreds of others waiting for it to erupt. There we were, this “mass of humanity” sitting on the benches waiting. Watching. Waiting. All but me. 

I was sitting totally the opposite direction of everyone else busy watching an Osprey cruising along the Firehole River. Occasionally it would hover in one spot, watching, suddenly diving down into the river after a fish. Steve caught me on camera—once again mesmerized by another Osprey.  It’s now the masthead photo on my blog.

Tomorrow marks six weeks until, once again, we head back up to Yellowstone National Park. Time to begin preparations for our annual migration. My partner Steve and I are tour guides in Yellowstone every summer, driving visitors around the Park to learn about this amazing place we call home every summer.

 

 

 

 

 

 

As I observe the different birds migrating through Arizona on their way north, I’m thinking how I’ll watch them once again in Yellowstone. It reminds me of how we now have our own annual migration.

 

We get to enjoy our beautiful Arizona winter and, now, spring with all the incredible wildflower blooms.

As our wildflowers here in Arizona begin to fade, upon our migration north we enjoy spring wildflowers once again all the way up. 

When we arrive finally in Yellowstone there is much snow and Yellowstone Lake is still frozen. But the spring thaw, melt off and green up begins immediately. From early spring wildflower blooms, through to summer flowers and, then, by late September Yellowstone grasses once again begin to brown up, often covered with a blanket of snow. By the time we begin our migration south at the end of September, many of the birds have already begun their southern migration. 

I enjoy the time I spend here in Arizona in the winter, preparing for the busy summers in Yellowstone. Winter is a time for rest and regrouping. Similar to our birds, I’m storing up my energy, preparing myself for the coming time of change. I’m preparing for “nesting” in Yellowstone in making sure I’m healthy and prepared for the rigorous summer ahead. There are long days of work sometimes, yes, but it is worth it. I get to LIVE in Yellowstone National Park for five months every summer! 

I look forward once again to my early morning walk over to the Old Faithful Village for breakfast, often watching the Old Faithful geyser erupt through the trees with the early morning sun rising through the mist. I end my days walking home from our vehicle bus barn to our dormitory room, either with an incredible sunset or, sometimes, late evenings with millions of stars overhead. 

I look forward to the “chores” of our migration (thankfully we have six more weeks to prepare). I’m looking forward once again to our annual migration to the far north and reuniting with friends—many of whom have just finished working the winter season as well. The Park is currently closed to most over-the-road travel but preparation begins soon for our summer season. 

The migratory birds here in Arizona are spending a short time feeding and resting up as they continue their travels north. Similarly, I’m resting and feeding my soul with thoughts of another summer season in our country’s first National Park. I look forward to the preparation: what is needed for our absence, what to take, what to read in re-familiarizing myself for a totally different environment. We migrate from the low Sonoran Desert, where we spend our winters, to the high Rocky Mountains and thermal areas of Yellowstone. It’s a preparation I look forward to while enjoying our wonderful Arizona springtime, thinking of spring in Yellowstone. Its a migratory life I lead now. It won’t always be that way. But, for now, I enjoy this life I lead while I can.

Valentine’s Day
February 14, 2019

Dear Yellowstone:

What is it about you that started this love affair, and keeps drawing me back to you?

Was it the first time I watched the wolves and their pups at Slough Creek? I remember the tears as I looked through that spotting scope. Those wolves seemed almost right there. That was the first time I watched wolves NOT in a movie, on television or in a photograph. This was real. It was alive and raw.  Observing the yearlings playing with the new pups, watching as those little guys tumbled over each other, falling down the little rise from their den, I remember thinking . . . this is how it should be.

Perhaps I fell in love with you as I watched the old bison matriarch lead the other moms with all the new calves down to the Lamar River. It was time for them to learn to swim.

I laughed as so many of the calves seemed to have this look of “Ahhh, maybe not!” as they turned from going in, right at the water’s edge.

I loved watching them—one-by-one—make the commitment, with coaxing from the moms, to go down into the water. I recall my fear for some as they were swiftly carried downstream in the fast-moving water. I was so excited to see their obvious joy as they finally got a foothold after “bison paddling” to reach higher ground, then running back to the moms, kicking up their back legs, as if to say “I did it! I did it!”

Possibly it was as I listened to the Meadowlark making his way around his territory telling all that it is his.

Maybe it was the early morning fog and the sun rising through the mist as I watched the lone Bald Eagle in the tall tree across the river.

Watching.

Is it the magic of the brief growing season, as it moves from the brown grass and white snow . . .into the lush green valleys of spring. Then, to the fields of wildflowers everywhere in summer. 

Returning once again to brown grasses as I leave at the end of September.

Perhaps I fell in love with you the first time I walked up Observation Hill. I remember looking down on the Old Faithful Geyser going off, hearing the hand-clapping and raucous cheers of the crowds gathered from all over the world.

Possibly it was as I made my way across the hill, through the forest in the early morning quiet. I recall the only sound being the birds and critters of the forest, along with the sound of the breeze in the pines. I laughed as the little Red Squirrel ran all the way across the downed log right up to me—scolding me all the way—for being in “his” forest.

Perhaps I fell in love with you upon entering for the first time that “Sentinel of the Valley,” the Old Faithful Inn.

Now I love watching as other first-time visitors’ mouths drop as they look up, up, up the seven stories of the Inn. I love the joy I feel as I see their amazement when I explain that this astounding feat of engineering and architecture, this beautiful old building, is over 114 years old.

 

 

 

 

What draws me back to you?

A big part of it is being reunited with the “family” of friends and co-workers who obviously love this amazing place as much as I do.

I’m not quite sure what draws me back to you, but I do know this. On any given day, something magical and extraordinary always seems to appear that intrigues me.

I fall in love with you again every morning as I see Old Faithful going off through the trees walking over to breakfast in the Village. Watching as the sun rises through the mist with my heart feeling so full it could burst with joy and the overwhelming feeling of how blessed I am to LIVE in Yellowstone National Park for five months every summer.

 

As I stand in the foyer of the massive structure known as the Old Faithful Inn talking  quietly with the first visitors of the day starting to gather, I wonder how this day will unfold.  These are the first of the crowds that come each day for the four tours of the iconic old building. Many more visitors will come though to see for themselves the building that sits adjacent to the famous Old Faithful Geyser in Yellowstone National Park. This is a special day for me. Today is September 7, 2018 and it is 30 years—to the day—that we almost lost the Old Faithful Inn.

Chatting with these early-morning visitors before the first tour begins, I remember the first day I visited this fascinating building, only five years prior. I recall the sense of majesty I felt. It was as though she were speaking directly to me.

But on September 7th, 1988, she almost lost her voice. That day could have been such a fateful day—not only for the Old Faithful Inn but for the many people from all over the globe that have visited the Inn over the years and fallen in love with it. Fire could have been the end of that historic building.

Forest fires are an inherent part of nature, and Yellowstone has always been a fire-based ecology. Fires are a good thing. They open up the canopy and give new organisms a chance to grow. The fire also releases nutrients back into the soil. 

The summer of 1988 was extremely hot and dry. Lightning is the usual cause of fires. Those fires are observed, and fought only when they come near Park structures. In contrast, the National Park Service fights most human-caused fires. Eleven of the first 18 fires of that season had gone out on their own but, by mid-July, because of the extreme dry conditions, even natural-caused fires were fought. Fire fighting techniques were mostly ineffective.

In July, a careless woodsman in a National Forest west of the Park failed to sufficiently put out his cigarette. That blaze, the North Fork Fire, became the largest in the Park that summer. It progressed north and eastward.

By early September the fire’s southern end got going again and came right into the Old Faithful Village. Then, on September 7th, right up to the iconic Old Faithful Inn. The amazing feats of so many firefighters—as well as Inn staff who refused to leave—keeping water on the Inn and preventing blowing embers from taking hold, kept the Old Faithful Inn safe. It wasn’t until rain and snow finally arrived in mid-September that the advance of the fires was stopped. Over a third of the Park burned that year.

This coming summer of 2019 will mark 115 years the Old Faithful Inn has been standing. Construction of the Inn began in June of 1903. The work of about 50 craftsmen continued through winter, and she opened for business in June of 1904. One year later! An amazing undertaking. The architect was Robert Reamer, 29 years old and primarily self-taught. 

Made of Lodgepole Pine, the Inn rises seven stories—just under 77 feet high. Its massive fireplace is made of—and the Inn itself rests upon—the prolific volcanic Rhyolite rock of Yellowstone. When architects and those in the building industry visit the Inn, they marvel at how Reamer pulled off this incredible feat in the early 1900s without the type of equipment they have available to them in current-day buildings.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The morning of September 7, 2018 had been more emotional for me than I had expected. Had the firefighters been unable to save that beautiful old building in 1988, I would not have the relationship I have with her today. I thought of Karen Reinhart’s book in which she refers to the Inn as the “sentinel guarding the valley below.” I would not have the joy of seeing that beautiful building standing so tall from wherever I am in the Old Faithful Geyser basin. 

Instead, I now enjoy the delight of watching first-time visitors’ reactions as they enter and their eyes go up, up, up to the rafters of the building. I would miss the joy of seeing their mouths drop in complete awe of a building that has stood for over a century.

Tom Swafford plays his fiddle at the Inn July 2018:

Yes, it would have been a terrible loss had the Old Faithful Inn burned that fateful day in the summer of 1988. Most especially, in my heart, I realized that day that I would have never heard her speaking to me and to the many others who visit every summer. Her voice would have been forever silenced. 

I am blessed and privileged to be able to do the Inn tours, but most especially on that particular day in September of 2018—thirty years to the day that we almost lost her. 

 

 

 

 

Further information:

Old Faithful Inn: Crown Jewel of National Park Lodges by Karen Reinhart and Jeff Henry

https://yellowstonegatewaymuseum.org/product/old-faithful-inn-crown-jewel-of-national-park-lodges/

Weaver of Dreams: The Life and Architecture of Robert C. Reamer  by Ruth Quinn    

https://www.amazon.com/Weaver-Dreams-Architecture-Robert-Reamer/dp/0976094517

 

The Old Faithful Inn:

https://www.nps.gov/yell/learn/historyculture/oldfaithfuldistrict.htm

 

The Yellowstone Fires of 1988:

https://www.nps.gov/yell/learn/nature/1988-fires.htm

Just like Willie Nelson’s song, we’re heading out on the road again, looking forward to being with “the best of friends” in our second home, Yellowstone National Park. It’ll now be my third year as a tour guide. As we left our home in Phoenix, Arizona, everything was in full bloom. It’s always hard to leave, but the hotter days are on the way, and I’m yearning to return to Yellowstone . . .  where it’s currently snowing! 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We made our way to Ely, Nevada, home of Dirt the Cat who lives at the Railroad Museum. Dirt lives where the engines are housed (can you tell?!) and keeps the rodents at bay. 

It was fun to see snow on the mountains as we travel farther north.

As we traveled on it was fun to find Pronghorn, which we also see in Yellowstone. These guys are able to eat the abundant sage brush that is most everywhere.

We also found two Golden Eagles as we were traveling up into the Ruby Mountains. Such huge, majestic birds. They were flying fairly nearby but it was difficult to really get a good shot of them. Grateful I was able to obtain the photos that I did!

Outside of Elko, Nevada, we drove up into the beautiful Lamoille Canyon which is a valley carved by a glacier. This was especially fun as Yellowstone’s Lamar and Hayden Valleys were carved by glaciers as well. It was an absolutely beautiful afternoon.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

About an hour outside of Boise we always drive by the historic water wheels in New Plymouth. Originally built in the 1920s, there are maybe only three left in operation. The canals brought water up into the farming community from the Payette River. These water wheels lift the water up and out into the fields. It is always such fun seeing them when we visit family living there.

Then it was on to Boise for another enjoyable visit with more family before finally heading up to Yellowstone. Boise has a terrific Farmer’s Market and it’s such fun to wander through the town. 

While in Boise it’s our tradition to always visit Kathryn Albertson Park and this day did not disappoint. Of course, as always, there was a plethora of Canada Geese.  But it was especially fun this time as there were lots of little goslings everywhere. The Lilac bushes are so incredible to see as they really can’t survive our hot summers in Phoenix.

 

 

 

 

Another day we visited the Foothills Learning Center and went on some nice hikes.

 

 

At the Center there is a wonderful Story Trail that has nature-related children’s books which change each month.

 

 

This month featured the beautiful book, “A Seed is Sleepy” by Dianna Hutts Aston. It is a captivating and quite informative kids’ book, wonderfully illustrated by Sylvia Long.

 

 

 

 

 

 

They also have beautiful artwork . . .

I love mosaic work and especially enjoyed this beautiful piece of work  . . .

The inlaid artwork on this piece was quite fun!

 

While there, we also were able to easily watch some (real) Great Horned Owlets born in the holes of the nearby canyon wall.  Apparently, there is a Belted Kingfisher and an American Kestrel nesting in these cliffs as well. Unfortunately, I was only able to get a glimpse of the Kingfisher but no photo.

 

Even though I always truly enjoy our stay here in Boise, I am certainly looking forward to gettin’  .•*¨*•♫♪  On the Road Again  ♪♫•*¨*•.  returning to our second home. Yellowstone National Park.

I am an avid—insatiable—reader. But have always been baffled as to how in the world I came to enjoy reading so much. Maybe you’ll see why when I tell you my story of learning to read.

I’m feeling quite small, holding onto my dad’s hand walking me down a very long hallway. Quite vivid in my memory is how deathly quiet it is except for the echo of our shoes on the concrete floor. After walking what seemed like forever, we finally came to my new school classroom. Dad was in the Army. We were transferred according to their needs; not our school’s schedule. And school, of course, had already begun.

Dreading actually arriving at the classroom, we are finally standing in the doorway. The entire class is staring at me like I’m some kind of alien creature. Well, actually, I felt like an alien. I didn’t know anyone and was quite sure no one would like me anyway. Can you tell my poor little self’s esteem was not dealing too well with always having to go into new classroom situations every few years? It must have gone alright. Though I have absolutely no recollection of it. Just the sound of our shoes clacking on the floor of that oh-so-very-long hallway.

With all this moving around, I was a shy little girl with not a great sense of myself. I recall most especially the reading circle. I absolutely dreaded reading circle. With chairs in a circle, someone would start. As we would make our way around the circle, each one having to read a part of the book, I was in sheer dread of them finally getting to me. I was absolutely certain I would screw it up!

So there I am again. Everyone looking at me. Just as in the trauma of walking down that very long hallway, that same dreadful feeling of standing in the doorway of my new classroom. My entire world staring at me. Judging me. I was utterly certain I would never measure up. So, by the time it was my turn to read, I was a basket case! Absolute terror. Then, to make matters worse, my teacher would always make a big deal out of the fact that I’d scrunch up my face and lips into these weird contortions when I would come to a word I didn’t know—or know how to pronounce. How I ever got out of that alive is beyond me!

So how did I transition from the trauma of that reading circle so long ago to an such avid reader? As it turns out, I didn’t read much until many years after graduating from high school; I was just glad to be done with school. In my late 20s, I finally had a desire to learn more and return to school for a degree. As I started learning more, I wanted to learn even more—and in many different areas. Learning had become a joy. Mostly I wanted to understand myself, but also understand nature. Many years later I remembered those early hardships of learning to read. I realized it was my yearning to learn more, and to better understand myself and the world I live in, that kept me reading. Now I understand that it was my growing love and desire for learning that let me drop any trauma from those early years. Yes, I wish I was a faster reader and that I retained more from all the many books I read. But I don’t let that stop me from reading—and reading lots. I want to soak it all up like a sponge. So I’ve always got books I’m reading everywhere—and on many different subjects.

The miracle of my passion for reading is awe-inspiring to me and I’m grateful for that love . . . given the absolute trauma I put myself through learning to read. You’d think that, after that kind of start, I’d never want to pick up a book again. But, just the opposite, I would love it if I could read TEN books every day! And to be able to understand and retain it!

I have an incredible—ravenous—desire to learn more. Whether it’s about places, environments and critters, or how different writers share their stories. I am clearly passionate about learning and reading.