montana

I hear Montana is Big Sky country.

---

Now, I’ve only been there twice – last May and last week – and both were work-related trips with limited time to explore. But I am grateful that on the latest of these, we stayed in the Flathead National Forest for two nights and actually experienced the resources in both the national forest and Glacier National Park.

These are some photos from last Wednesday, Thursday, and the drive out on Friday…

::Glacier National Park Entrance in Polebridge, Montana::

::Looking into Glacier NP along the Flathead River, Flathead National Forest, Montana::

::Kintla Lake Cabin, Glacier National Park::

::Views along the trail to Kintla Lake, Glacier National Park::

::Kintla Lake & a view into Canada, Glacier National Park::

::Lakeside Reflections, Glacier National Park::

::Crossing the Middle Fork of the Flathead River::

::Wurtz Homestead, Flathead National Forest::

::Wurtz Cabin, Flathead National Forest::

transition

Moving is process. It has tangible and intangible components, for sure. And for me, it’s a process not just physically – sorting belongings, packing boxes, shoving the leftover randomness into packs, shopping bags, and cars – but emotionally.

As we move into our new home, I’m sorting through a lot of thoughts, emotions, and belongings. And with it, comes the reminiscing…mostly during the summer of 2009 when this place spoke to my soul and took a never-ending hold on my heart. This place and what it offers reaches me in a way very few places can…

Enjoy a look back into why I fell in love with Colorado and why you should probably get outside this weekend.

rY

accepting loss

I had a conversation on Friday that I did not want to have.

---

Nearly three weeks ago, I was body-deep in Colorado sunshine (but wishing for more snow), enduring a grueling skin into the North Pole hut in the San Juan mountains (see photos in winter is back).

I thought that was pain. I thought that was suffering. I even believed that those 14 miles were my battle for the next few days.

When we arrived at the hut, I was so exhausted yet ecstatic about finally getting there. In an odd fit of reconnecting my disconnectedness to the busy world, I thought it would be fun to call the wildest woman in my life: Marla (my mother).

I love this woman more than words can describe

She’s my mother. She’s the kind of crazy a daughter needs in her life. And…she answered.

---

Prior to calling her – when I turned “airplane mode” off on my phone – I didn’t realize voicemail messages were waiting for me…

phone ringing..surprisingly! We were miles deep in the San Juans and looking through a hut window into the wilderness area. 

Me: HEY! I’m in the middle of nowhere and I actually have SERVICE!

Marla: Have you talked to your father?

Me: What? No…What’s wrong?

Marla: Call your father.

Me: What happened? Is he ok?

Marla: He’s fine. It’s your Aunt.

I knew what was about to come next…

---

When that weekend ended, I drove to Denver and boarded a plane for California. I spent a week in some of the most beautiful and inspiring country I have ever experienced (exhausting..empowering). The granite, the giant trees, the smell of pine along one of the steepest trails I have ever traveled…it was breathtaking (literally).

It was a week filled with non-stop work until Friday afternoon, when I could finally embrace the place I was in and explore a small percentage of it on my own. But my mind kept taking me back to that phone call.

---

When I returned home, I was welcomed by a Frontrange to SLV snow storm (winter is back). I was exhausted and knew the work week would begin in another 24 hours. I told myself I should, but I couldn’t pick up the phone to call my family. Sunday came and went and suddenly, Friday was upon me.

As the phone rang, I almost hoped the answering machine would pick it up & then…I heard the voice of my uncle on the other end.

Some thirty minutes later, I came to a hard and sudden realization:

 I didn’t want to make that phone call because I didn’t want to accept that this loss was real.

I didn’t want to accept that my father lost his sister, that my cousin lost his mother, or that my uncle would now need to embrace a new normal – one that would be vastly different from that of the past 40 years of his life.

Though difficult news is hard to swallow, I am grateful for the minimal cell reception that day in the mountains. And I am even more grateful that I made this call two weeks later.

We lost an amazing woman and in the days since her death, a flood of memories has rushed into my mind. I’ve shared stories, cried, sat in silence with myself, others, and the wilderness. She wasn’t my mother. She wasn’t my sister. And she was not, unfortunately, a part of my daily life. But she was and will always be my aunt: a woman that had a profound effect on my life as a young girl.

---

When a loved one is lost prematurely, we are reminded of the fragility of life, and that realization stays with each and everyone one of us until our own lives end.

exhausting..empowering

It has been far too long since I’ve posted…

---

Perhaps it was the “romantic” (if that’s what you call a 45+ pound pack and grueling frozen skin track to out weekend hut) getaway we took a few weeks ago to celebrate love, endurance, and Colorado sunshine?

I suppose it could also be the packing and re-packing of boxes, books, gear and more as we prepare for life in a new home.

Or, maybe the week of work and exploration at Yosemite?..

Whatever the reason, I apologize to myself (maybe to all of you that read this as well..though, I’m not sure if you follow these words regularly…just know that I do appreciate you and any visit you may make to this blog).

My first week in Yosemite was Powerful. This place is thought-provoking. It is awe-inspiring. This world within and surrounding the granite and bark is power and peace, beautiful life, beautiful loss, challenge and ease. It is a reminder of what was and hints at what could be…

I am amazed by the power a place can possess as it provides an opportunity to walk among giants.

scale

In response to The Daily Post’s weekly photo challenge: “Scale.”

When I moved from Pennsylvania to Colorado, I was reminded of just how big this small world can truly be…For this week’s challenge of scale, I’d like to share a photograph from a few days after we arrived in the San Luis Valley.

::Emma at the Dunes (November 2014)::

The dunes at Great Sand Dunes National Park appear to be foothills from across the valley. But standing next to these shifting sands make them appear larger than life. Our blue heeler, Emma, didn’t let that stop her from exploring full throttle.

depth

In response to The Daily Post’s weekly photo challenge: “Depth.”

Since it’s Friday, I’m going to flash it on back to 2004 with some B&W shots I printed in my early days…not the best quality, but I think they speak to Depth quite well. I loved these images…

livin’ the life…

This evening I read a blog post on The Big Outside. I always love reading Michael Lanza‘s work…it’s inspiring, informative, and his writing allows the reader to join in the adventure. After finishing posts, I tend to reminisce about past trips and dream of future excursions…but this one was different. As my mind flashed images of parks and trails I’ve visited and ramblings through mountains and along creeks, one trip in particular kept pushing the others to the side.

---

It was 2009. I was preparing to graduate from my undergraduate program – pending one last assignment: an internship.

Over the previous three years, I had worked each late spring through early fall as a seasonal Park Ranger with the National Park Service. Starting as a lowly fee collector, I landed my “dream job” two summers later in the Interpretation & Education Division.
::Ranger’ing about at Delaware Water Gap NRA (Pennsylvania/New Jersey 2008)::

Since this final semester was mandatory for graduation and encouraged challenging yourself and who you wanted to be in life, I took a bold and brave step: I left the place that inspired my passion for an agency, natural history education, and so many other aspects of who I was to to embark on a journey I only dreamt of: Colorado – a place I only imagined visiting not living!

So, I packed my ’98 Jetta and headed west – with ice cream, I’m sure.

::Jetta love (Pennsylvania 2008)::

Colorado welcomed me with open arms, well…more like big skies, tall trees, and more public land than I ever imaged possible. I moved into a 1-room cabin in Summit County, worked long days, long nights, and weekends, but still found time to travel north to points outside Steamboat Springs and eventually a little further west to my first western park: Arches National Park.

::View of Greys from Toreys – the Sister Peaks (Colorado 2009)::

::Mad Creek (Colorado 2009)::

::Fire-side in Routt NF (Colorado 2009)::

::Three Penguins in Arches NP (Utah 2009)::

::Unknown Arch (Utah 2009)::

::Tall Arch (Utah 2009)::

::Rapelling Dragonfly Canyon (Utah 2009)::

---

The job I held was likely one of the most challenging experiences of my young adult life. I moved into a completely foreign environment where I was responsible for other people – not just myself, but groups of some of the raddest kids I had met in my life. It was powerful. To say the least.

It was my job to lead this youngsters in outdoor pursuits while teaching them a little bit about the world they were walking, paddling, and climbing through..about the stars they slept beneath, and about the respect and appreciation we owe it all. Stewardship.

  
::Summer of Sol (Colorado 2009)::

For a long time, I thought I knew who I was and what I wanted. But after that summer, something changed. I left Colorado reluctantly – as I mentioned in a previous post – and found myself bouncing around Pennsylvania and Maryland for a few years, but each time I watched that eastern sun sink into the western sky, I felt a tug on my soul.

If you have read other posts on this blog, you know what happened five years later…

---

Tonight, my mother-in-law mentioned how we’re “livin’ the life” out here…I think she’s right. We’re living the life we sought, but weren’t quite sure where to find it. Now I’m back with the agency that opened my eyes to so many things back when I was just a kid (a younger kid than I am now, that is). So go out, live that life you want to live, even if you don’t quite know how to do it. My dad always told me life is the longest thing you’ll ever do. We might as well make a good go of it, huh?

With that, I’ll leave you with this:

Adventure On…

rY.

a gradual close

::Miss Emma waits at the trailhead::

::Tasha & Mr. Noah in Elephant Rocks, BLM lands near Del Norte::

::Chaos::

::Moose leads the pack up Big Meadows, USFS lands near South Fork::

drawn

Feeling pulled to the wilderness today.

The weekend has begun and after four days of screen time, spreadsheets, email, documents…I need fresh air. I am drawn to the hills by a force greater than myself.

thanks

Last night, warmed by the heat of the wood stove, I sipped peppermint tea and awaited one more trip to the city. My mind could not be any further away from the bustling metropolis…thoughts of epic mountain passes, powdery snowflakes, ice cold beers and good friends…

But the “real” world called: DC-bound. Of course, this morning, my flight was canceled.

So, instead of hustling out the door for one more airport run, I did what I always do: worked from the old Black Forest German table that has been handed down from my parents, to my sister, to me. I sat and I worked and tonight, I still can not get my mind off what is to come as I think about what has been.

I am welcoming winter with open arms. For all its chill, this time of year warms my heart and pushes me to explore in a new way. Explore not just places, but my own mind, my own beliefs and what I value in a season. In my profession, I talk about phenology a lot – the timing of events in the natural world (you know, seasonal stuff like when flowers bloom, leaves change color, birds migrate…the list goes on) – and I have realized that moving to a new place challenges you to learn the “new normal”. Apparently, exploring the hills in November is “normal” in these parts. And, as new residents of this state, Sam and I decided to go with it and explore the mountains for his birthday. We slept in cars, drove tractors, embraced the burn of a 4-brush pile bonfire, and gave thanks for the lives we get to live at this year’s Thanksgiving with friends up north.

I look forward to learning the new annual events in this place. And if each year, during the last weekend of November, we can fire up a tractor, ski a mountain pass, or sit around the table with delicious food and good friends and loved ones, I think I will be okay.

We celebrate anniversaries, new life, life lost, the first snowfall, the first peeps of spring frog calls, the longest and shortest days…but of all the annual events, we should also remember to celebrate each and every day and the people you get to spend them with. Get outside, go walk, ride, scoot, sit. I’m not picky…just get outside.

rY.

perspective

I am a lover of topography. Rolling hills, towering mountains, it does not matter. But something has changed…

I was raised in the rolling valleys of Pennsylvania. PA was my life blood, the place I called Home, and in many ways, will always be. Growing up in the north – with a mother from the south, a father whom I occasionally mistake for Jimmy Buffet, and two siblings who would choose sand over any other earthen matter – we would travel to southern shores on an annual (or more) basis.

When I hit my mid-teens, the thought of wearing a bathing suit terrified me.  My preference: layers upon layers upon layers of anything that would cover my body, and the faster winter set it, the better. When I got over the self image issue, the heat and humidity still hung heavily over my winter-filled heart. My decision was final: Mountains.

After a short stint in the central Colorado high country in 2009, the east called me back. Well, a boy headed east called me back, if we are going to be honest with ourselves. From New Jersey to Pennsylvania and finally coastal Maryland: the Eastern Shore. I lived on the coast for two l o n g years. Twenty four of the longest months of my life. One hundred and four of the most get-me-out-of-here weeks you could ever imagine.

So, to make an incredibly long, eventful, and emotion-packed story short: we left.

Forward to November 2014…
I am lucky enough to work for one of the greatest land management agencies in the federal government: the National Park Service. My job takes me all over the country and to some amazing places. This week, I spent four days on the outer banks of North Carolina at Cape Hatteras National Seashore.

In all honesty, I was not excited to go to NC or the coast. Thoughts of humidity and sand were almost too much to bare. But then, I talked to my mother…

You may not know this woman, but if you met her, you would quickly understand the whirlwind that is: Marla. She is a force and I love her every day for it. As my mind and body felt the stress of work travel, my phone rang.

Me: hey mom…
Marla: video chat me when you can!
Me: i am super busy with work…not really sure when ill be able to. but i will.
Marla: you know youre visiting your grandmother out there.

Me: silence

As I watched the sun set to my back and the waves break at my bare feet, with no one else around, I was reminded of just how grateful I should be for every moment in every place no matter what the scene may be. My mother gave me a new perspective on the land, the sea, and life.

I thanked the grandmother that I never had a chance to meet.

rY.

what draws you in (or out)

I have been dreaming about escaping into the wilderness since we arrived.

Five years ago, I got my first taste, and I have been craving it ever since…it draws me back, my soul, my body. To be the only person for miles, to hear nothing but rustling branches, wild calls in the distance, the howling wind; to watch the night encompass the world around you.

One more week.

inspiration

For as long as I can remember, I have been inspired by the world around me – nature, my family, my husband…it wasn’t the words I read that were written by others or films I watched created by people I didn’t know (though these too have a place in my heart), it was the life I was living at any given moment. And with eight days into my twenty-eighth year in this world, I am no different.

Six days ago, I moved into a home in what feels like the middle of nowhere – the San Luis Valley – and I love it because this, too, inspires me. A 1909 farmhouse overlooking a high alpine desert. Inspirational, right? It inspires me because it is a giant leap from what my “normal” was a mere week ago. Just nine days ago, I was nestled in a cozy house on a 26 acre horse farm in central Pennsylvania: Home. I was surrounded by familiarity; familiarity which never ceased to inspire: maple trees and Eastern Hemlocks, meandering creeks like Slab Cabin Run filled to the gills with stubborn trout, Red-tailed hawks and Blue Jays, Musser Gap in Rothrock State Forest and the seemingly never-ending Appalachians rolling into the horizon.

Today, I rest in unfamiliarity, but I am still surrounded by inspiration. Today, I miss my friends, I miss having a community of people to explore with, eat with, drink with, celebrate with. The sadness that comes from missing these things makes me think about regret and I believe the only regrets we may have in life are those from inaction – the what if’s. What if we didn’t move here? What if Sam said no to this job? What if we didn’t leave the people and places we love to explore for new opportunities? I guess we may never know – but that’s the best part. What I do know is yes, I miss a lot of things about where I am from, but I’m ready for the challenge of this new place and the inspiration that may come with it.

As my forester of a husband travels across the state, it is my responsibility to hold down the fort – to feed the dogs (to feed myself), mind the house, unpack our belongings, clean up, to…explore? I hope so.

-rY.

    sam hiking badlands wilderness at badlands national park (wall, south dakota)

   bison resting along sage creek road in badlands national park (wall, south dakota)

      two generations of bison at badlands national park (wall, south dakota)

      big horn sheep in rio grande national forest (creede, colorado)

Elephant Rocks

I am slowly learning this place. 

We Made It.

2200 Miles. 7 states. 2 cattle dogs. and 2 fully loaded vehicles later…

Camping on the grasslands

Pack::up

Sunset on the Moose.

the only constant is change

Over the last few years, I have found myself attempting to actively blog without much success. I must admit, when not traveling or exploring the outdoors, I stare at a screen for nearly 9 hours a day, 4 to 5 days a week – and that is just for work. Screens can be exhausting. Typing can be painful. But change, as it goes, is coming.

I have kept a written journal for as long as I can remember: My family encouraged writing down my thoughts, my college studies supported it, and so it became a lifelong activity for me – not really a “well, I guess I need to write ‘this’ or ‘that’ down”, but more an instinct. Memories fade…words and images remind us of our experiences when our minds are too full or busy. These same words and images flash me back to chapters and moments of my life, the way the smell of dry leaves brings up childhood memories of leave hopping with my siblings. While they hold deeper, personal meaning – they also share my life with those that are not able to experience it with me.

This is the very reason I have decided to re-engage with this whole blogging experience: I want to stay connected to family and friends in as many ways possible as I move across the country.

So, as I kick my feet up during a gray middle-PA lunch break, I invite you to see the world through my lens. Stop by and stay a while, or just check in when your Instagram or Facebook pages are neglecting your needs – hopefully the words and images shared on here will give at least a quick glimpse of the way I enjoy living life (and even more so, inspire you to get outside, too).

.ry.