The Battle

 There is a thick fog hovering just above the snow dusted mountains outside my window, obscuring the pointed tip of Fremont Peak. There is a pink hue inside my tiny house that is a reflection from the mountains illuminated by the bright sunrise. It's a surreal earthly experience. 

This past week, I fell into a gopher hole and twisted my foot rather remarkably. I have historically strong ankles, so the pain was an unexpected surprise. It turned almost instantly black and blue from the heel to my toes. I was still able to walk on it with good hiking boots, amazingly, and now it's just a faded green color with the swelling almost completely dissipated. I'll need to be gentle with it for a few weeks, undoubtedly, which isn't my strong point, but alas. Declan was instantly inspired by the event with a plethora of puns. He told me I should perform a "Feetwood Mc" concert, "feeturing" myself and my own rendition of "Footloose". He said, "I'm sorry my puns are toe bad." "Maybe you need a leg up." He suggested I should probably go to "boot camp." I hope you can 'heel' quickly. "Shoe" probably want me to stop, right?  

The boys and I cleaned up the post-flooding rocks from our big field, finally. It has been a 2 year goal, but always something of a last priority. We made some gabions for our driveway entrance with the rocks we harvested and I finally created a new mailbox. Since 2022 our mailbox has been almost 14 inches too short due to the mud that was deposited across the land. As time progressively continued to dilapidated the old box, I was motivated to do something about it. Out new mailbox is reflective of the history of this place we call home. :-) 

November is not my favorite month - it means fall has exited and winter has the whole highway to itself. It's also the anniversary month of death for many who have gone before in our family, including my Daddy. It always amazes me how the world keeps spinning, stoplights work as usual, sunrise beckons in the morning even as a life comes to an end. We are expected to and must carry on, living our lives as the gifts they are. The pain and consequences of loss are strangely fresh no matter how much time attempts to fill the void. William H. Murie was a truly great man and I know there is significant importance in the remembrance.

November also marks the birth dates of some of the most influential people in my life so I am incredibly grateful for the month, too. It ushers in the holiday season and I LOVE watching the excitement that comes with that, especially in my boys. They are obsessively planning Christmas gifts to make for the people they love and I seriously doubt that the 6 week runway will be sufficient, but I am historically in awe of their efficiency, so.... 

So, on this brooding winter day, as the sun fights to be visible, it is hope and anticipation that tickle at the threads of my heart. The reality of long grief hovers, but the sun prevails. 

The Magical Creatures - Part I,

 I tease Declan about his magical horse, Murdock the Unicorn. He is one of the most delightful creatures on the planet and not a day goes by that I don't consider how rich we are for knowing him. He is capable, willing, talented and suspicious - if you're not his boy, then you are no doubt up to trouble. He loves his boy and will do literally anything for him. 

Paisley wants to blend in. She's content to stay underneath the piano, content to participate in the chaos of our life as a passive observer. Yet, she's the first to sneak into the truck if she gets wind that an adventure may be afoot. She hunkers onto the floorboard knowing that none of us will notice her until it's too late to do anything about it. We've even caught her hiding underneath backpacks in the backseat. And she adores Declan. She got a terrible infection in one of her eyes about 2 months ago, and he faithfully treated her multiple times each day. That process seemed to cement their bond. If he walks into a room, she jumps into his lap to snuggle and lick his hands. She'll wait quietly by the front doorstep when we come home, but as soon as he gets out of the truck she bounds over to him enthusiastically. Melts my heart! 

My very very dog... she's very everything. She has my whole heart. Her paws are too big and her heart is even bigger. If I dare to leave her behind (EVER!) she stands at the gate and scolds me with vehemence. I tell her, "Watch your language young lady!" On our hikes she always stays the closest and when I stop to sit underneath my tree, it's always her that is leaning against my leg, as close as humanly possible. If the people in this world loved like her, the world would be a revolving bubble of delight and good feelings. She absolutely LOSES HER MIND when her favorite people come to the door (Allie and Dad... you know who you are) and her enthusiasm is only reined in (slightly) as the novelty of their arrival eases during the duration of their stay. However, if they walk back out the door and return 5 minutes later, the original excitement resumes. 

Between a rock and a hard place...

 Between a rock and a hard place... I stared out at the vast valley below me. 2600 feet in elevation, 5 miles in with 10 miles to go and I just stood there, wondering. Why is it so much easier to "hear" up there? Why do I feel rejuvenated in spite of the fatigue I feel settling in the stillness? My thoughts are uncluttered and clarity is ripe. 

In those places I sift through hurt, pain, exasperation, and frustration. Truth is clear. I see clearly through the fog of chaos and I am able to decipher expectations from reality. I am able to harness heartache. The weight of all that I cannot change is lightened and becomes manageable. I find my courage and determination rekindled. I find the voice of God in the stillness, and the quiet of the wild places where I wander.  

The boys have picked up COVID again, and though this seems to be a mild case, it is nevertheless, inconvenient at best. Lochlan had another seizure about 1 week ago and I find myself on edge, watching his every move, as sickness can often trigger seizures in those predisposed to them. It's a vigilant wariness that makes me weary. I am overall incredibly encouraged by the current trajectory of his seizures as they are so far diminishing in length and the side effects (violent vomiting) are decreasing as well. It's the wondering, the waiting that is draining. We try to go about our day(s) and set aside the hovering concern and caution we all feel.

 

Tonight, I'm admittedly tired and feel the darkness of the night sky keenly. I reflect on my recent wanderings and it brings me joy. It's true that none of us know what tomorrow holds, but I intend to welcome in the morning with hope. I know that I am not alone (in so many ways) and because I am not alone endurance will be mine if it is needed. 

"The Eryn"

 Love is impossible. 

The word "love" is the ultimate example of the failure of the English language. What does it mean? "I love you" is said with such ease, but true, real, honest love is something so complex, undoubtedly all languages fail it. 

"I love the mountains". No, I find wandering in the mountains, in God's creation, to be life-giving, restorative, building strength into every part of who I am. To say, "I love the mountains" is trite, incomplete, insufficient. 

Love. Oh the ways we love. 

A phone call - I'm thinking of you, I miss you, I care about you. 

An act of generosity, seen or unseen, known or hidden. 

A "no", because sometimes it is required. 

A visit from afar. 

The love of labor and hard work. 

Choosing to put down a beloved animal out of mercy. 

Prayer. 

Perseverance in trials. 

Faithfulness. 

The strong building up the weak. 

Sacrifice. 

Kindness. 

Courage to do what is right. 

The detailed ways that love is woven into the tapestry of my life astound me; it is beautiful color added where I least expect it. I am constantly surprised (and delighted!) by love. 

I have a long-term (for the past 8 years) friend(s) who has sent me little treasures over the years. I have literally NO IDEA who it is, but sometimes I open my mailbox to find a little black porcelain bear holding a sunflower, a Christmas candle, a handwoven throw, a shirt with an encouraging message, a new book, etc. And, literally every week I receive a breve latte coffee (or three) from Matador with the title "The Eryn" written on the cup. Aunt Debbie brings me one every week, neighbors stop by and drop one off, friends (from in town or out of town) pop over and bring one by, Allie brings one on her way over to give Lochlan speech therapy. It's a kindness, a personal touch of love that always means so incredibly much. And my Matador buddies love trying to figure out the mystery friends who ordered that morning. :-) 

There really isn't an exhaustive list for love. It's impossible to define. This world, the whole of humanity, is changed by love - Divine Love - whether or not it is seen, understood and/or recognized.