Down to the Bottom and All the Way Back Up

Don't wait.

View of South Kaibab Trail from above.

Even if the idea seems crazy...

Trail at Phantom Ranch.

... and the path seems long

Moon Rise at the bottom of the Canyon.

... and the way seems dark

Farmer Dan - halfway out of the Canyon on Bright Angel Trail.

... and the going will be hard, hot and out of your comfort zone. 

View of Bright Angel Trail from the top!

You will make it to the top, and it will fill you with a confidence that you didn't know you had.  A belief that you can conquer any task.  Thankfulness for the time spent - with yourself, with God and with others.  You will be filled with beauty from without and within.  The world will seem like a different place.  Forever.

Dedicated to the fine folks, and our fearless leader Melanie, who went down the the bottom and back out with us!

How we got there....

Three years ago Farmer Dan convinced me to hike to the bottom of the Grand Canyon.  At the time I thought he was completely crazy.   I had given him a coupon for a father/daughter back packing trip.  I thought he would pick somewhere in our mountains.  When he suggested the Grand Canyon I immediately dismissed the idea.  He was a looney.  We know a lot about backpacking, and being out in the wilderness - but we knew nothing about hiking in the desert.  At the time my kids were three and five and I couldn't even begin to imagine leaving them for a week's time.  I'd never been away from them for more than one night.  Finally, neither of us were in the kind of shape it would take to hike out of THE GRAND CANYON.  The old man would just have to let that dream die - there was no way we could go. 

But, I love my father deeply and truly.  When I saw how much he really wanted to complete this trip I decided to do some research.  Maybe there was a group we could join?  We really lucked out - there was a opening in a mule assisted backpacking trip with the Grand Canyon Field Institute.  We were going.  I still thought it was a crazy idea.  I don't even like heights.  I'm terrified of heights.  I'd been to the Grand Canyon before and thought that it was wonderful and majestic, but best enjoyed far, far back from the edge.  How in the name of all that was sane was I going to hike down into this monster? 

I decided that the best way to deal with my fears was to become really well prepared.  So, I picked all of the highest mountains near us and started logging 20 plus miles a weekend, and at least four miles closer to home every night.  By the time I went to the edge my body was ready, but my mind was still in agony.

Leaving my kids was so difficult.  I felt as if my heart were being ripped from my chest.  My brain knew that it was only a week, but my heart felt like it would be forever.  We slipped away before they were awake so I kissed their sweet faces in the dark, and crept out of the house leaving the Woodsman, my babies and half of my heart behind.

Finally, the much anticipated day of descent came.  I became increasingly nervous as we approached the edge.  I'm not a quitter.  I finish almost everything I set out to do, but I was so eager to walk away from this trip.  I was queasy and jumpy.  I kept imagining my lifeless body at the bottom of a cliff.  ( Note to reader:  Do not read a book about how people have died at the Grand Canyon the night before embarking on a trip down into the Canyon.) 

Mercifully, once we started  I was over taken by the grandeur of the rocks and the vistas opening out before me.  I was also finally calm enough to see the shine of joy coming off of my Dad.  I'm not sure I have ever seen him look so eager and excited. 

The hike down was hot, dry, fascinating and stunning.  It had been an especially wet winter and spring so there were many flowers to enjoy, lots of facts to learn about the Canyon and the majesty of creation in which to revel.

Phantom Ranch, at the bottom of the Canyon, may very well be my favorite place on the planet.  I dream about returning there and could happily see myself spending part of the year working there once my birds have flown the nest.  Yes, it was blazing hot ( one day it hit 103 in the shade!).  Yes, there are rattle snakes and scorpions (they're bioluminescent).  But mostly the bottom of the Canyon is filled with a peace like no other.  Talk about going off the grid.  Phones don't even work down there.  The people at the bottom are different too.  I guess it takes a certain type of person to want to hike all the way to the bottom and then return to the edge.  It was sort of like being in a hippy fraternity where all of the hazing to join happens on your trip out.

The trip back up to the top was strenuous, but not nearly the impossible task I had envisioned.  Mostly I was stunned by the beauty of the Grand Canyon, and thankful for the training I'd done.  To say I hiked out with my father would be stretching the truth.  He was so far ahead of the rest of our group that I would only catch glimpses of him on switch backs several cliffs above me.  He booked out of that Canyon.  I did eventually catch him and convinced him to slow down his pace slightly so we could finish together. 

I found out later that he was nervous about being unable to finish, and the best way to deal with this fear was to get out as fast as he could.  In contrast, I wanted to savour every moment.  I knew that I probably wouldn't get to return until my children were grown, and I wanted every detail locked in my head.

The trip was good for all of us.  I became more confident.  The Woodsman became more confident - he and the kids had a fantastic week together, and he's been better about doing household tasks since then.  The kids survived quite well without me, and I was richer for knowing that everything ran smoothly even when I wasn't around. 

I'm so glad my dad is crazy.  Without his far reaching imagination we never would have gone all the way to the bottom and back to the top.  It's a bonding experience I will never forget.  We have memories that only the two of us share.  I'm so glad I helped my dad fulfill his dream.  Who knew that I was fulfilling my own dream too?

Next trip?  Hiking in the Swiss Alps?  Sounds like I have more mountains to climb. 

"The Long Up" 

by Kay Ryan

You can see the
land flattening out
near the top.  The
long up you've faced
is going to stop.
Your eyes feast
on space instead
of pitch as though
you'd been released.
The measured pace
you've kept corrupts
with fifty yards
to do - fifty
times as hard
against the blue.


The New Yorker  April 11, 2011

Two Tramps In Mud Time

These pictures are from last year.  But they seemed so appropriate to the rainy weather we've been having this week.  I can't think of many more beautiful sights.  The last of the asparagus, the first of the spinach, and  happy, filthy children.  So many blessings in just a little bit of rain. 

Two Tramps in Mud Time

Robert Frost (1934)

Out of the mud two strangers came And caught me splitting wood in the yard, And one of them put me off my aim By hailing cheerily “Hit them hard!” I knew pretty well why he dropped behind And let the other go on a way. I knew pretty well what he had in mind: He wanted to take my job for pay. Good blocks of beech it was I split, As large around as the chopping block; And every piece I squarely hit Fell splinterless as a cloven rock. The blows that a life of self-control Spares to strike for the common good That day, giving a loose to my soul, I spent on the unimportant wood. The sun was warm but the wind was chill. You know how it is with an April day When the sun is out and the wind is still, You’re one month on in the middle of May. But if you so much as dare to speak, A cloud comes over the sunlit arch, A wind comes off a frozen peak, And you’re two months back in the middle of March. A bluebird comes tenderly up to alight And fronts the wind to unruffle a plume His song so pitched as not to excite A single flower as yet to bloom. It is snowing a flake: and he half knew Winter was only playing possum. Except in color he isn’t blue, But he wouldn’t advise a thing to blossom. The water for which we may have to look In summertime with a witching wand, In every wheel rut’s now a brook, In every print of a hoof a pond. Be glad of water, but don’t forget The lurking frost in the earth beneath That will steal forth after the sun is set And show on the water its crystal teeth. The time when most I loved my task These two must make me love it more By coming with what they came to ask. You’d think I never had felt before The weight of an axhead poised aloft, The grip on earth of outspread feet. The life of muscles rocking soft And smooth and moist in vernal heat. Out of the woods two hulking tramps (From sleeping God knows where last night, But not long since in the lumber camps.) They thought all chopping was theirs of right. Men of the woods and lumberjacks, They judged me by their appropriate tool. Except as a fellow handled an ax, They had no way of knowing a fool. Nothing on either side was said. They knew they had but to stay their stay And all their logic would fill my head: As that I had no right to play With what was another man’s work for gain. My right might be love but theirs was need. And where the two exist in twain Theirs was the better right — agreed. But yield who will to their separation, My object in living is to unite My avocation and my vocation As my two eyes make one in sight. Only where love and need are one, And the work is play for mortal stakes, Is the deed ever really done For heaven and the future’s sakes.

Raised Beds Part 1 - Answer to the Quiz

Last Wednesday I posted a quiz. 

The correct answer was all of the above. 

I hadn't been feeling well for the first part of the week, so by the time Wednesday came around and my energy came back there were 10,000 projects calling my name.  As soon as I got home from school, I headed out to the garden.  The Woodsman joined me soon after and we built six raised beds.  They were constructed out of 1x8 cedar boards (8 feet on the long sides and four on the short ones).  We first screwed the corners together, placed them where we wanted them to be, pounded 2x2 posts into the corners and screwed the boards to the posts.  It took about 15 minutes per bed (I had everything pre-cut), and cost about $30. 
A note about the video:  This is my first attempt at posting a video.  It is just the first part of what we did, and it was taken by the Reading Girl.  Sorry if the quality is poor. Umm... and someone who knows me in real life obviously needs to teach me how to edit.            

After tucking the kiddos in bed, I walked out to shut the chickens in bed too.  I realized that it was a gorgeous evening, there was still some light and that I wanted to  HAD to plant something.  I decided that cukes and squash would be the easiest, as I was using some bagged soil to help form the hills.  The planting was going great until... ughh...I could no longer  read the seed packets.   Umm... was that zucchini I just planted?  No?   Maybe pattypan?  Ah, nuts!  I just planted the Laundry Fairy's mystery squash.  Bah...   

But I really, really, really wanted to finish.  What to do?  A flashlight?  No - too unwieldy.  Ask the Woodsman to come hold the light for me?  Nope - the Celtics were on - he'd think I was crazy anyhow!  Wake up one of the kids?  Nah... that really was crazy.  The kids?  Eureka!  I had a solution.  Farmer Dan got both kids light clips for their hats (Go here to see what I'm talking about.  They're dead useful.) to use when we're back packing and camping.  Ah... and The Reading Girl always put her light away in the closet.  Girl after my own heart.  I was set.

Armed with light, out to the garden I went.  I finished planting three full beds - all of the squash, cukes, gourds and even a hill of watermelon - in the total dark.  I think perhaps gardening is an illness.  Does anyone know?  I think I'm addicted.

The severely neglected deck flowers, dumped on the porch on Sunday, were staring at me accusingly.  They looked so forlorn and thirsty.  The only solution was to plant them.  This time I just used the porch light  - no head lamp necessary.  I planted to the rhythm of the June bugs hitting the screens.  Whirr... Thud!  Whirr... Thud!  I could almost hear their tiny brains shouting, "Let me at the light!"  I know the Woodsman though I was a complete nutter at this point.  I kept tromping down the stairs, past the T.V. and into the planting room to grab more dirt, another pot, more dirt, a hanging basket, etc. 

One of my personality traits, which is sometimes a blessing and sometimes a curse, is that when I think of something I want to do... I mean really, really want to do... then I almost always do it. I suppose some people call this being stubborn as a mule - I prefer to think of it as reliability.   Wednesday night was certainly a good example of my "reliability".  There are just some parts of you that will always be true - no matter how old you get - some of them even grow stronger! 

Aside - for a great poem about not being able to break out of your own mold - click here to read  James Hall's "Maybe Dats Your Pwoblem Too".  It's funny and so worth your time.  Scroll all the way to the bottom of the page and then be sure to read it out loud - like Elmer Fudd - preferably with an audience.  I'll wait right here.

So, after planting everything and cleaning up (leaving a mess in the kitchen is a suit I can't seem to "buin"either).  I realized that I had yet to send the Laundry Fairy a Mother's Day card.  So, off to Woman to Woman International to send a donation card.  Then, finally, to bed.  Oh, wait, a post to write first (Could writing also be an addiction?)    Sure, I was a bit tired the next day, but it was totally worth it.  I love, love, love crossing work off my to-do list, that's another suit I own, but I don't think I'll "buin" that one anytime soon!  How in the world would I ever get anything done?

16 days... but who's counting?

 The big reading tests are behind my students.  Now we get to read and write poems!  Joy!  Their homework tonight was to write a poem.  Here's mine....

An Ode to Flip Flops

Even the word is onomatopoeic

Smack as they cross

sticky tar - could fry an egg - pavement

Freeness of feet unbound by buckles

By laces, by grommets, by ties

Free to slip out at any moment

to run on the morning dew wet grass .

Beach, creek, pool

Snipping basil forgotten when plucking tomatoes

Off in the car, off in the house

Repeating, repeating with every step

School’s out, school’s out, school’s out.

Go here for a great article on how these awesome shoes are actually dangerous.  

 I'm going to throw caution to the wind and keep wearing them!

 P.S.  This poem is dedicated to Bridget - cousin extraordinaire and flip flop diva.

Anyone Out There?

Blogging is a strange mix of writing for yourself (part of the reason I'm writing is to hear my own voice) and writing hoping that someone out there is listening.  I'm writing so that I can remember these every day moments, but I'm also writing because I'm inspired by those that I read.  I love sharing (and learning) from the bloggers I follow.  But now I'm wondering...  Is anybody out there? 

It's a bit like returning to middle school.  You want to hang with the cool kids - of course at this point in my life the people I think are the coolest are the ones busy raising their children and their own food.

 I hope my offerings are interesting and inspiring to others.  Blogging is a way for me to add my voice to the world community.  I teach and have elementary age children, so many of my days are spent without any significant adult conversation.  Thanks to all of you who are willing to show us your lives, and willing to share your thoughts.  So glad to be hanging at the lunch table with you all.

I must write it all out, at any cost.

"I must write it all out, at any cost. Writing is thinking. It is more then living, for it is being concious of living." Anne Morrow Lindberg


I used to write and journal alot. Somehow, shortly after I got married I stopped. I miss thinking that way. I miss being able to process thoughts and emotions through my pen (or keyboard). There's a part of me that has been, not so much lost, as hiding. Ironically, one of the reasons I stopped was because I felt uneasy writing down private thoughts in a shared life. Blogging is very public, but somehow it feels anonymous too. It's nice to write again.