Morning wakes to a cloudless sky over me, crisp and clean as sheets dried on the line. There’s a light frost down at the creek, and a moose somewhat regal in appearance with his slick black hair and mighty paddles hanging close by on pasture. I watch him standing proud, in a standoff with the pup. I call from the outhouse door. The dog returns. The moose lumbers off.

Another day without rain. I don’t take these things for granted. We can accomplish twice as much on days we don’t have to break each time a storm wave crashes onto the scene.  The downside to getting so much more done is sore muscles, tired hands, and sun burned shoulders. I’ll take it all.

This evening, after the sun is down and shadows have dissolved for the day, we sit by the camp fire watching the pup play with marshmallows as if they were toys, little balls, flinging them around joyously as he’ll do with a dead mouse. At the cross fence line, a herd of elk move in unison up the hill and vanishes into the dark timber.

I am in awe daily of the natural wonders found on this land, between the wildlife and our wild life and the simple, stark beauty of these rolling mountains under a wide open sky. That is why we are here. This is what makes us feel alive, come alive, stirring me somewhere deep inside as I pause for just a moment to soak it into the cavernous sea within my soul, something only high wild places will do.

Two full months have passed since we’ve been living and working here, setting camp, getting our temporary home in order, and starting to get the long term home going from the ground up. The months have gone slowly, been generous and allowed us to accomplish what feels like so much in such a short period of time. Alas there’s so much yet to do.

I’ve heard that summer is a time for vacations and time off and kicking back with a good book. It’s never been that for me. It took two months of averaging about a page a night and the book falling on my face startling me back awake to finally finish reading just one book (thank you, Cindy, it was a good one indeed). Maybe some day I’ll have that time and summers will be that leisurely for me. When I get old. Older? In the meanwhile, there’s been kids camp and guest ranch and cleaning cabins and  guiding rides, getting gardens going, digging ditches, renovating land and structures – all this work doing my darndest to create havens from the ground up so others could enjoy their vacation time. Oh yes, and building. Always building…

And still I feel my life is a vacation in a way, and I wouldn’t want it any other way. I get to do, be and live a dream. I know it’s not a dream a lot of folks might have, but it’s all I ever wanted, and getting to be more. It’s not a dream about comfort and ease and kicking back with books or bon bons or some frozen drink with an umbrella sticking out of it. And I get those things – they are all well and good and even wonderful, but they are not my path in life. Instead the path I followed is rather rough and rustic, high and wild, down and dirty, full of stuff that makes callouses and scrapes and bruises and wrinkled skin that looks like rawhide, balanced with silence and space and soul.

Meanwhile, out and about on the upper 80, during the monsoon rains we had been getting and likely will get more of, the horses seek shelter from the storms and find themselves protected under what we call the Barn Tree – one of the few older growth conifers remaining after the onslaught of beetles that left the greater part of tall old trees ravaged and brown. This tree, just behind our camper, with branches and needles broad and thick not a drop of rain gets through to the always dry ground below. The horses stand there through the storms, the three of them, kind of like me, waiting it out and wishing they were doing something else.

I haven’t taken time to train the new boy and/or ride the old one much this summer. I’ve done plenty of both in the past, and will again in the future, no doubt, but this summer is not about taking time off far beyond our daily evening walks. This summer is about getting solid walls built and roof up over our heads (hopefully) before the snow. That’s pretty much all consuming and not something one overlooks out here. It’s that in-your-face pressure and mission and challenge you can’t not see (even on days you wish you could). It’s even about building a solid shelter for the horses, because before too long, this rain and hail will turn to snow, and they too will need more than that big old tree can provide.

Slowly but surely, one grain of sand at a time, one big beautiful beaming beam after another,  hoisted into place, I think we’re getting there… wherever there may be, somewhere not too far away along this dusty path we’re on, together.

Until next time,

With love, always love,

Gin