embrace of life – by mimi webster, the john denver sanctuary, aspen, colorado
THIS is how i feel in the mountains.
all worries, concerns, things we are suffering or things too complex – shed – as clothing falling off, a nakedness of joy, exulting in the sky, the purity of air, the scent of early spring in high elevation.
THIS is how i feel there.
it is not unlike how i feel at the side of the ocean, with waves lapping my feet, infinite blue meeting aqua on a horizon too far away to particularly discern, salt air sticking to my hair, sun beating down, uninhibited.
it is recent discovery that we realize it is a new time. though we both are – and have been – aware of the tenuousness, aware of how nebulous it all is – and one of us distinctly more thready than the other – we are beginning to see life in smaller morsels. we are not sprinting past on our way to somewhere which will ultimately be on the way to somewhere else. instead, we are slower and more deliberate. we are undressed inchworms – exposed – in miles and miles of life. intentionally.
at the entrance to the john denver sanctuary, embrace of life stands, gloriously. i needed no reminder. i walked in – throwing my head back to the sky – throwing my arms out to collect it all, to wrap in it, to bring it all home. my heart is open. wide open. air rushes in as we walk among boulders chiseled with lyrics and prose. each moment is shimmering.
i have determined that life would be infinitely easier were i to have new house closets – the kind you see on hgtv – all walkinable and organized – with shelf units and hanging storage of different heights – light and airy – indeed, in many episodes, quite beautiful.
that’s not us.
we don’t have those.
and so, my clothes are smushed into my oldhousecloset. and that means that i really barely know what’s in there.
i can definitely tell you that 1977 has a moment in there. the 1980s have a nod or two. the 1990s have a real presence, as do the early 2000s. many of my coolest clothes – from what i can remember of them – are from these eras. and then, hanging off the end of the hangery part of the hanger are other hangers. these are the things from somewhere in this century. on the outside of the hangers hanging on the hanger are the 2020s. this is the stuff i wear most of the time.
but recently i had to dive into the restofit. and in there i found a really great olive green blazer. now, this cotton relatively unstructured blazer was from circa 1998 and had patch pockets. i am not a fan of patch pockets. but i am a fan of olive green and i needed a crop jacket for a jumpsuit (circa 2018) i was going to wear to a very special event. so – at risk of many other hangers coming with the hanger that the olive green blazer was on – i pulled out the jacket and tried it on. i still don’t like patch pockets, but it was the right style and the right color for the jumpsuit.
scissors and a thread-pulling safety pin made the old jacket a new jacket – cropped with a fringed hem. the same kind of thing i was pondering purchasing from poshmark for a prolonged period of time.
now i’m wondering what else is in there that might be repurposed. and i know i need to clean this closet out. that way i might have an idea of things i could wear, things i forgot about, things i’ve “outgrown”, things i might actually need.
the thing that gets me – the instant i start pulling hangers out – is the wash of memories that come with all of it. it is nearly impossible to give away a top i will never wear that my sweet poppo specifically picked out for me or his old blue-jean jacket. and that skirt! i remember buying it at target with my girl when she was little! it is ridiculously hard to throw out a worn-out big shirt i wore on more than one flatbed, playing and singing. and what about those chico traveler-fabric capris?? they never wrinkle no matter what you do to them – even stuffing them in an overstuffed closet!! it is silly-excruciating to put-in-a-pile a denim jacket i’ve had since the day i purchased my yamaha c5 for my studio. it is mildly depressing to pull out all the concert attire and set it aside. that top with sequins!! those long black blazers!! those jeans that were featured on the album covers!! it is heart-tugging to take out the patchwork shirt i wore with my it’s-the-real-thing-coca-cola-pants. i am lost – lost – in a vortex of memories. and i haven’t even started trying it all on.
i need a whole ‘nother closet. one for the stuff that actually fits.
we waited until the really torrential rain stopped before we drove on to aspen. the forested slopes, sagebrush-dotted mountains and an amazing canyon are just too much to miss in driving rain. the marmot, the bighorn sheep and the mountain goats were all out on our way there – the reward of patience and not rushing. they grinned as we went by, slowing to gaze at them, all pretty close to the shoulder of the road.
we were gifted with a herd of elk lounging in a meadow on our way back from the ditch trail. it’s not to be underestimated – the size of an elk. they grinned at us from the field and told us that the real hulksters – the moose – wouldn’t be making an appearance that day.
and then, back a couple hours on the other side of the canyon, right in the middle of breck, this tiny family of foxes. momma fox watching over her kits, the incredibly adorable curious little babies romped around the old building, scurrying from one plaything to another, scooting under the foundation. none of them seemed fearful and we were grateful that people weren’t chasing after them like the nincompoops in national parks seem to be doing these days. they were grinning at their audience, just happy-go-lucky-living life and momma fox was watching over her brood carefully. we were enchanted.
we saw them a few times while we were there. each time we laid back, quietly watching, enthralled at their courage and delighted at their zeal.
this is always a hard place to leave – these mountains. we try to make the most of the gloriousness while we are there. every breath here counts.
and i wonder if someone is watching from some other planet or galaxy or dimension. they can see us – david and me – romping and scurrying, playing and scooting – just like the baby fox. they might think we were just happy-go-lucky-living life. they might be enchanted.
it was a burger night. we had been out hiking for hours and needed something substantial to eat. the thing that hadn’t occurred to us – when we headed out to hike – was that it was still winter there – up in higher elevation, the trail tucked into the woods. it was some hard work – even with trekking poles – to stay upright on a very-snowy and mostly-icy hike. each step was calculated and careful. and it was ridiculously beautiful and exhilarating.
so it was a burger night.
we decided that – though, in all the times we have stayed in breckenridge, we have only eaten out once – we would go over to try kenosha breck – a steakhouse whose name combines our home and our fave-place. our intention was to order a burger-to-split and fries to-go.
but the bar – where we would place a to-go order – was in the back of the pub and the doors right adjacent were wide open to fresh air and setting sun and the mountains were visible past the outdoor dining tables and umbrellas and the bartender was super friendly and it wasn’t crowded and there were two stools at the end of the bar closest to the outdoors….so….we stayed. (and the earth shook a little – acknowledging this very unusual decision to eat-out….)
we sat and shared a glass of wine, reviewing our what-felt-treacherous hike and the gorgeous day, the beautiful days preceding it. we chatted with the bartender. we gazed out the open doors, staring at the mountains we would immediately miss when we left the next day. we lingered.
some days a burger and fries and a little wine are the perfect way to end the day. nothing fancy. just a simple meal on a couple stools in a mountain town.
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i hadn’t been on an airplane for well over a year. i used to fly all the time, but all-the-time has changed and it’s relatively rare these days to find myself zooming through the clouds. that rarity has given me a different perspective and a different appreciation of the whole flying-thing.
we flew to the mountains. the flight-sky was mostly clear – brilliant blue with huge puffy clouds below us. we had the row to ourselves; the flight was not full. we were anticipatory of what was to come once we got there. we were excited to be heading west. i was filled with ready-tears that always overcome me at the sight of the first range i see. in the wee hours of the morning – wisconsin. in the still-early-hours of the morning – colorado. it is still amazing to me.
the way home was equally as stunning. the flight was full. it was evening in colorado. we got back to wisconsin late and drove home – this time, the interstate – going 75 mph to our driveway, having spent an odd time on the airplane – witnessing people who were somewhat rude to others, people hacking, people smushed in with other people. nevertheless, all of a sudden, we were no longer in the mountains and we were in milwaukee – and it is still amazing.
as dedicated roadtrippers, it is almost an out-of-body thing to fly somewhere. there is no time to really process – no time to really look at – study – what we are passing through, no time to properly feel moving from one place to another. but it’s easy and quick and absorbs all the road miles for littlebabyscion with its 274,000 mile odometer.
in a day or so, we will be able to take a little time and sort through it all…everything that happened while we were in those high mountains, everything we felt and saw and celebrated.
we’ll sit back in our adirondack chairs watching the hummingbirds and the chippies, watching the peonies grow and the grasses sway in the breeze, watching breck’s leaves quake and dogga run in circles – lingering – and we’ll be thankful for this trip that feels a little like a dream now.
because it feels like the past, the present and the future all at once and – here – it all wraps around your heart.
we are both john denver fans. not the ridiculous push-to-the-front-of-the-crowd-for-a-signature type. just the quiet, eternally-grateful type. he has inspired us. he has inspired me. he made the simple melodic gesture a visceral thing. he elevated folksy messaging and storytelling; he reinforced the beauty of a lack of adornment. simplicity.
and when we stand in this beautiful place – designed to honor him, his composing and songwriting, his vision of the world – we are standing in and with his spirit. and you can feel it.
we slowly walkabout, arm in arm. we hum the songs chiseled into granite boulders. we stand immersed, pondering, in front of quotes of john muir and leonardo da vinci and helen keller and rachel carson and jacques cousteau.
“one of these things is not like the others. one of these things just doesn’t belong.” (sesame street song – joe raposo/jon stone)
we tend to be different. not like the others. it never really surprises us.
we are holey-jeans-wearing-black-shirt-donning-boot-walking-long-hair artist types. so, walking down the streets of most towns, we sort of stand out – we are not wearing corporate clothes, neat-and-tidy clothes, fancy clothes.
there are towns – however – where we fit in a tiny bit better. they are mountain towns on off-days. these are days when the tourist population is down, the sidewalks are not full of louis vuitton and lululemon, the spots next to the curb aren’t proliferated with expensive vehicle logos. they are quieter days. and we stroll on the sidewalks and feel like we fit in.
we looked up the meaning of hippy. i’d like to ignore the “large hips” definition and skip directly to the “hippie/hippy” meaning. and then, i’ll just parse out the relevant stuff – gentle ideology that favors peace and love and personal freedom. yup. that’s the stuff.
it was just after we had been alerted multiple times – in chorus with every other person – in line or seated – who had a cellphone in breckfast, a busy eatery on the north end of this high mountain town – that there was an active shooter less than six minutes up the main road. we were pretty stunned, thinking that this beautiful place – with fresh air and the bluest skies and vistas you can only dream of – would be spared from that kind of violence.
we strolled down the street of breckenridge – our favorite – talking about this world.
we came across this sticker on the back of a street sign. “be hippy” happy face.
and we nodded, glancing at each other, grateful to be different.
in aspen, colorado, it is one of our favorite trails…alongside the ridgeline, through the aspen forest, ducking under fragrant pine, climbing. the vistas are stunning, the scent is rejuvenating, the air fresh and cool.
this time there was snow on the trail. the combination of the warm sun and the snow beneath our feet was exquisite. new trekking poles in hand, we were in our glory.
if you don’t take the bridge over the more swollen section of the stream and climb higher, than you can take a divergent path and step rock to rock upstream to an old log that lays there just waiting for people to sit on it. we have sat on that very log every single time we have hiked this trail.
there is something magical about that spot. right in the middle of the stream, mountains behind us, dappled sun on our faces. it is as if every single thing becomes clear. we sit in that very space and all the life-whirling stops, the dots connect, the primary is primary. love.
we dropped our hands into the cold mountain stream, water running swiftly over them and on to the rocks below us.
we talked. we were silent. we touched cold fingertips to cold fingertips.
no matter where i am there comes a point when this happens.
when i was little – and everyone else went to sleepaway camp – i tried it on for size. twice. the first time it was ok. we went to camp koinonia in upstate new york and i was with my best friend susan. we stayed in a screened-in cabin with bunkbeds and there’s not much else i remember, save for the lanyard-making. the second time it was another upstate sleepaway camp and, again, i was with my best friend susan. that time did not go well. it rained a lot that week and that contributed to my wistful homesickness. i remember kickball and crafts and i remember a bit of weeping. i didn’t try it again.
i guess – as much as i now love going away – traveling and adventure, immersing in new places – even my favorite places – i am also kind of a homebody. i miss our house, our routines, my feet on our old wood floors, our dogga.
paradoxically, i feel fortunate to have gotten away from home. we needed a little bitta time out of town, a little bitta time away from the usual stuff, a little bitta time near family, a little bitta time in the mountains.
i think even a short stint of time away interrupts us. it grants us fresh air. it pokes us to not take loving our home lightly. it stirs up the wish-we-were-closer proximity yearnings. it gives us fresh eyes to return to our routines and the projects and challenges on our plates. it makes coming home sweet.
i am really, really familiar with the view out the front door of our house. this tree has been there the entire three and a half decades i have now lived here. and i have seen the sky and the seasons change through the arc of its branches.
the trees next to the sidewalk on our road have been aging out. one by one we wake up or arrive home to the roar of heavy chainsaw sounds. it makes me worry about our tree. it would be tough to see that tree removed.
going away and exploring – meandering around – is good for the soul. it’s invigorating and can take you out of your comfort zone. it’s rejuvenating. it gives you space.
coming back home – after going away and exploring – is also good for the soul. it affirms the everyday, the mundane, everything you consider ordinary, the very-familiar. and it elevates appreciation of all of it.
reverse threading 